"Do you, Harry Potter, being of sound mind and judgement, consent to questioning under the influence of Veritaserum before the Wizengamot?"

Despite the lingering dark circles under his eyes and the pallor of his face, Potter looked far more at ease than Draco had felt in his turn under the influence of the Wizarding World's most powerful truth serum during the first trial. The Head Auror took the small vial of clear potion from Weasley.

"Yes, I do."

He drank it without hesitation and handed the vial back to Weasley. Draco wondered if this was something Potter had to do often, or whether it was simply that he trusted Weasley and Granger to make sure nothing untoward happened while his ability to remain silent was compromised. He sat straight upright at the witness stand, alert but to all appearances unconcerned as Granger rose to her feet to question him.

"Mr. Potter, please state your full name for the record."

"My name is Harry James Potter."

"Mr. Potter, what is the exact nature of the evidence you intend to present?"

"I intend to testify to what I learned yesterday from the interrogation of a Dementor. Ronald Weasley, myself, and three Auror teams captured a Dementor with Patronus charms and conducted the interrogation."

"To be clear," Granger said, "did you, personally, conduct the interrogation?"

"I did."

Draco tried not to imagine what such an interrogation would consist of. It would have to be an even more trying experience for the interrogator than for the interrogated. And how was it even possible? Although he knew that Ministry control of Dementors, followed by the Dark Lord's control later on, had certainly necessitated communication with the creatures, he had never stopped to think much about how that communication occurred. Could Dementors talk? He had never heard of such a thing, and thought it unlikely. But Granger was already continuing, so he left off the train of thought to listen.

"The interrogation of a Dementor is hardly a routine part of an investigation. For what reason did you attempt the interrogation?"

"It was the only lead we had left to identify a motive or instigator for the attack," Potter said. "We had no suspects. The only source of information we had was the Dementors themselves."

Dawlish snorted loudly at the words 'no suspects.' No one paid him any mind; even Draco was too engrossed in the ongoing interview to notice.

"And how can you be sure that the information you received was correct?"

"I did not rely on its willingness to give up information," Potter said. "The Ministry has long employed a method of communication with Dementors that is dependent on a variant of Legilimency taught only to Unspeakables…and a few others, such as myself. My Aurors held the Dementor with Patronus charms, which allowed me to be somewhat more…forceful in my interrogation that an Unspeakable would typically be in communication with a Dementor. I refer to the past, of course—the Ministry has not dealt directly with Dementors in over a decade, but Unspeakables are still trained in that variant of Legilimency since it has more applications than the one."

The answer had wandered. The preparations for this trial had been almost literally last-minute, and that showed in the lack of specificity of Granger's question. Last time, every query had been meticulously worded to assure, as much as possible, that each reply would contain exactly what was needed and no more. Granger seemed content for Potter to continue as long as the Veritaserum forced him onward, but Draco noticed that Weasley had tensed in his seat and was watching Potter closely. Answering the question seemed to have cost something of the Head Auror, for he had grown visibly paler as he spoke of the interrogation.

"Mr. Potter, I understand that you have prepared a statement summarizing the information you obtained during the interrogation, along with background relevant to this trial. Is that correct?"

"Yes, it is."

"And this statement represents the best of your knowledge on the attack, and is entirely accurate to what you learned from the interrogation?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"You may proceed with your statement," Granger said, and then went on, giving Potter time for a deep breath and a quick sip of water, "I will remind the court that since Mr. Potter is under the influence of Veritaserum, he is incapable of lying, whether or not he is responding to a direct question."

There were a few curt nods among the Wizengamot, but it was clear that their attention was riveted on Potter. A few of the older members leaned forward or adjusted spectacles, as if that would help them to hear better.

"Thirteen years ago," Potter began, and though monotone his voice was now measured in pace, "Tom Riddle promised Dementors and other Dark creatures the ability to prey freely on his enemies, in exchange for the loyalty of these creatures. Obviously, this never came about. But the Dementors waited, because they remembered another time when Riddle disappeared, but came back stronger than ever. But this year marks the thirteenth since Riddle's death. Last time he appeared to be dead, he was gone—physically, at least—for thirteen years. If he were coming back, the Dementors believe, it should have happened by now.

