A/N: content to the first asterisk lifted from The Deathly Hallows.
"We dance around the fire, at night we all dream
Of angels in a chorus that lull us to sleep
In tangled tongues spoken between gritted teeth
From silver tongued devils that lie as they speak"
Valiant Hearts - "Medusa"
Hagrid's hut loomed out of the darkness. There were no lights, no sound of Fang scrabbling at the door, his bark booming in welcome. All those visits to Hagrid, and the gleam of the copper kettle on the fire, and rock cakes and giant grubs, and his great bearded face, and Ron vomiting slugs, and Hermione helping him save Norbert . . . He moved on, and now he reached the edge of the forest, and he stopped.*
Draco Malfoy stood leaning against a decrepit tree, arms wrapped around himself as if in warmth or support, staring, trembling, out at the swarm of dementors that glided, weaving through the forest. At the soft sound of Harry's feet on the grass, he startled, violently and whirled around, thrusting his mother's borrowed wand out in front of him, curse visible on his lips before he realised who it was that had appeared.
"Potter," he choked out hoarsely, his voice still rough from the smoke of the Fiendfyre.
"What are you doing out here?" Harry interrupted warily. His eyes flicked up to the spectral figures in the trees. He had to get through to where Voldemort was waiting, but he couldn't be sure of his safe passage. Though, if Malfoy was here... "Are you to escort me to your Master?" He'd intended for his voice to come out bitter and accusing, but it only sounded resigned.
"No!" Malfoy defended, voice echoing in the silence of the Forbidden Forest. Both boys scanned the woods nervously for Death Eaters. In a quieter voice, the blond continued, "I need to find my parents."
Harry sighed. "Last I saw, Lucius was in the Shrieking Shack with Voldemort," he ignored Malfoy's flinch, "but neither of them was there a few minutes ago, so I have no idea where your father is, now. I only know Voldemort is through there," he pointed into the forest. "I don't know if your parents are with him."
"You're going to him," Malfoy deduced. Harry could see in his eyes that he wanted to be as surprised as Harry wanted to be angry. Like Harry, though, he wasn't.
Harry nodded. "Time's running out. Voldemort knows I'm coming to meet him; he's expecting me. Isn't this what you and Crabbe, and Goyle wanted back in the Room of Requirement? You were gonna bring me in, weren't you? Well, here I am. There's a reward if you bring me in yourself, isn't there?" He held his arm out, gesturing Draco to lead the way, but the blond shook his head.
"I didn't want to take you in."
Harry scoffed. "Crabbe said-"
"Crabbe told you what I told him. That doesn't mean it was the truth."
"So you didn't mean to-"
"I didn't mean for anyof that!" Draco erupted, slightly quieter than his first outburst. He glanced around reflexively anyway but didn't pause before continuing. "We were trying to find you, that's true. We were waiting by the Room of Hidden Things in the hope that you would come there, for whatever reason. I didn't know about the diadem until you mentioned it; though I figured that if you were looking for it, it must have been important. Look... I went to find you to make sure no one else did. I tried to find you to make sureyou got away safely. If it were anyone else, I knew they'd take you to... Or else kill you outright. I brought Crabbe and Goyle to vouch for my whereabouts so none of the others would doubt my loyalties. I was going to make it look like we tried to stop you and you got away. We were going to fail, but our loyalties wouldn't have been questioned. I thought I could control them. I didn't expect Crabbe to act on his own. I'm sorry."
Harry's breath left him all at once, a weight he didn't know he had been carrying suddenly lifting. He couldn't remember if he'd ever actually gotten an apology from Malfoy before. He thought he must have, last year when they were...
Still. "I don't blame you," he tried, but Draco shook his head, stepping closer, closing the space between them.
"Not just for Crabbe," he elaborated. "For everything. For this whole thing. This war. D- Dumbledore and, and what happened last year. For... your godfather, and Cedric, and the … bullying. Everything. I … I didn't know any better. Then. But I... I know now that I fucked up. That everything I've done, that my father has done, that my family has done has been wrong, and there's no justice for any of that. I know that if I don't die tonight, I'll go to Azkaban. I know that. I deserve that. We all do. I just wanted you to know, before... whatever happens, happens... that I am sorry." Throughout this speech, Draco avoided Harry's eyes, staring at the sweat-stained collar of Harry's shirt, but now he looked up, beseechingly. "Don't go in there," he begged. "He'll kill you if you do."
