28.

It was with a heavy heart that Harry put Anna on the train the following morning. He'd had a relatively good time the night before, drawn into the Twelfth Night celebrations by Draco and Remus who tried valiantly to lift Harry's spirits in the face of rejection from his family, but nothing really served as a panacea for his wounded spirit. He was furious with the Weasleys. How dare they belittle his engagement! It was the single most poignant experience of his life; of course he'd want to share it with his best friends and family. He was beginning to wonder, though, if he could really call Hermione and Ron his best friends anymore. The last few months of discord had taken their toll on his relationship with the couple. Constantly being treated like a child rankled. And he was so very tired of disapproving glares, and nagging, and moral instruction as though he lacked all common sense, or only possessed a modicum of intelligence. He'd risen through the Auror ranks on his own merits, had made Captain even! He couldn't claim such achievement if he were an idiot. Yet, they insisted on treating him like a simpleton. And now he'd have to face them again before he was anywhere near ready. Pre-trial procedures were scheduled for the entire day. He'd owled an irate Kingsley that he'd be late so he could see Anna off, but he couldn't linger here at the station. He was already testing Kingsley's limits.

"Hey, are you all right?" Draco asked solicitously, stroking hir fingers down Harry's forearm as Anna waved furiously from the window of her cabin. Her friends joined her blowing kisses and flapping their arms as the train slowly pulled down the tracks.

Harry blinked and refocused, he'd been lost in his thoughts and staring into the middle distance. He brought his hand up to cover Draco's and sighed. "I will be. It just gets to be too much sometimes."

Draco nodded with understanding. "Granger and the Weasel will come around, Harry. You've struggled through things that would've driven others with less character and determination apart. You're strong people and it shows in your stubbornness. But they're stubborn about their care for you. This is just another bump in the road."

"I hope you're right," he gently squeezed the gloved hand beneath his. "But I'm afraid of what will happen if you're not. They've been my best friends since I was eleven years old. They were my very first friends, and I just don't see us getting through this if they're not willing to come around to my point of view."

Harry sighed again, huffing out his frustration and melancholy. "They're so sure they know what's best for me, and have always supposed I'd meet their expectations, live up to the image of me they'd created. Somehow along the way, they forgot that I'm my own man. That I can't always be who they want, or act on the plans they have for me.

"You know that's part of the problem, right?" He draped his arm over Draco's shoulders and tucked hir into his side as they slowly walked toward the exit. "They want me to live the fairy tale ending with Ginny as the heroine. And they and Mum Weasley have filled her head with who knows what, even though I never encouraged anything after the war. I realised that I was looking at Ginny as a stable anchor to the Weasley family instead of a young woman with her own personality and desires. We never would have worked out. She saw me as the hero of her childhood dreams, not a man loaded down with fears and insecurities trying to find his place in the world. Plus," he looked down with a fond smile for his lover, "we didn't Resonate with each other, not even a spark. Hell," Harry raked his free hand through his hair, "if Magic itself doesn't think we'd make a good match, why does it seem as though everyone else thinks we should. We have nothing in common besides a love for Quidditch and the Weasley family!"

Hir arm now slung around Harry's waist Draco drew even closer to the bewildered Auror. "It's hard to let go of a dream, Harry. You have to give them time. They're finally going to have to see you, hear you, and trust in the man that you are. I don't think they've ever seen you as capable. You've always been the lost urchin in too-big clothes trying to find his way onto the platform to them. It takes some doing to re-arrange one's worldview. But they have strong motivation to do it."

"You think so?"

"They love you. It won't happen overnight, but they'll eventually remember what that means, and give you the respect you deserve.

"Now come on, let's get you to the Ministry before Shacklebolt forgets that he likes you."

Harry laughed a bit. "He won't sack me before Sunderland gets me in the witness box. But you're right that I don't want to push him. Sunderland will probably be finished with you before me, so I'll see you at home later?"

"Yes, I should be finished in an hour or so, according to what Sunderland's people told Mark. I have a meeting with Gertrude Banks at Moon Frog about the Spring collection, and then I'm off to the Isis. We've arranged a show for your old housemate Dean Thomas and he's meeting Diana Cross and me today to hash out the final details."

"Dean? Really? That's fantastic! I knew his career was finally taking off, but I had no idea he'd built up the kind of cachet needed for a show at the Isis."