"So Riddle is gone, and he never kept his promise to the Dementors and their Magical cousins, the Lethifolds. Lethifolds are fortunately extinct in this country, but Riddle had planned to re-introduce part of the Bulgarian population here, most likely into London. Although he never had the opportunity to do so, he did negotiate with them. But now, having waited for thirteen years for Riddle's promises to be fulfilled, the Dementors and Lethifolds will wait no longer. If they cannot have the prey Riddle promised in the form of his enemies, then they will take what remains of his allies: the former Death Eaters."

A ripple of whispers swept like a gentle breeze around the room. Dawlish, standing across from Granger, glared up at Potter as if he'd been somehow tricked.

"On July third of this year, Gregory Goyle was killed by a Bulgarian Lethifold. Two days later, a group of Dementors descended on Hogsmeade with Draco Malfoy as their target. However, Neville Longbottom was able to keep them off with his Patronus charms, and only one person, Cressida Steward, received the Dementor's Kiss. The Dementor I interrogated could not tell me why she was Kissed of all the people in Hogsmeade, but Dementors' physical senses are quite poor and it is possible that her close proximity to Malfoy for an extended time just before the attack somehow caused them to mistake her for Malfoy, although that's certainly up for debate."

"I told you it was Malfoy!" Dawlish cried fiercely, unable to contain his anger. "He caused the attack! Potter's as good as admitted it!"

"Silence!" the old wizard with the squeaky voice cried. Across the room, Weasley had drawn his wand and was pointing it at Dawlish, looking up to Bagman for permission. The harassed head of the Wizengamot shook his head violently, but did intervene, although he had to speak over Potter's continuing narrative.

"Minister Dawlish, I must ask you to remain silent!"

"…decided it would be prudent to place Malfoy under witness protection, since it was the second Dark creature attack involving a former Death Eater within three days," Potter was saying. "Yesterday a third attack, this time involving Marcus Flint, who received the Dementor's Kiss, occurred shortly before my interrogation, and in addition several Dementors surrounded the location where Malfoy was staying. Their ability to locate former Death Eaters seems to be related to the Dark Mark, and though I have my suspicions I do not know exactly how.

"The results of my interrogation confirmed that the Dementors are acting of their own accord to hunt down former Death Eaters, and that Malfoy did not call them or in any way intentionally summon them to Hogsmeade, although strictly speaking they did gather due to his presence in the area. All former Death Eaters that my department has been able to contact have been notified of the danger, and we are working to provide them what protection we can until a more permanent solution is found. I don't know if we will be able to find a solution. However, I do know that Draco Malfoy is innocent of all wrongdoing with regard to the Dementor attack on Hogsmeade."

Potter's story came to a halt, and Dawlish, who had been restraining himself with the greatest difficulty, sprang back into the fray. "You admit that the Dementors were there for Malfoy? So he did summon them—"

"Yes, the Dementors were there for Malfoy," Potter said. "They were there to attack him, and he was neither intentionally causing them to gather nor even aware that they were coming."

"That doesn't make him innocent!" Dawlish shouted. "He chose to have that Mark put on his arm, and now you're saying that's what drew the Dementors. So it was his choice—premeditated, even—the decision may have been a long time ago, but it's still killing people!"

Draco felt so sick and faint that he had to momentarily close his eyes, for he knew that the Minister was not wrong. Draco might never have intended to bring down a pack of hunting Dementors onto the innocent village, but he himself was far from innocent. It was his choices that had led to this, regardless of the minutia of how it had happened.

"Mr. Potter," the wheezy voice asked, and though Draco's eyes were still closed he could picture Elphias Doge scowling thoughtfully over his spectacles, "you said you had your suspicions about how the Dark Mark may attract Dementors? It occurs to me that this may be important. What are your suspicions? Could there possibly be an element of choice in the matter, as when You-Know-Who used the Mark to communicate with the Death Eaters?"