"I have to face him. Voldemort has to die," Harry explained sadly, pitying the desperation on the other boy's face.
"And he will! It's a battle, Harry! One way or another, he'll die tonight, but youdon't ha-"
"He can't die if I'm alive."
There. The fear that had been eating away at him for the last two years. The knowledge that had been freezing his stomach since he left Snape's body.
"He can't die as long as I'm alive," he repeated. "A part of him is inside me, and as long as that part of him lives, Voldemort cannot be killed. He can be AK-ed 100 times, but he'll keep coming back as long as I'm alive. Like you said: Voldemort willdie tonight, by someone's hand or another. But I have to meet him first. I know that now. I've been expecting something like this all along." Draco's head was shaking like he couldn't stop it, eyes shiny and despairing. "You said just now that you'll probably die tonight. Remember what you said last year? Something about how no one sends a teenager to the front line and expects them to live? Well, I'm the front line."
"Harry—"
"I have to go." Harry took a step back, out of Draco's space, but the other boy followed him, crushing his mouth to Harry's own, painfully. It wasn't pleasant, but it was everything he needed right then. Everything they both needed. The Gryffindor broke away, panting, and leaned his forehead against Draco's own sweaty brow. "I have to go," he said again. And so do you. Your parents will be looking for you."
"I can't just leave you here to –"
Harry pushed him by the shoulders, forcing him back a pace, then two. "Draco, you have to go" The other teen let out a sob, and Harry stepped forward again and kissed him once more, softly.
"Please."
Draco stared at him for a long time before nodding minutely. He wrapped his arms tightly around the slighter boy and held him. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, shaking with the effort of keeping his tears at bay.
Before Harry had to beg again for Draco to leave him, the blond let him go.
"You know what you're doing?" Draco asked, and Harry nodded solemnly in reply.
"Okay," he whispered, and, with visible effort turned himself away and began the trek back towards the castle.
Harry stood for a moment to watch him go. It was not, after all, so easy to die. Every second he breathed, the smell of the grass, the cool air on his face, was so precious: To think that people had years and years, time to waste, so much time it dragged, and he was clinging to each second. At the same time, he thought that he would not be able to go on, and knew that he must. The long game was ended, the Snitch had been caught, it was time to leave the air. . . .*
"Harry, Ron, Hermione! It's wonderful to see you all. Are you well?" Kinglsey Shacklebolt pat him gently on the shoulder, and Harry could hear the genuine concern in his question, see the worry in his eyes. It was the same worry he saw in Molly and Arthur's faces. In Ron and Hermione's, too, in the expression, they shared with the Minister. He was used to it after the last fortnight he'd spent in the burrow. He ignored it now.
"I'm fine, Kingsley," Harry assured the Minister. "I actually came to ask for a favour. You... you said I could ask if I needed anything, and, well with the, uh, with the trials starting this week, I wanted to make a few suggestions."
The tall man gazed at them shrewdly. He observed the three of them for a moment before gesturing toward the chairs in front of his desk. There were only two, and Hermione took the left. Harry looked to Ron, but his friend shook his head and leaned against Hermione's chair while Harry took his seat. The Minister meanwhile walked around to the other side of his large, mahogany desk and sat, arms folded.
"If anyone is entitled to make suggestions as to the proceedings, I'd have to admit I would be you. What exactly did you three have in mind? Between you and me, I don't think it will take much to petition the Wizengamot to go for the highest sentencing if that's what you have in mind."
Harry glanced to Hermione for support, and she nodded, if unhappily. "Actually, sir it's the opposite. I've got a few Pensieve memories here, just character uh, evidence." He pulled a few bottles from the pockets of Percy's hand-me-down suit and set them on Shacklebolt's desk. "So, this is from, uh," Harry picked up a bottle and turned it around to check the handwritten label, "Narcissa Malfoy lying on my behalf against Voldemort, which saved my life." Harry picked up another bottle. "Dumbledore the night he died that proves Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape were innocent. Draco Malfoy lying on my behalf against the Death Eaters, and... This is Severus Snape's own memory that he gave me which shows him working for Dumbledore against Voldemort. I know he's dead, but he should have his name cleared, at least. I know these aren't much in the way of actual evidence, but I just wanted to show that they did help me when in counted." Harry looked earnestly at Shacklebolt as the Minister took one of the bottles, the one showing Dumbledore's final moments, between his large, dark fingers.