Draco nodded. "He really is quite gifted. Shame it's taken so long for the art world to recognise an artist of his calibre, but, as they say, better late than never."

Having reached the bank of Floos in the protected part of King's Cross the couple said their farewells. Draco had to Floo to the public access Floo corridor at the Ministry, while Harry would Floo directly to the Auror department where it was likely Chief Prosecutor Bruce Sunderland and Kingsley would be impatiently waiting.

Hours, and hours, and hours later, having gone over his deposition and endured a mock questioning by Sunderland's assistant prosecutor Harry was ready to go home, stuff his face with Helene's superb cooking, snuggle with his lover, and sink into their new bed (after writing to Anna, of course). He was on his way to the Auror Floo portal when Hermione called out to him. "Harry, wait!"

It had been a long day. Harry sighed, and it was looking to get even longer. He turned warily. "Yes, Hermione?"

"Do you have some time? Ron and I...well, we'd like to talk to you, clear the air."

Harry nodded and paced her as they made their way back to the office he now shared with Ron. It had never been a large space, and now with two desks, filing cabinets, Ron's clutter, and Harry's never ending pile of paperwork it was a tight fit for the three of them. Harry sat behind his desk while Hermione transfigured a simple folding chair from a paperclip. Harry steepled his fingers as his friends passed looks between each other, each trying to prod the other into speaking first. Fed up, Hermione huffed and turned from her husband to face Harry.

"About last night..."

"What about it?" Harry asked tightly. He wasn't prepared to give an inch.

"Look, Harry," Ron stepped in, "You have to understand where we're coming from. You show up, after blowing us off for the holidays, and drop a bum on us."

"Bomb, Ron, it's bomb. And, yes, Harry, you have to know that we had no idea what to think. This is all very sudden and out of character for you. You've been acting oddly for months now. Your focus on Malfoy has become more and more obsessive. You spend all your time with hir, and hardly see us outside of work. You must see how that would be worrisome. We only want the best for you, Harry, and this...flirtation with Malfoy is very troubling. Sie's no good for you. We've heard about what happened in Iscariot's cave. You completely lost control, and that just points to how Malfoy is a destabilising influence. Sie's no good, Harry, and the sooner you come to your senses the sooner we can put this all behind us.

"And if," she sighed, "if you really don't want to be with Ginny anymore, then we—"

"Shut up, Hermione." Harry laced his fingers together and turned a cold, flat stare on his so-called friend.

"Wh- excuse me?"

"No, you are not excused," Harry's voice was coolly detached. "You are a pathetic, condescending bitch is what you are at this moment."

"Hey now!" Ron stood up.

"Sit down and shut it, Ron," Harry said in the same eerie voice.

His friends stared back; they were utterly shocked that he'd turned that tone of voice on them.

"For months now, I've been telling you about my feelings for Draco, and I cannot believe we're having this conversation again. It's gotten so old, it's dust by now. I've told you time and time again that you'd have to come to accept Draco as my choice. You've paid lip service then gone behind my back and done Merlin knows what to encourage Ginny and Molly. You've dismissed me as being childish and naive. You've turned away from me when I needed you to support me and understand me. You say you 'only want the best for me?' What patronising shite!

"You've betrayed me and our friendship so completely that I don't know what to even call our relationship anymore. You've discounted everything I've told you about Draco, my changed views on the Renaissance Foundation, and my commitment to changing the Wizarding world for the better. And what's worse, you took the announcement of the best and most profound moment of my entire life and made it seem like something I should be ashamed of, something to ignore, or justify away. I can't trust you to hear me, to see the man I am. I can't trust you to believe me, or believe in me. I can't trust you at all. And that's not friendship."

Harry stood, turned away from the gawping couple, and swirled his cloak around his shoulders. "Until, you can truly accept me, and my choices, and show your support, then we have nothing left to say to each other."

Fat tears spilled down Hermione's cheeks. "Oh, Harry, how can you even—"

He turned his face away and held up his hand as though warding off a blow. "Nothing left to say to one another." He swept into the hallway, shoulders tight, lips pursed, eyes full of heartbreak.

"Objection, Honourable Elders! My esteemed colleague is leading the witness!"

