Author's Note: This chapter kind of ran away with me. As such, it's a tad long. Thanks bundles to my lovely, lovely reviewers: siewchee12345, fuzzy6, I was BOTWP, jperks, 4fanci, and LilRedMK21. Also, please note that some of the proceedings in the hearing may not be quite how things are done in the real world. While I prefer to blame this on the fact that wizarding laws are not the same as Muggle ones, the real reason is because I made it up without referencing anything.

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"Criminal Case 0200043: Perseus Lestrange versus Draco Malfoy, heard this 28th day of February, 2002," the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot pronounced grandly. "Representing Mr. Malfoy is Cassius Warrington IV, attorney at law. Representative for Mr. Lestrange is Roy Vaisey, attorney at law. This honorable attendance is here charged with the duty of hearing evidence regarding the murders of Narcissa Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass."

Near the back of the courtroom were stands, which were reserved for family, friends and spectators. Hermione sat there by Harry, nervously twisting a bit of parchment between her fingers and periodically shredding pieces of it.

This was the second time Lestrange had been called before the Wizengamot and evidence was still forthcoming. During the previous session, Harry had given information regarding the investigation of Astoria's body. The Greengrasses had been present then; Harry noticed them in attendance again this time, in the very back stands. He carefully avoided making eye contact, especially to Helena.

"It's okay," Harry whispered, placing his hand on Hermione's to stop her fidgeting. "They aren't going to decide anything today."

Hermione managed a wan smile in return, but said nothing. Her eyes were rooted to the back of a head of platinum blond hair.

Draco was wearing a very formal set of black robes and had recently got a much shorter haircut than she was used to seeing on him. He sat rigidly in his seat by the lawyer for the Malfoy estate. Warrington was a known lawyer, famous for defending pureblood and their customs. Draco had once played on the Slytherin Quidditch team with Warrington's son.

The hearing lasted for two hours. Harry's partner at the Auror office, Martin Laurence, stood to give additional evidence about the finding of Astoria's and Narcissa's bodies. Another Auror, a woman who had been a part of the investigation when Narcissa's body had been discovered, had spoken at the first hearing. Laurence had been present for both investigations, making him invaluable.

"The Wizengamot understands from the provided details of the investigation that Miss Greengrass's body showed signs of violation… that is, rape. Is that so, Mr. Laurence?"

There was some uncomfortable muttering amongst the Wizengamot and within the small collection of spectators. A tear rolled down Orson Greengrass's cheek.

"That is true," Laurence confirmed.

More muttering.

"What is your client's plea on this accusation, Mr. Vaisey?

"My client pleads not guilty to the sexual assault of Miss Greengrass."

"Not guilty?"

"That's what he said," Perseus spat, speaking for the first time.

"Mr. Lestrange, it is not your turn to speak…" the Chief Warlock began.

"You want a confession?" Lestrange snarled. He stood from his seat defiantly and the Azkaban guards rushed over to quell him. The gray hairs near his temples seemed to have spread from his month-long stint in Azkaban and his eyes were becoming sunken. "Here's a bloody confession: I, Perseus Lestrange, murdered Narcissa Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass... but I did not rape anyone."

Roy Vaisey buried his face in his hands as an uproar surfaced within the courtroom. "What have you done?" the attorney mouthed to his client, who remained stony-faced as he resumed his seat.

"Silence!" the Chief Warlock demanded, slamming his fist onto the podium.

The silence settled slowly, like a cloud of dust.

"Mr. Vaisey, your client has confessed to two counts of murder, though he insists he is innocent of sexual assault. We cannot arrange a sentence until we come to the bottom of this entire case. A date and time for a third hearing will be owled to you this week. For today, this court is adjourned."

Hermione breathed out deeply and her lungs screamed in relief as she sucked in fresh oxygen. Harry squeezed her hand reassuringly, "A confession is good, Hermione."

"I know," she nodded. "I don't know why I'm so nervous…"

Her breath caught in her throat again as she realized Lestrange was staring at her, his eyes as thin as slits. She tilted her chin upward and stared back, determined not to let him have the upper hand.

He spat pointedly on the ground, still making eye contact, before being led away by two Azkaban guards.

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"Sounds like a real circus," Theo merely commented, once Draco had finished sharing the details of that morning's hearing.

"I never should have let Potter get involved in my business. This was a mess to begin with… it never needed to be a legal mess, too."