He went on. "I know that most of the Death Eaters were staunch supporters of Voldemort and his cause to the end, but some of them, the Malfoys at least, were forced to act as they did. Draco, Lucius, and Severus Snape all took the Dark Mark and I know that once they did they were unable to act against Voldemort directly. He could torture them through the Mark, I've seen it. They were compelled to follow direct orders, either through magic or threat I, I can't say. I just know that they didn't have a choice. I know that Draco took the mark when he was 16 years old, that makes him a minor. So for that whole year, what he did, he was underage and under, uh-"
"Duress," Hermione volunteered helpfully.
"Thanks. So he was under duress. Voldemort threatened to kill him and his parents, and I don't know what you would do in that situation if youwere 16 years old, but... And Lucius is a coward, okay. He's weak and he'd never go out of his way to get his hands dirty. I don't know what Lucius thought he was signing up for back when he took the mark initially, but I would bet it wasn't outright war." Harry inhaled deeply. "So what I want is this: question them, all of the Death Eaters on trial, under Veritaserum," Shacklebolt opened his mouth to protest but Harry cut him off. "That's what I'm asking for, and the ministry owes me that much. The Wizengamot sentenced my godfather to Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit. I was stripped of my family because the Wizengamot couldn't be bothered to ensure the truth at Sirius' trial. Because the Ministry refused to find out who really killed those people and caused the death of my parents. So I think you owe me that much. I want you to question the Death Eaters under Veritaserum and find out exactly what they intended when they joined Voldemort's cause. Find out if they really supported him, or if they were only acting because he would have killed them otherwise. Find out exactly what they really did. And the ones who were forced to act the way they did should get some kind of lesser sentencing. Um, Hermione?" Harry passed her the proverbial baton.
Hermione sat up straight, looking ten times more professional and put together than Harry himself did. She pulled a folder out of her bottomless bag and passed it to Shacklebolt.
"I don't know the philosophy of the prison system here, but in the Muggle world, at least theoretically, the point of incarceration is to rehabilitateoffenders to change them from the inside so that they don't re-offend. So if Harry is right, and there are some Death Eaters that haven't taken Voldemort's cause to heart, then there may be some chance to at least try to change the way they think. In that folder are some documents explaining Her Majesty's Prison Service; the Muggle British prison system. Voldemort held so much power and support amongst the Pureblood class primarily because of the prejudice they hold against Muggles and Muggle-born wizards, and the heart of that prejudice is ignorance. If their minds can be changed, it must be changed by way of experience. They have to meet Muggles. Live amongst them, work amongst them, serve amongst them. They have to learn about Muggle culture. It's only by changing the way Purebloods think about Muggles and Muggle-borns that we can truly hope to change the way they," Hermione clenched her fist, "we are treated in this society. I have spent the last seven years being bullied and, quite literally tortured," she angled her arm to show off the livid pink scars, courtesy of Bellatrix, "because of my blood status. My best- my boyfriend'sfamily, who practically raised me, who are widely known to be Muggle sympathizers, don't know even the slightest common knowledge about Muggle culture.
"People like me are not going to be treated any differently by Purebloods if they don't know about the world I grew up in. It's the magic world that must be secret, sir, not the Muggle one. I recommend that those offenders who can be rehabilitated serve their sentencing in Muggle prison, and those that don't warrant jail-time be ordered to service the Muggle community – there's information on the UK's Community Order system in there, too. I also recommend that Muggle studies be a required course at Hogwarts, at least for first years, though, of course, I'd have to discuss that with Headmistress McGonagall." The young woman's chest heaved as she ran out of momentum.
Shacklebolt considered their proposal for a while before nodding slowly. "Your ideas are good ones," the Minister conceded. I agree that tackling the roots of the prejudice against Muggle-borns is an important step in improving the status of this country. Of course, I will have to discuss this with the rest of the Wizengamot, but..."
"Of course, sir," Hermione agreed readily, and Harry sighed in relief that they were at least heard out. He hoped that Hermione's idea was implemented, but the fact that the Minister of Magic agreed that their issue was a valid one spoke volumes.
"What about you, Mister Weasley?" Shacklebolt turned his attention to Ron, who had been standing in silent support up until now.