Harry nearly hung his head in frustration. It had been like this all morning. Iscariot's counsel, the infamous Gavin Chase, offered interjections nearly every other sentence. At this rate, Harry was sure he'd be testifying until tomorrow. As head of the task force and lead investigator Chief Prosecutor Sunderland was relying on Harry to lay out the case, describe the victims, and detail for the Wizengamot the means by which Aurors had captured the defendant, but it was proving impossible to lay out a cohesive account with Chase objecting to nearly everything. And Harry was tired. He'd gone home and talked over "The Golden Trio's" falling out with Draco, curled into his lover and cried for what felt like hours. He was still in mourning, and had lost nearly all hope of reconciliation. Draco had cradled him, consoled him, and told him again not to give up. The mage knew how very important Harry's friends were to his well-being and happiness, and Harry could only wish that Ron and Hermione had an ounce of Draco's compassion and insight.

So tired, heartsick, and soul weary he'd made his way to courtroom 5 where the entire Wizengamot had convened. The upper gallery was near bursting with people – nothing caught the public's attention like prospect of a salacious trial, and Iscariot's was guaranteed to fill the house. Reporters from dozens of media outlets from across the globe stretched over the railings, their recording cubes dangling below the balustrade. The lower gallery was also packed, each seat filled by friends and family of the people murdered by maniacal zealot.

The courtroom was so full, in fact, that the first order of business had been a silencing ward cast over the upper and lower galleries to prevent disruptive outbursts. The witnesses were, of course, sequestered until they were called, but the list of witnesses for the prosecution and the defence were public record and there were quite a few of Malfoy Manufacturing's competitors and busybodies from the more elite social circles in attendance hoping to see the young magnate brought low as sie recounted hir captivity. They were bound for disappointment as Harry was sure his lover would never provide such a spectacle.

At the moment, however, Harry was contemplating leaning over the rail and strangling Chase with his cravat. How would that be for spectacle? I can see the headlines now – Defence Counsel's Demise: Boy-Who-Lived Lauded a Hero...Again!

"...is that correct, Auror Potter?"

Harry jerked to attention. "I'm sorry counsellor would you repeat that?"

Sunderland pursed his lips in annoyance, his caterpillar-like moustache trembling above his mouth. "I asked whether the defendant's magical signature is a match to the signatures recovered from the scenes of these horrific crimes?"

"Oh, uh, yes. The defendant's magical signature is identical to those lifted from the crime scenes. In fact –"

"Objection! Honourable Elders, please instruct the witness not to offer unsolicited opinions or conjecture."

Harry huffed a breath. "I was going to offer an additional fact and inform the Honourable assembly that the defendant's magical signature was also retrieved at the scene of Auror Weasley and Finnegan's assault, where Anderson agent Nick Thomas was killed. The signature retrieved at the site was conclusively matched to the defendant."

"Objection overruled," intoned Milton Dewhurst, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. "You may continue, Chief Prosecutor Sunderland."

"We have no further questions at this time, my Lord."

"Very well then. Counsellor Chase have you any questions for this witness?"

A shark-toothed grin blossomed on the defence counsel's face and Harry fought the urge to fidget or loosen his collar. He reminded himself that he'd faced down more dangerous opponents and come out ahead. Hell, he'd faced Voldemort and lived (and lived, and lived, and lived...) Chase shouldn't pose a problem.

As Harry expected, the defence counsel questioned him on every point of fact entered into evidence so far. He cast aspersions on Harry's investigative prowess and the objectivity of his team, called on Harry to account for every residue match on items retrieved from both New Horizons and Iscariot's cave, and that led to the subject Harry was most dreading.

"Auror Potter, is it your habit to use intimidation tactics to elicit confessions from suspects?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Then how do you account for the so-called 'confession' your investigators coerced from my client?"

"I stand behind the methods of interrogation employed by the Aurors under my command during this investigation. I have reviewed the interview held with Mr. Iscariot," Harry bit out the loathsome name, "both the transcripts and the pensieve memories. Nothing was done or said that falls beyond the purview of the Ministry standards for interrogation."

"So threatening my client with the apparition of a violent and massive snake is standard procedure? Inducing terror is standard procedure?"

"No. But Mr. Iscariot was not threatened by anyone or anything during his interrogation and subsequent confession."

"Oh no? Permission to approach the witness, my Lord?"

Dewhurst nodded and Chase brought a sheaf of parchment to Harry. "Auror Potter, please read the highlighted section aloud to the court."

"As I approached the suspect, known as Judas Iscariot, my magic manifested as a large black snake and scored the suspect as he was attempting to strike Mer. Draco Malfoy with a whip."