"I don't believe there's any choice in the matter," Potter said. "We know that Dementors can sense a person's soul, so my suspicion is that the Dark Mark causes some manner of identifiable alteration or scarring to the soul. This would also fit with other Magical techniques Tom Riddle was known to use."

Draco expected the Wizengamot to break into a round of horrified mutterings, but they remained silent.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter."

There was a momentary pause, and Draco opened his eyes again, still swallowing back the nauseous surge of hatred for himself. Granger was looking around the room to see if anyone else had questions, and Dawlish trembled visibly with anger.

"Mrs. Weasley, a question for you, if I may?"

"Of course, Mr. Doge," Granger agreed. Doge set down the quill with which he had been taking notes and tapped his fingers musingly on the desk before him.

"Mr. Potter has provided convincing evidence, especially given the fact that he is under Veritaserum, and I fail to see at this point how anyone in this room could truly suspect Mr. Malfoy of the crimes of which he stands accused. However, I do not like to leave holes in a case, especially such an important one as this, and there is a hole that Mr. Potter's testimony has not filled. If Mr. Malfoy did not commit this crime, then surely there must be an alternative explanation for his personal and especially financial dealings with Mr. Finnigan than the explanation this court has already heard from Minister Dawlish. Would you please provide this explanation?"

Draco could feel Granger's reluctance, although he knew she was more than prepared to answer the question. The truth was, after all, a rather personal matter to him, and that made it more fairly his question to answer.

"Mr. Doge," he heard himself say before he had quite decided to do so, "with your permission, may I speak to your question?"

The eyes of the entire court were on Draco as Doge nodded his surprised consent.

"A number of weeks ago, my son was very sick," Draco said, no more comfortable saying it despite the number of times he had already had to unwillingly disclose this story. "Healer Finnigan chose to use Muggle medicine when Magical healing failed. He saved my son's life. When I found out that he wanted to investigate bringing Muggle medicine into St. Mungos for general use, I offered to fund it. If it helped my son…" The words tasted sour in his mouth. Draco had spent most of his life thinking of Muggles with disgust or at least contempt, even after the war. But now, if ever, was the time to swallow down the arrogance that threatened to choke him. "…then maybe it could help other people, too."

"A charitable donation?" Dawlish sneered. "That's a very likely story…I suppose that donation required Finnigan to make private house calls…"

"Mr. Potter, do you have any reason whatsoever to doubt Mr. Malfoy's story?" Doge asked, ignoring the irate Minister. Potter's intense green gaze met Draco's eyes, forcing him to look quickly away.

"No," Potter said. "I have no reason at all to doubt him."

"And in your professional opinion, is there any possible way that Draco Malfoy could have been connected to the Dementor attack, other than in the manner you have already described?"

"No. Only in the way I described."

"In that case," Elphias Doge announced to the court, "I, for one, am entirely satisfied with Draco Malfoy's innocence…unless, of course, Minister Dawlish wishes to make the argument that the testimony of the Head Auror of the Ministry of Magic, under Veritaserum, is somehow inadmissible? Mr. Bagman, shall we put it to a vote? Those in favor of acquittal?"

And as Bagman spluttered in confusion and the Minister of Magic turned a shade of red that hardly seemed possible for a human face to attain, Draco watched in shock as every single member of the Wizengamot raised a hand in favor of his exoneration.

"Congratulations," Potter said. Much of the tension evident in his face throughout the past two weeks had melted away, and Draco saw that he looked genuinely pleased though exhausted. "You're a free man."

Draco knew he should feel happy with the result, but he didn't. He was relieved, to be sure, but with the diffusion of the immediate fear of being wrongly convicted, the thought now pressed in on him stronger than ever that this shouldn't have happened in the first place. Had this been a victory at all? Perhaps, at least in the sense that he wasn't going to prison; but the fact that prejudice and circumstance had escalated his position from near-victim of a crime, to the accused on trial, eviscerated the pleasure he should have felt. This supposed victory was only a scramble to dig out of a hole that should never have opened before him in the first place.