"What about me, what? Uh, sir," Ron stammered.
Shacklebolt cracked a wry smile. "I've heard from Mr Potter and Ms Granger so far on the subject. What are your thoughts?"
Ron flushed and looked to Hermione and Harry for direction, but Harry only shrugged. "Well, sir. I mean, the Malfoy's aren't exactly on my list of favourite people, you know. There's certainly no love lost between our families. Malfoy, Draco Malfoy I mean, tormented us," he pointed to Harry and Hermione, "And Neville Longbottom, and all our friends for years at Hogwarts. And my little sister almost died in her first year because of Lucius Malfoy; I know that. I want justice for my family and my friends, Mr Shacklebolt. But... Harry and Hermione are right, sir. They should have real justice. Not just... revenge, y'know? They, the Death Eaters, they should be punished for what they did, but the punishment should fit the crime. They might all be Death Eaters, but some of them did more than others, so they shouldn't all be punished the same, right? And what Hermione said about Purebloods not knowing anything about Muggles, sir? That's all true, and if learning about them might make them not so hateful then it can only help. Can't it?"
The minister inhaled and nodded as if a decision had been made. "You're quite right, Mr Weasley. Ms Granger, I'll look through this information presently. Your ideas are good, and your reasoning is sound. I suppose that I can expect to see you three at the hearings this week? We're starting on Wednesday; I'm sure you know."
"Yeah," Harry mumbled as he and Hermione stood, understanding that they were being dismissed. "And thank you, sir. For hearing us out."
Kinglsey smiled benignly. He walked around his desk and opened the door for the three of them, holding his hand out to warmly shake each of their own. "It was my pleasure."
Draco pushed the lank, dry fringe out of his eyes, scratching at the itchy growth on his face while his mother studiously ignored his father trying to start a halting discussion in the corridor.
They'd been arrested along with all the other Death Eaters still on the grounds shortly after the Dark Lord had fallen, though some had disapparated before the Aurors had seized them and Draco assumed some might still be at large. For two weeks the lot of them had been thrown into Azkaban to sit and await trial for their crimes. Draco remembered how terrible his father looked when he and the others had escaped two years ago, but he'd never personally been subjected to the humiliation that was a guard stripping one down and magicking one clean. And he was, technically clean, he supposed. There was a reason, however, why Wizards still made use of potions and elixirs in their bathing habits, and that was because when magic cleaned, it did so indiscriminately; stripping skin and hair of all dirt as well as moisture and leaving one uncomfortably dry and more than a little itchy without the benefit of exfoliation.
His mother managed to twist a simple French plait (though nothing like her usual intricacy, being wandless as they all were), but even she looked uncharacteristically haggard after a fortnight in prison. They all were visibly exhausted, dark bruises under their eyes, his mother unmade-up, he and his father unshaven. His parents looked older than they ever had before; defeated and resigned.
There was a score of others in the corridor outside the courtroom as well, all more or less familiar, but they were mostly conversing quietly with their own family members.
No one could give a shite about the Malfoys any longer.
"We've not done anything truly wrong," Lucius argued quietly to his wife, who was staring resolutely at the painted Cornish countryside hanging on the opposite wall. "None of us has truly harmed anyone," Draco flinched at the lie, "plenty of those in the Wizengamot still support the cause. They'll listen to us, and we've enough money to pay our way. We'll tell them we denounced him at the Battle. We didn't fight, so there's no proof except that we were there. We were prisoners as much as the rest. I swear, Cissy we'll-"
"Don't call me that," Narcissa snapped, coldly.
Lucius sighed, reaching out to take his wife's hand imploringly but she snatched it back before he could grasp it. Finally, Narcissa turned to him, and Draco heard his father's breath catch at the fury in her eyes.
"Do you truly think me so feeble-minded as to be swayed by your blandishing and blustering as if I've not been present for every one of your failures?" she hissed, the icy wrath, though quiet, causing a hush to fall upon the gathered prisoners, all ears listening in.
"You cannot obscure the fact that everything, every single misfortune that has befallen our family has been your fault. Your decisions have damned us. Even if we are not immediately convicted and thrown into Azkaban, our name means nothing now. We have no reputation. We have no clout or influence among even the lowest born squib, let alone the members of the Ministry; to say nothing of the Wizengamot itself.