"Those are your own words, taken from the report filed at the close of your investigation, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And yet, you maintain that my client was not terrorised? That the manifestation of your magic did not inspire such fear that my client would have said or done anything to prevent another assault?"

"I don't see what one has to do with the other. My magic manifested at the cave where your client was arrested. The interrogation happened at the Ministry after I left the scene to bring Mer. Malfoy to St. Mungo's. I was not present during the actual interrogation so I posed no threat to your client. My magic posed no threat to your client at the time of his interrogation."

"And was he aware that you were not present? Do you suppose he might have feared another attack if he did not 'admit' responsibility for the crimes he is accused of?"

"I don't know whether he was aware of my presence or absence from the scene of his interrogation. And I cannot offer an opinion on what he may or may not have believed. I can only say again, that I stand by the interrogation techniques employed by Auror Pendleton."

Harry could see when Chase realised that this line of questioning was getting him nowhere and almost anticipated the change of course. The man stalked away from Harry to slap the report down on the table then pivoted dramatically. "What caused your magic to manifest so virulently, Auror Potter?"

Harry wasn't impressed. He'd had six years of study with Severus Snape. Chase had nothing on the Potion Master's ability to snap his robes around and intimidate with sheer presence. "I cannot say for certain. Such powerful manifestations of magic are rare and my response was categorised as Temporary Battlerage Psychosis."

"Battle rage...does that mean you were angry Auror Potter?"

"Yes," Harry answered shortly, gritting his teeth.

"Why were you angry?"

Harry heaved an internal sigh. This was the tricky part, and he'd rehearsed a similar scenario with Sunderland's assistant yesterday. The key was to underplay the information if possible.

"Your client was about to hurt another innocent victim. I was angry that Mer. Malfoy had been targeted and injured.

"And were you especially worried for Mer. Malfoy?"

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

"Given the photographs gracing the Daily Prophet in the last few months I am curious to know just what is your exact relationship to Mer. Malfoy, Auror Potter?"

Bloody hell.

"We are..." Harry drew in a deep breath. In for a knut, in for a galleon. Besides, I am not ashamed of us. "Mer. Malfoy and I are engaged to be married."

Chase abruptly stopped in front of the witness stand, and for the briefest of moments Harry took pleasure in having shocked the irksome solicitor speechless. "I-I'm sorry, could you repeat your last statement, Auror Potter."

Harry smirked. "I said Mer. Malfoy and I are engaged to be married."

Chase blinked. "You're lovers!" He exclaimed triumphantly after a moment.

"We are betrothed."

Harry raised his eyes to the upper gallery and noted the chaos among the bank of reporters. Some were jockeying to get to the door. Others were checking the lines of their recording cubes; a few more were standing looking shell-shocked. Well, there's one for the society pages. He smiled inwardly. He and Draco had discussed the possibility of their engagement being made public during the trial. He hadn't expected it to come out on the first day, but they'd done nothing wrong; they were proud of their relationship and didn't care who knew of their love for each other. Harry imagined Blaise would have some spin control to do this afternoon though.

"So you specifically targeted my client because of your personal relationship to the supposed victim?"

"I did not target your client. My magic responded to a situation where someone I love was being threatened. And Mer. Malfoy was certainly your client's victim. There's no 'supposed' about it. Hir injuries were well documented at St. Mungo's."

Chase waved off Harry's statement, batting his hand in the air as though he could shoo away the truth the same as he would a bothersome fly. Now that he had an opening he pummelled Harry trying to trick him into revealing more about his relationship to Draco. He argued with Harry, trying to make it seem as though Harry focussed the investigation on Iscariot out of some unfathomable jealousy over the other man's 'innocent' interest in his lover. He refused to say betrothed, wanting to portray their relationship as scandalous, and maybe perverse. He argued that all the evidence in question was now suspect based on Harry's personal investment in the outcome of the investigation and trial. Chase went on and on, and around and around, but he wasn't able to shake Harry.

Finally, Dewhurst called a recess for lunch. Harry stepped down from the witness stand and approached the prosecutor's table. "It's going well. You're doing fine, despite the bombshell you dropped up there" Sunderland assured him.

"It was bound to come out sooner or later," Harry shrugged. "At least I won't have to deal with the reporters yet."

"I wouldn't count on that," Sunderland's assistant prosecutor Mirabella Klaas interrupted having sped up the aisle. "There's a feeding frenzy in the corridor. I'd take the side exit if I were you. The silencing ward doesn't extend that far and it really is pandemonium."