And now, all he had was this hollow victory with which to return to an empty home that was not his own, to try his best to raise his son without the woman he loved, all while locked up for his own safety as others to whom he already owed his life several times over searched for a way to free him from the burden of his own sins.

Granger was smiling, and even Weasley looked satisfied, but Draco felt a creeping sense of emptiness consuming him. All he wanted was to sleep, and not to wake until this whole nightmare from beginning to end had melted away and he could awaken beside Astoria and watch her laugh as he related the strange roamings of his unconscious imagination. But that could never happen. All he had now was the image of her dying moments branded into his vision every time he closed his eyes. The only thing that remained of Astoria was his memory, and her son.

Draco found himself filled with an overwhelming desire to see Scorpius. If anything could restore even the smallest corner of the crumbled remains of his life, surely it would be his son.

"Elphias Doge wants to speak with you, if you're willing," Granger said, but Draco barely heard her.

"I just want to see my son," he said, sounding every bit as exhausted as he felt.

After taking the Veritaserum antidote that Weasley provided to him, Potter escorted Draco back to Grimmauld Place as soon as they were able to break free of the swarming chaos. Draco could still hear Dawlish railing furiously as they left the courtroom. The Minister hadn't needed to be restrained yet, and probably had the sense not to become violent, but Weasley stayed behind just in case. The corridor outside was full, too, and for the first time it occurred to Draco to wonder about the publicity of the trial. He had not seen a copy of any Wizarding newspaper in weeks, and had been too busy preparing for the trial to think much about it.

"Let us through, please," Potter said mildly, as the curious onlookers began to toss questions around like confetti. The way opened quickly—Potter was holding his wand—and Draco followed the Auror through to his office. Two young Aurors had to jump up and rush to prevent the crowd outside from pressing through the front doors of the Auror Department.

"Better to avoid the main atrium," Potter said thoughtfully, and with an easy flick of his wand he lit a fire in the hearth. "My office is in the Floo network. Andromeda will meet you at Grimmauld Place with Scorpius. I'll come by later…there's still a lot we have to talk about."

But right now, Draco had neither the will nor the energy to think about anything other than staying on his feet. He had been running on adrenaline more than anything else, he realized now, and although the relief from tension would eventually be welcome, it felt more at this moment as if the only thing holding him upright had been jerked away. He scooped a handful of green powder from the small bowl of it that Potter held out and flung it onto the flames. Seconds later, the familiar kitchen of Grimmauld Place spun into view and Draco stepped out onto the stone floor.

"Hi, Daddy!" Scorpius greeted him brightly, hopping up from the table where he was eating supper. Draco sank to his knees and took Scorpius into his arms. He tried to tell himself it's over, it's all over; but would it ever be? Would he ever have the chance to raise his son in peace, or was he condemned to hide forever in a warded house that didn't even properly protect him from the chill of the hunting Dementors? Was this false triumph only a temporary reprieve? There had been hardly a calm moment in the last eight weeks—hardly a moment since Astoria's death, in fact. Not for the first time, it seemed to him as if Astoria had been the anchor of sanity in a world that, without her, had devolved into madness. He could only look on helplessly at the turmoil, cast adrift on a sea of circumstance that had set itself against him and his son.

"Draco?"

There was a light touch on his shoulder, and as it drew him from the rising hopelessness of his own thoughts, Draco realized that Scorpius had begun to squirm uncomfortably in his hold. He released his son quickly and managed to smile at him.

"Sorry, sweetheart."

"Are you alright?" Andromeda asked, kneeling beside him and looking concerned. "I thought—Harry's Patronus said they acquitted you—"

Draco nodded. It felt strange to hear her voice; he had not been allowed to have contact with her in well over a week, lest she become a witness for the trial, and now here she was speaking to him as if no time at all had elapsed.

"Then what is it?"

There was no way to answer that question. Draco climbed slowly to his feet and offered Andromeda a hand to help her up. "Are you alright?" she asked again, looking at him carefully. Draco did not have the energy either to lie or to tell the truth.

"I'm going to sleep," he said bleakly. "Don't bother to wake me."