Theo gingerly set a rack of blood samples onto the table of the laboratory, carefully measuring out exactly three drops from each to smear onto meticulously labeled slides. Once he'd finished the task, he turned back to his friend and eyed him critically. "I hate to say it all comes back to Houses, but Potter is a total Gryffindor: jumping in to make a move before weighing the options and then playing the holier-than-thou card when it comes to doling out revenge."

Draco remained silent where he sat on the low sofa in Theo's laboratory, his head buried in his hands.

"You okay?"

"Just dandy," Draco answered with heavy sarcasm. "Sign me up for Potter's fan club, while you're at it."

"Will do," Theo retorted. Then, crossing his arms, he prompted, "How are you going to get revenge?"

"I don't know!" Draco growled in frustration. "Lestrange is locked up in Azkaban now. It was never going to be easy, but now it's near impossible."

"The law really has no place in a blood grudge and this is why. This is about revenge, plain and simple. He started something that you need to finish."

"I'm aware," Draco snapped.

Theo looked thoughtful a moment before suggesting, "You could always kill Deimos."

Draco looked up, prepared to sneer at this notion, but the words turned to ash when he realized Theo was serious. His mouth went dry, "Deimos is… what, fifteen or sixteen?"

Theo snorted, "If you think a man like Lestrange raised his son to be an innocent at sixteen, you're an arse. Don't you remember yourself at sixteen?"

Draco shuddered. He remembered himself at sixteen with horrifying clarity. "Killing Perseus's only son and heir wouldn't make me any better than he is."

Theo cocked an eyebrow. "Since when did you care about any of that?"

Draco tried again to sneer at Theo, but the truth was, he knew exactly what had happened. He cared about it because Hermione cared about it.

"Your witch?" Theo guessed perceptively. He sighed, "Still not going to tell me who she is?"

Draco shook his head.

"Tell me about her then."

"Why?"

"There has to be some reason you'd choose to take a steaming dump on the Malfoy coat of arms and be with someone who wasn't pure. I'm dead curious."

Draco frowned as he tried to think of a way to describe Hermione, but he could only come up with disjointed thoughts and feelings that didn't seem to make much sense when he tried to string them together. "It's hard to explain. She's just…" he tried. After another moment of searching for the correct words, he gave up and shook his head.

"You've got it bad."

Scowling, he retorted, "I don't."

"I mean it, I am genuinely worried about you. If this were just all about sex, you wouldn't have missed a beat in describing some exotically beautiful woman from… I don't know, India or somewhere… some haute Italian model… something."

"Maybe we aren't having sex," Draco suggested mildly, pulling his composure together.

"Which would be even more worrying, considering the only reason you'd have taken a non-pureblood lover is for the sex during your two-year hiatus from courting. If you're not keeping her around for sex, you're in it for other reasons… and there are no good reasons for a sexless relationship with a Mudblood, or even a half-blood."

Draco grit his teeth. "Don't overstep, Theo."

"I'm only telling you this because I think you need to hear it. Remember all that discrimination against morganatic marriages that purebloods are notorious for? There's a reason for it."

"I'm not fixing to get married!" Draco shouted angrily.

Theo eyed his friend critically before turning back to his blood smears, "I hope that's true."

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The Three Broomsticks had been a popular meeting place for witches and wizards for as long as the oldest inhabitants of Hogsmeade could remember. Warm, often crowded, and a bit smoky, the atmosphere was cozy and welcoming to all.

Harry and Hermione took refuge there following that afternoon's hearing for a much-needed pick-me-up. The proceedings had been depressing and Lestrange's odd confession grim. Hermione tried to shake off the look he'd given her as he spat on the ground.

"How's Malfoy been outside of the times I've seen him?" Harry wanted to know. "He's always shuttered in court."

Hermione frowned, "He's not himself. He's dwelling, I can tell."

"Dwelling on what, exactly?"

"I'm not sure, but it frightens me a little."

"Hmm," was all Harry commented. "Ron's on his way and Ginny said she would bring Siobhan to meet us here."

"Toula should be on her way, too."

"You know, it's been almost a month since I arrested Lestrange," Harry said thoughtfully. "I sometimes wonder if he'd still be alive if I hadn't."

Hermione shuddered; she didn't have to ask what Harry had meant. The unadulterated rage Draco had exhibited following the positive result of the potion and Harry's revealed intention to take Lestrange into custody… had been frightening. His words were burned into her mind: You know nothing of the customs you're meddling with. He's my responsibility to deal with, not the law.