Harry offered her a wry smile. "Thanks." He turned to Sunderland, "We have an hour?"

"Yes, but don't go too far. And remember that the Wizengamot may question you directly after Chase has had his turn."

The Wizengamot did, in fact, question Harry once Chase had finished trying to score points off of him. Mostly, they wanted to know more about his engagement, but again Harry was reticent with his answers. As the Boy-Who-Lived he might be a public figure, but he was still entitled to some privacy. A few questions returned to the victims, specifically, they wanted to hear about the lives of the people taken before their time. It was evident they were trying to individualise the crimes. Iscariot was on trial for ten counts of murder, but every single victim deserved to be remembered, each of them deserved justice.

Six days later after all testimony was heard and all evidence examined the Wizengamot pronounced Peter Lazarus, aka Judas Iscariot, aka Jude Cariot guilty of all charges. He was sentenced to death by hanging following the Dementor's kiss. In the words of Chief Warlock Dewhurst, "As you have split bodies from souls, so shall you be torn asunder. Your body left to rot, and your soul consumed by demons as even hell is too good for the likes of you." Guards from Azkaban led the sobbing man from the courtroom, and closed the door on his pleas for God to save him from the heathens.

The tale that had come out of his lengthy testimony was a sad example of abuse, and twisted morality. Mary Martha Lazarus, whose true name was never discovered, was a Muggleborn witch who hated her talents. She was convinced that magic was evil, a sign of possession. She found solace in the church and became a nun, but she wasn't able to hide her occasional outbursts of accidental magic from her superiors. An exorcism was performed on her and the experience further warped her damaged psyche.

She turned to deprivation and corporal punishment to redeem herself from the "sin of possessing magic," offering up her suffering for the glory of God. When an infant boy was abandoned on the steps of the nunnery she decided he had been delivered to her as a second chance – an opportunity to raise an innocent in the path of her Lord. She named him Peter, as he would be her rock, and shared with him the surname Lazarus which she'd taken for herself. When she noticed strange happenings in the boy's vicinity she knew that he was similarly afflicted and trained him in the same methods she used to govern her own magic. When he was seven another nun, a witch, came to the convent. Sister Judith taught Mary Martha simple spells and apparition, as she'd believed Wizarding travel was a means of "spreading the Good News." Mary Martha embraced her teachings and made wands for her and Peter from dogwood soaked in holy water using threads from liturgical vestments as their cores. The next year another child was left at the nunnery, this one a girl. Mary Martha named her Anne, and this child too bore the affliction of magic.

When Peter turned 10 the Mother Superior deemed him too old to continue living within the cloister and so Mary Martha chose to leave with her son and daughter and embark on a career of proselytising. She settled with her children in Hogsmeade and began New Horizons Press with money given her by the Mother Superior. They lived according to Mary Martha's dictates, devoted to their calling for many years. According to Peter/Judas shortly after Anne turned 17 a demon possessed her body and twisted it in unnatural ways. He and his mother prayed for Anne to be delivered from the malignance bedevilling her, but their prayers were not strong enough to lift the plague. Their only recourse was to beat the demon from Anne's accursed body. His sister endured great pain to be freed from the prison of her twisted flesh he testified. Finally, it fell to him to excise the corruption, which he did using a spell his mother found in an old tome in the cellar of their home. He felt as though he'd betrayed Anne by not counting on her piety and perseverance, but he had also delivered her into her destiny, and that day he named himself Judas Iscariot.

His "sainted" mother died a few years later and on the day he buried her he came across a Daily Prophet. He read about others whose bodies had been perverted, but rather than hide themselves in shame and pray for deliverance they were flaunting their perversion! Claiming that they were normal and valuable members of society! Judas then knew what he must do.

Gavin Chase presented his client's testimony as proof of "obvious mental instability," but the Wizengamot discounted that argument. Though Judas claimed his actions were justified, the Elders held no sympathy for his plight and sentenced him in accordance with Wizarding law.

Seated in the lower gallery, Harry held Draco tightly. "It's over. It's finally over."

From across the aisle Aubrey Blackforge caught hir eye. Sie was sitting with hir husband and surviving children. Light from the torches of the chamber glinted off the golden hoop in the cartilage of hir left ear.

Draco nodded to hir and sighed against Harry's shoulder. "For some of us, Harry, it will never be over."