Redemption Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even my house. I rent. :)
A/N: Okay, guys. It's been a really long time. Since I last posted a story, I've moved back to the States and lots of other things have happened, but I got the writing bug again and so, here goes. Currently this is unbeta'd but eventually, I hope to have my wonderful, fantastic, amazing beta give it a gander. Until then, all mistakes are mine. I'm not sure how long this will be, as with all of my stories, I write as it comes and sometimes that leads us down a long road and sometimes not. Here's the first chapter, I do hope you enjoy. Leave me feedback, it satisfies the muse.
War is Over
Day 1
Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant. Draco sighed as he looked to the Auror who was in the middle of a spectacularly condescending lecture about Malfoys since the dawn of time. He glanced between his mother and father and, not for the first time, cursed to himself about the stupidity of his optics-impaired sire. What did he think? They could just leave the Battle of Hogwarts in the middle and no one would notice or come looking for them?
It took less than six hours before the pious Aurors, the ones who hadn't bothered to show up to the battle at all, came looking for the Malfoys. They were, after all, one of the only Voldemort supporters that had escaped, though Draco would point out that by the end they were little more than hostages of the Dark Lord anyway.
Still, there was no way any of the three of them were making it out of the new 'Golden Age' without paying for their crimes, real or perceived. And Draco had resigned himself to spending the next twenty or so years in Azkaban. There was no going back. No matter how much he regretted his moronic choices over the past few years, it was over. The jig was up. Perfect fucking Potter would be thrilled.
"Do you have evidence of these supposed crimes," he heard his father ask imperiously. For that, he let out a more audible sigh. What was he going to try? The Imperious defense again? Knowing it would only make it harder on everyone if they resisted, Draco stepped forward and offered his wand to the Auror.
The Auror looked startled for a moment before nodding swiftly and taking the wand before binding Draco's hands behind his back.
"Draco!" his mother cried in horror. He just shook his head at her.
"Mother, it's for the best. They aren't just going to go away." Though even Draco had no idea the danger he was putting himself in by entering Ministry custody.
Ministry detention was not as bad as Draco had assumed. He had visions of dark dungeons, cobwebs, and ice cold stone floors. Perhaps it was the eighteen years growing up in Malfoy Manor that skewed his idea of imprisonment, but the Ministry housing was not bad, even if he was without his wand and hungry.
Not that he would have ever admitted it to anyone, even under threat of hippogriff attack, but he was scared. He'd had just enough courage to turn himself over to the Aurors. After that, he found himself nearly shaking with fear. All the times he's pretended to be courageous or taunted a fellow student or walked around with an air of confidence had been from the underlying confidence he had in his father or the Dark Lord. In reality, Draco was scared shitless most of the time on his own.
How could he defend himself against what would probably be a pretty compelling case to lock him in Azkaban and throw away the key? That he was scared? That he didn't know what else to do? That he was in too deep before he realized how wrong he'd been to hero-worship a psycho? No one would care. Hell, he would turn his nose up at such a defense. What kind of person turns his life over to a clearly deranged murderer?
Well, the kind of person who never really believed he had a choice, but even as Dumbledore always said: we all have choices. Draco just made all the wrong ones.
Draco leaned over and rested his hot forehead on the cold metal surface of the interrogation table in his room. Counting his breaths he tried to relax. Whatever would happen, he had no control. He never had any control over anything. Why should his figurative demise be any different.
Hermione was exhausted. Even after months on the run, including many sleepless, worrying nights, she'd never been this tired. It was an emotional and physical fatigue that made her barely able to function. She didn't even have the energy for a proper Scourgify before collapsing next to Harry on one of the Gryffindor common room couches and passing out for ten straight hours.
Of course, she and Harry had made sure Ron was okay first. Hogwarts was a disaster but its physical damage paled in comparison to the deep gash of mourning that had ripped through the Weasley family. If Hermione had not been so physically and emotionally spent, she might have broken down at the news of Fred's death. She assumed the weight of that loss would hit her soon enough. But it had hit Ron, square in the chest, and she knew he needed time with his family to come to terms with his loss. Their kiss, whatever it had been, could clearly wait.
Upon waking, Hermione felt only slightly rejuvenated, but certainly able to function. At that point, she took an efficient shower and debated about whether to let Harry continue to sleep or wake him. Finally, she decided to wake him if only to make plans for where he could get much needed rest and rescue from the crowds she knew would want to hound him with praise as soon as they were able to regroup as well.
"Harry," she called, shaking him lightly. A few years ago, that wouldn't have come close to being enough to wake the great Harry Potter from a deep sleep. But many years and battles later, he was a much lighter sleeper and his eyes snapped open, green meeting brown as he began to remember where he was and what had just happened a few short hours ago.