"We are not guilty. You are. You allied our family with Him. Not me. You brought Him into our lives, into our home because you were too weak to so much as think for yourself. It is because of you, and you alone, that we are in this situation. Everything that we, that your son has been subjected to has been your fault. Every action, every punishment, every consequence is because of your actions." Her chest was heaving; lips curled up in a dangerous snarl. The tension in the room was thick enough to be cut with a knife, and it was giving Draco a headache.
Quietly, anaemically, his father replied. "I thought I was doing what was right for our family. If the Dark Lord had won-"
"If he had won he would have killed us as examples to the others. We have been on thin ice for the last two years, Lucius, and you know it."
"We would have been made for life-"
"We were already made!" Narcissa screamed, her voice echoing through the halls. "We had everything, Lucius! Money, reputation, power. Our family would have never wanted for anything. Our son would have had every door open to him. Now we have nothing. We are nothing."
"I thought-"
"You thought wrong."
Draco inhaled silently, his eyes clenching shut, uncut nails piercing the skin of his palms. The unceasing wailing in his mind raised in pitch with his anxiety even as the silence pregnant silence around him began to ring in his ears.
From beside him on the bench, he could hear his father swallow and breathe unsteadily.
He couldn't remember his parents ever having fought before, and he thought his father couldn't either. Couldn't remember Narcissa ever being anything but supportive of his endeavours.
On further analysis, perhaps she simply chose not to fight what she could not change.
Lucius had been marked before they were married, Draco knew.
Narcissa made her choice, too, for better or worse.
"Malfoys!" The bailiff announced, doors opening to guide them into the arena. As they walked, Draco could see Harry Potter and friends sat near the front of the room and Draco didn't know whether to be grateful or despairing of his presence.
The court was seeing to the I through P named families that day and Draco assumed they must have been the second or third group. He wondered if he would find out how the others were sentenced, or if he would live in ignorance until the Dementor's Kiss.
There was a line of chairs in the circle of the auditorium, and they were each led to the three middle-most seats, taking them only when the Minister of Magic, a dark-skinned man he recognised only by his robes, whose name he didn't know ordered them to do so.
With a booming voice that belied constant repetition, the minister recited: "You are brought before the court as known supporters of The Dark Lord, Voldemort," each of the Malfoys flinched, and Draco could see out of the corner of his eye that many members of the Wizengamot did so as well. "Due to the vastness and severity of crimes executed by the Death Eaters, you will each be questioned under Veritaserum to ascertain your guilt or innocence of crimes against both Muggles and Wizardkind."
Draco heard his father inhale a gasp as the implications fully dawned on him.
There would be no claiming Imperius' influence this time.
The Minister handed a glass of clear liquid to the Chief Warlock, another wizard Draco didn't recognise, an older, white-haired man who poured three drops of the transparent elixir into it and approached them.
"Lord Malfoy, will you accede to drink the Veritaserum?"
They all knew that to refuse was to accept the guilt of all charges. "I will," Lucius agreed, and took the proffered glass, drinking down its contents to the Chief Warlock´s approval.
"Lord Malfoy, my robes are green, do you agree?" his robes were black, and Lucius replied in the negative after visibly failing to nod his agreement. The potion was working.
"Lord Malfoy, please recite your full, legal name," the Warlock commanded.
Immediately, Lucius spoke, the compulsion feeding on the direct order. "Lucius Roméric Jeustin Malfoy IV, Lord and Pater Familias of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy." Draco saw the scribe write down the answer, quill moving in a flurry.
"Did you take the Dark Mark?"
"Yes," his father replied, falsely confident.
"Was it your own, uncoerced decision to take the Dark Mark?"
Lucius´ eyes fluttered shut, and Draco saw his shoulders hunch forward, hair obscuring his face. "Yes."
"Did you volunteer to take the Dark Mark, or were you asked to do so?"
"I volunteered," he whispered, but the acoustics of the room picked up the sound.
The questions proceeded in this way for nearly an hour, asking Lucius to confirm or deny any and all possible charges.
Did he ever cast an Imperius on another human, Wizard or Muggle? - "Yes."
Did he ever cast a Cruciatus curse on another human? - "Yes."
Did he ever cast the Killing Curse on another human? - "No." There was some hope for him then, Draco thought, if only a little.
Did he ever personally and directly cause the death of another human? - "Not that I am aware."