She had very little doubt Draco meant to murder him.

"We don't talk about it. I go to Terrazza Mosaico a couple times a week, but we don't talk about the murders at all. The closest we came was, I think, after he'd been drinking. He wanted to talk about sanctity and what that meant and if it really mattered…"

"Why do you…?" Harry began, taking note of the waiver in Hermione's voice. "Nevermind."

She chuckled, "You were going to ask why I bother seeing him."

"I don't understand it," Harry admitted.

"It's not a physical relationship, you should know that," she told him briskly. "He discusses philosophy with me, or else we read together. He's teaching me Italian."

"How's that coming along?" Harry asked blandly.

"I think I'm getting on okay. He's very patient with me."

The truth was, while Hermione was pleased Draco had kept his promise – something he seemed bent on doing in order to prove that he could – their relationship had soured somewhat, following Lestrange's arrest. She was afraid to initiate anything physical with him after their last disappointing foray, and he seemed almost uninterested in her. If it weren't for the fact that she sometimes caught him gazing at her while she read to him, or that he allowed his hand to rest on hers longer than necessary when he was teaching her Italian, she would have wondered if she'd imagined it all.

In truth, she knew what had changed, and it was the need for revenge. I don't suppose I'll ever understand purebloods and their customs, she concluded. Or want to.

"Hey, you two," Ginny greeted jovially, plopping herself ungracefully into a seat at their table. "Look what the kneazle dragged in."

Siobhan and Toula grinned and sat themselves near Ginny. Toula explained, "These two arrived just as I did."

"I was going to ask how the hearing went today, but judging from your faces, I would say it wasn't all that satisfactory," Ginny continued.

Harry shrugged, "It wasn't all bad. Lestrange pleaded guilty to murdering Narcissa and Astoria, but he claims he never committed sexual assault against the latter."

"The Greek Ministry of Magic still employs the same methods of punishment they did centuries ago, including execution," Toula put in, twisting one of her wide curls around her finger. "There were plenty of people who try to oppose those tactics, but we had a lot less crime than Britain. Most wizards wouldn't dream of sexual assault since they knew the retribution could include castration."

Harry winced. "I don't think I would wish that on anyone, even Lestrange."

Madam Rosmerta came over to their table just then to take their drink orders. Feeling it had been a stressful day and she needed something strong, Hermione ordered red currant rum. Toula, Siobhan, and Harry decided on the house mulled mead.

"Just a gillywater for me," Ginny ordered glumly.

"Remember when we were all sitting here last summer and Hermione had just got her centaur law proposal approved?" Siobhan reminisced. "It was perfect Quidditch weather, the Harpies were at the top of the league and that was my main concern."

Ginny grinned, "Things were a lot more simple then."

Siobhan nodded seriously, "That's what I'm saying. You're pregnant, Harry's trying to deal with a double-murder case, Hermione's working on house elf stuff now, and I'm considering eloping with an international Quidditch captain."

"You're considering eloping?"

"Don't get your knickers in a bunch, I'm being facetious. I only meant I haven't been able to see Viktor much because of the distance and conflicting practice schedules. I miss him."

"Well, my life is almost exactly the same as it was then," Toula announced, drinking daintily from the mead delivered to her by Madam Rosmerta, "which is how I prefer it. If you'd seen what it was like, living with my mother back in Greece, you'd be happy to be boring, too. She was always trying to marry off any of her six daughters to anyone with the right qualifications…"

"Sounds like pureblood courting," Hermione observed dryly.

"Don't think I don't know you're thinking about Draco," Toula countered, grinning. "I seem to recall you calling him an 'arrogant, pureblooded princeling' once."

"He still is," Hermione muttered into her rum, coloring all the same.

Ron showed up just as the food arrived at their table. At his side was a willowy, silver-blonde someone with a blinding smile. Hermione stiffened.

"Impeccable timing, as always, Ron," Siobhan joked. Ron's ravenous appetite was a constant source of amusement. The redhead grinned and helped himself to some of the fare, settling himself and Gabrielle in-between Harry and Toula.

"Has everyone met Gabrielle? Wait, probably not," Ron began. Hermione confirmed he must care for her quite a bit when he introduced her to everyone seated there individually, instead of tucking-in right away. She offered the girl a watery smile; she looked young, but was frustratingly good-natured and beautiful.