"How's Ron?" Harry asked, first, sitting up and wincing at the stiff muscles that protested.
"Let's find out," Hermione said with a sad smile. Harry nodded. "First, a shower for you, though." Looking down, Harry smirked at his appearance and gave her a quick nod before moving up the boys' staircase to clean up.
Ron was better than he had been hours ago, and for that Hermione was grateful. However, she had no idea what to say to him or how to help him through his grief. She loved Fred, but Fred was not her brother. She couldn't imagine the kind of pain the whole family was in, nor could she seem to figure out what level of intrusiveness was appropriate for a girlfriend. Or, was she a girlfriend? She had no idea. And now was the absolutely worst time to try to figure it out. Instead, she wrapped an hand in the hand of the boy she'd loved, in some form or another, since she was twelve, and watched as Harry tried to determine what to do with the Elderwand.
Deep down, she thought it was best the damn thing be destroyed. It would only be a matter of time before some psychopath with an ego decided he or she had right to it and would kill Harry in a heartbeat to take claim. As per usual, Ron was leaning toward keeping it. Imagine how powerful you could be, Harry! She assumed it would always be the same. Harry facing a difficult question and Hermione and Ron the angel and devil, respectively, on his shoulder urging him to a decision.
In this case, she thought Harry was leaning her way, and as he broke the wand in half, she sighed with relief. No one needed that blasted thing anyway. Look how much trouble it had already caused.
"So, that's it then," Ron said, a bit disappointed.
"That's it," Harry said with finality. Hermione just smiled.
"Okay, then," Ron said with a shrug. Apparently, the debate was not important enough to him for sulking. "What's next?"
And that was the question they'd all been thinking about over the last hours. What's next?
"Dunno," Harry mumbled. "I suppose we find any rogue Death Eaters. Then we rebuild the school. And probably, I'll have to…"
"Harry," Hermione cut in. "You don't have to do any of those things if you don't want to. You did more than enough for a lifetime." She knew he felt responsible for the Wizarding World's problems, but he needed to know that now that Dumbledore was no longer there, pushing him toward his so-called destiny, he was free. Blessedly free.
"I know but…" Harry started but Ron interjected this time.
"Hermione's right. You need a vacation. You are seventeen and have been living on the edge since birth. The Aurors can take care of the rest. Hogwarts isn't going to fall to the ground without you, mate." Hermione smiled at Ron and squeezed his hand.
"Besides," she added. "I overheard Kings talking last night and the Aurors should be rounding up the strangling Death Eaters as we speak. None of them are in very good shape at this point. And due to treaty, they have nowhere to run."
Harry sighed, and it seemed to her like relief. "I suppose I'll stick around for the f-funerals then," he said quietly. "Then perhaps I'll go back to Number 12 Grimmauld Place and see if it can't be salvaged." Seeming satisfied with that plan he looked to his friends. "What about you?"
"I want to find my parents and see if I can fix their memories," Hermione said, though she was doubtful it was possible. Perhaps with Flitwick's help…
"I don't know," Ron said sadly. "I suppose I'll try to help George with the shop. He's not…well."
"I'm so sorry, Ron," Harry grimaced.
"It's not your fault," Ron said. "Fred wanted to fight. We all knew this could happen."
"We are here for you, Ron," Hermione said. "Whatever you need." Pulling the two men into her chest she hugged them both tight, still amazed that all three of them made it out alive.
Day 5
Apparently, Ministry detention was going to be home for quite a while. Draco sighed to himself as he considered his options. The Malfoy solicitors had already come and gone and all three seemed to think that his mother would get off on all charges. She had no mark. She'd committed no actually war crimes nor had she ever used an Unforgivable - according to her wand scan. They figured he could get as much as twenty years in Azkaban or as little as five year of probation depending on how seriously the Wizengamot wanted to take his attempt at murdering Albus Dumbledore.
His father…well, his father was in deep shit. No one was ever going to buy the 'Imperious Defence' he'd used last time around. He was a Death Eater who not only had a number of Unforgivables on his wand scan, he also personally victimized The Pottered One's little girlfriend via horcrux-holding Diary, and had hosted the Dark Lord willingly before it became not so willing. Lucius Malfoy was probably never going to be a free man again. Draco didn't know how to feel about that.