The Chief Warlock asked Lucius´ involvement in every crime attributed to the Death Eaters during the last two Wizarding Wars, an exhaustive list that the disgraced Malfoy blessedly answered primarily in the negative. Draco sighed in silent relief that his father´s involvement seemed to be primarily auxiliary. He was asked his willingness to perform the crimes to which he pled guilty and was answered with varying degrees of inclination.
It was soon made clear to the court that Lucius indeed had been a loyal servant of his Lord, but one who was not disposed to get his hands dirty, even to further his Master´s cause. It was also made apparent that his willing servitude waned unmistakably once the true scope of the Dark Lord´s wishes was understood.
"He said he would overthrow the old, corrupt Ministry and put Purebloods back in true power. That he would reinstitute our culture and values and do away with Muggle influences that were poisoning our society."
"Did you know that this goal would include his followers being asked to murder other Wizards?"
"Yes." There were murmurings throughout the court, members of the Wizengamot scribbling notes to themselves. "But we were made to understand that any struggle to change the hands of power would involve casualties. That we were defending our way of life. That we were at war. We were told to expect a battle. We didn't... I didn´t expect that we would be attacking innocents, unprovoked. I thought we would be focusing our attacks on ministers and politicians. I didn´t know we would be torturing and slaughtering families and children. I thought we would be stopping the influx and influence of Mudbloods, not killing Muggles outright.
"I thought that joining the Dark Lord would mean creating a world that catered to us; to the pure-blooded. I thought that my family would be rewarded for my loyalty." He was candid, his weakness of mind making him more susceptible to the truth serum, lessening his ability to modify his words. He didn´t make for a very sympathetic defendant, but for his father´s sake, Draco hoped he seemed more benign than some of the others the court must have seen.
When the court settled down after his father´s unsolicited defense, the Chief Warlock asked his final question: "If you had been given the option and the ability to switch your allegiance and revoke your loyalty and support of The Dark Lord, Voldemort before the Battle of Hogwarts, do you believe you would have chosen to do so?"
Draco heard the audience hold their breath, awaiting his father´s answer and saw the members of the Wizengamot lean forward in their seats as if to hear him better.
"Yes."
The room collectively exhaled, and Draco thought he saw faint looks of approval from the officiates.
The Chief Warlock looked to the Minister of Magic who nodded. "Thank you, Lord Malfoy. We have no further questions for you at this time."
Lucius sank back into his chair, exhausted from his ordeal, sagging with relief and resignation. There was nothing else for him to say.
Several minutes passed as his father´s testimony was discussed. Too soon, however, the Chief Warlock returned with another glass of water, this one too, spiked with the truth-telling potion. As he approached, the audience quieted themselves; their attention redirected to the proceedings. At a gesture from the Minister, they all fell silent once more, and the Chief Warlock offered the glass to Draco´s mother.
"Lady Malfoy, will you accede to drink the Veritaserum?" he asked, handing her the glass when she, too, accepted the potion. After proving her incapability of lying, he asked her name for the record.
"Cassiopeia Narcissa Black Malfoy II, wife of the paterfamilias of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy." Draco felt a thrum of vague discomfort at hearing his mother refer to herself by her first name, a name none of his family had ever called her by while her Aunt Cassiopeia still lived.
Like his father, they asked whether she had cast any of the Unforgivable Curses, or whether she had killed anyone by other means, to all of which she responded in the negative. In fact, she answered negatively to nearly all of the Warlock´s questions regarding her involvement with the Death Eater´s actions.
"Were you aware of any of the actions that the Death Eaters, including your husband, were made to commit before they occurred?" Draco tensed himself for his mother´s damnation, but,
"No."
The teen forced himself not to react outwardly or to turn to his mother, though he saw in his periphery that his father could not stop himself from doing the same. He knew for a fact that his parents had spoken about the Dark Lord´s orders at length before the deeds were done, in many cases he was involved in such discussions. In others, it was Narcissa herself who gave warning for what was to come, and yet... He knew his mother was an occlumen, she had helped teach Draco himself, in fact, but that she had the skill to lie on Veritaserum was nearly unprecedented.
The surprise at her answer was palpable throughout the room, even the Chief Warlock himself startling at it.
"Truly, you had no idea of your husband´s misdeeds?"
Staring at her directly, Draco could see the minute warring in her eyes as she circumvented the question in her mind. "Not... before they were committed," she professed.