"How's SPEW coming along?" Ron asked Hermione through mouthfuls of food. He seemed to sense her discomfort and looked somewhat apologetic about bringing his new girlfriend into their friend circle.

"This is not S.P.E.W. anymore, Ron," Hermione sighed. "It's an actual law… and it's like trying to manually push the Hogwarts Express up a mountain through molasses."

"You don't know how lucky you are that they're interested in listening to you, though," Toula approbated. "They don't even give me the time of day and I'm not trying to do anything as radical as the change you're trying to initiate."

"Well, I did have help," Hermione pointed out.

"And you're you," Siobhan added, grinning. "Famous war heroine and all that."

Hermione looked down at her red currant rum. She knew Toula was right – she should feel lucky she was being taken seriously – but just then, there was very little else she cared about except going home and having a cup of tea, alone. The rum suddenly wasn't really to her liking... Draco's behavior the past month had been worrying her... and now Ron had introduced Gabrielle into their comfortable Three Broomsticks rendezvous. Hermione wasn't jealous anymore, but the sight of the other girl brought back unpleasant memories of the night Ron had left. That was a bruise that hadn't fully healed yet.

"I think I'm going to tuck in early for the night," she announced suddenly.

Ginny frowned, "You haven't even finished eating!"

Hermione shrugged and put a few sickles down on the table – more than enough to pay for her drink and food – and reiterated firmly, "Good night. See you tomorrow, Toula. Thanks for taking me with you today, Harry."

She Disapparated with a 'pop'.

Ginny rounded on Harry, "What was that about?"

Harry stole a sidelong glance at Ron, who had the good graces to look guilty. "No idea," said Harry.

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Remember all that discrimination against morganatic marriages that purebloods are notorious for? There's a reason for it.

Theo's words bit like a knife. Draco's mind couldn't be farther from marriage after the fiasco with Astoria, but the sentiment behind the words still bothered him a good deal. He'd gone home to try finding oblivion at the bottom of a bottle.

You're a fool, he chided himself, even if you were as far gone as Theo seems to think you already are… Hermione Granger would never want to tie herself to someone like you.

Draco regarded himself in the mirror. He didn't think his closely-cropped hairstyle suited him very well, but it had been a necessary move. The Wizengamot wouldn't be able to help comparing him to Lucius and that was not an association Draco wanted to have to deal with again, so soon.

Yanking up his sleeve, he stared at the Dark Mark with distaste, the tang of bile pushing onto the back of his throat. He wasn't going to vomit, but he would almost have liked to. The faded grey lines of the aged tattoo were a symbol for the soulless hierarchy he had once ascribed to.

He hated the thing. He tried not to look at it whenever possible, tried to hide it under long sleeves of shirts, even in the summer. Draco had even attempted to remove the image from his skin using magical means, but it seemed nothing could erase the evil that marked him for life… he would probably have to cut off his arm for it to disappear forever.

Surely not the whole arm, he contemplated. Maybe just a part of it.

Draco tilted his head to the side as he contemplated the disfigurement from a new angle he hadn't thought of before. The skull stared up blankly through empty eye sockets as if determined to make itself a lesson in ruthlessness. The mouth vomited the writhing snake, which imparted a violent energy.

Yanking his entire shirt off, Draco grabbed a bottle of bourbon that had been resident on his nightstand. His feet moved on their own, out of his chambers and down the labyrinth of corridors he knew better than the back of his hand.

He came to a stop in front of a portrait of Lucius that had been painted when Draco was twelve. The long, platinum hair tied back with a black cord, the proud angle of his eyebrows, the disdainful way the man seemed to look down his nose at Draco… was just as he remembered his father.

"I am cutting this away," Draco informed the portrait, slightly slurring his words and gesturing to the ugly mark on his arm.

"That would be unwise," the portrait of Lucius answered, looking merely polite as if Draco had insinuated it might rain.

"I don't care. You were wrong to get involved with the Dark Lord. You were wrong about me."

His feet continued down the hall on their own, barely registering where they were going. The corridor was spinning slightly, both from Draco's intoxication and the tears blurring his eyes. He came to a halt before the door of the armory and the hinges groaned with disuse as he pushed it open.

You can do this, he thought desperately as he took in the room, decorated with weaponry from many ages. He corrected himself, willing himself to feel the conviction, You have to do this.