On the one hand, Lucius had never been the kind of Father that made Draco feel devastated at his potential loss. However, he was his father. And what, if not family, mattered in this incredibly confusing world? Sure, his father had gotten them into this mess in the first place. Sure, his father's misguided attempt to cling to the old ways was why Draco had been branded from he age of sixteen and nearly died trying to kill the most powerful Wizard in recent history. But, deep down, didn't Lucius do it all for hid family? Draco liked to believe he had.
Still, while their fates seemed more or less easy to determine, the question was, 'When will we actually go to trial?' and for that, the Malfoys' team of attorneys had no answers. As the new government, headed by the latest opportunistic bureaucrat restructured itself, it could be months or even years before they managed to put together a proper Wizengamot. After all, wasn't that the same body that was just locking up people for being born to Muggles only days before? And now the political winds had changed so there would be a mad dash by all politicians involved to distance themselves from their own actions and maintain what power they could.
The Order would not be having it, Draco assumed. Though, he didn't know much about what was going on outside the four walls he called home but what was written in the libelous rag known as the Daily Prophet and what his lawyers told him. Draco wasn't stupid. He could guess that if there was an opportunity for harsh punishment, he'd likely get that over a more lenient sentence. After all, there was no love lost between him and the Order, especially Potter, and the Wizengamot would be burying their own guilt in a spectacle of punishment for anyone else they could deflect attraction to. The Malfoy Trials would have the populist vengeance seekers thirsty for blood. Draco knew that, but he couldn't stop the flicker of hope that swelled within him. Maybe it wouldn't be that bad. Maybe they'd see he had few other options. Of course, Draco was foolish to hope.
Day 15
"Utterly ridiculous," Hermione muttered to herself. "That horrible toad should be tried for war crimes, not reelected into the governing body that is supposed to determine the guilt of others."
"I know, but she has a lot of political power," Harry reasoned as he attempted to repair a chair that had been upturned months ago in their flight from Sirius' old house before their never ending camping trip. He'd been piecing the house together little by little for over a week.
"I don't know how you can be so calm about this," Hermione nearly screeched. "Dolores Umbridge has avoided any charges and will be sitting in the Wizengamot, albeit in a lesser position. She sentenced Muggle-borns to harsh sentences. She stole from them. She's vile!"
"Of course it bothers me," Harry snapped, but his tone softened when Hermione looked properly chastised. She knew she was placing her frustrations on the wrong person. But Ron was so hard to talk to these days, which she understood. But it still meant that Harry bore the brunt of her frustrations. "What can I do? I don't control anything. Maybe the Order listens to me, but the Order isn't running that mess of a Ministry. Everyone is jumping to cover their arse after they totally fucked up the Voldemort situation. We got rid of some key Death Eaters from the Ministry, but Kingsley assures me that we have to pick our battles."
"I'd pick this one," Hermione grunted.
"Yeah, well, then do it. But I'm out. I can't control what those idiots in government do, and I'm sick of trying," Harry responded tiredly. Hermione sighed and wrapped an arm around him.
"I know, Harry. I'm sorry. I just don't like the idea of her presiding over any trials, let along the Death Eater ones. How can we be sure justice is done if the people responsible for justice are just as guilty as the ones being tried?" She asked.
"Isn't all this for show anyway? Who is going to believe that Lucius Malfoy was innocent? Or that Rastaban LeStrange deserves a second/third chance?" Harry replied.
"Sure," Hermione conceded, "But everyone deserves the presumption of innocence," though her principles sounded dull even to her ears. She'd seen both men commit crimes before her very eyes. Still, if society was to progress it could only do so if trials were fair and the accused were granted rights to due process.
"I wouldn't lose sleep about the rights of Death Eaters, Hermione. I get where you are coming from, but these people aren't worth the fight," Harry pointed out.
"Yeah…" Hermione replied uneasily. "But not all of them are so obviously guilty. Mrs. Malfoy and Draco seem more like unwilling accomplices than Dark to the core criminals. There are plenty of other family members of Death Eaters that could become collateral damage."
"Always a bleeding heart," Harry chuckled to himself. "I think Narcissa will get off. I owe her a life debt, and I intend to repay it at her trial and then forget I ever knew any of them."
Hermione smiled at that, "Yeah, but I worry about Draco…"
"God only knows why," Harry scoffed.
Hermione huffed in frustration. "You've seen the Prophet. They want to treat him as if he was the mastermind behind Dumbledore's death. We all know that's not true. He tried to save us at Malfoy Manor. He might be a little shit, but he was never a Death Eater. Not really. And given the tone of this new Government, it doesn't seem like anyone is taking reason into consideration when assessing how to deal with lesser offenses within Voldemort's followers."
"Why do I feel like you are not going to let this go?" Harry asked.
Hermione just rolled her eyes at her best friend.