He could see that this was technically correct if one defined the word "before" as "before Lucius himself was given the orders", which... She could freely do, actually. Draco cast his mind back to recall the question and realised that the Chief Warlock gave no time constraint. Even his previous question didn´t specify that "before" actually meant "but after the orders were given". It was true that Narcissa could not have known of the Dark Lord´s orders for her husband before he gave them.
Draco marvelled at his mother's cleverness at finding the loophole within the Warlock´s questioning.
Frustrated by Narcissa´s foiling of his line of questions, the Chief Warlock demanded, "Lady Malfoy, where did you stand, politically, during the war? Did you cast your support for or against Lord Voldemort?"
Narcissa´s nose flared with irritation, but she answered truthfully. "I cast my support on my husband´s side."
"You were Lord Voldemort´s side then."
Because this had not been phrased in the form of a question, Narcissa chose not to respond. The Warlock grew increasingly more agitated with his mother´s lack of direct responses.
"Lady Malfoy, did you agree with Lord Voldemort´s agenda?"
His mother only blinked calmly. "Define His agenda, please," she requested, and the Warlock glared.
"Did you approve of him and his followers murdering his political opponents?"
"No."
"Did you, at any point, approve of him or his followers harming any wizard?"
"No."
Draco´s stomach tensed at the question he knew was coming. "Did you, at any point, approve of him or his followers harming any muggles?"
A tense pause, and then, "No."
The Chief Warlock spoke with clenched teeth now as he continued his questioning of his mother´s political leanings. "Did you approve of Voldemort´s desire to remove Muggle-born Wizards from the Wizarding World?"
Narcissa clenched her fists, head tilting as she considered her answer. "Not... necessarily."
Like a shark smelling blood, the Warlock attacked. "Did you approve of Voldemort´s desire to prevent Muggle-born Wizards from having social influence?"
Draco saw his mother grit her teeth angrily. "Yes," she bit out. He could see the other members of the Wizengamot relax and smile to themselves in grim satisfaction as his mother condemned herself.
"Did you approve of Voldemort´s desire to prevent Muggle-born Wizards from attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"
"Yes."
Draco cursed inside as the audience muttered angrily behind him. He knew Granger would be righteously incensed.
"Did you agree with the Dark Lord´s plan to overthrow the Ministry of Magic?"
Narcissa inhaled and, once again, answered noncommittally. "Not necessarily."
Rolling his eyes skyward, the Chief Warlock, once again, rephrased his question. "Did you sympathise with the Death Eaters´ desire to overthrow the Ministry of Magic´s political regime?"
"Yes." As the Wizengamot discussed this answer amongst themselves, and before the Chief Warlock could question her further, she continued. "But that doesn´t mean that I wanted Him to win."
Her words seemed to reverberate throughout the chamber, and all the room´s attention refocused on her again.
"In my lifetime the Ministry has always been corrupt, ineffective, impotent, apathetic, and willfully ignorant of all social issues that have been placed before them. Not including the current administration, per se," she nodded diplomatically to the Minister of Magic, who merely raised his eyebrow at her, "I would have been in favour of a total overhaul of the Ministry. I did not, however, believe The Dark Lord would have been any better a ruler than any of the previous Ministers. In fact, I greatly doubted His ability to rule, at all."
Draco saw the Warlock prepare to reply to this opinion, and apparently so did his mother, because she went on before he could form his words. "I had believed that if my family could stay in line and keep our heads down, figuratively, that we could avoid the repercussions of this war, one way or the other. I hoped that my husband´s belief that our family´s involvement would be beneficial to us would turn out to be true. We were both wrong. If my son had not been forced to take the Dark Mark as punishment for his father´s failure in 2006, we two would have fled the country while my husband was in Azkaban."
Lucius regarded her in betrayed disbelief, and Draco believed he could nearly see his father´s heartbreak.
After a long pause, the Chief Warlock declared that he had no more questions for her.
Narcissa sighed deeply as she was released from questioning, and only now could Draco truly tell how tense she had been sitting. She looked at him and smiled in wan support. The chains holding their wrists were too short, and their chairs too far apart for them to touch each other, but Draco could feel his mother´s reassuring caress even across the short distance.
His mother had shown herself not only relatively innocent, in light of everything, but also a worthy and clever defender of their family, including his father.
It was all up to Draco, now.