When DuBose arrived at Malfoy Manor, she was dressed in dark amber colors, her spectacles hovering daintily near her right ear, giving the eerie appearance of an invisible specter with poor eyesight peering over her shoulder.
"Let's begin with Mr. Potter's testimony. I have a few questions for you," she clicked her briefcase open—a different one than the one she had brought last, a deep brown that matched her robes. The clasps yawned open and a pile of envelopes fanned out onto the table in Draco's father's study.
Draco cleared his throat. "About that. I haven't had a chance to read it, what with my studies," he stared at her, daring her to admonish him. The testimony had sat at his desk, unopened, mocking him, since she had last visited. But she only crossed her ankles. She plucked the hovering eyeglasses out of the air and put them on.
"I've advised many children over the duration of my career and I would suggest to you that you treat this like schoolwork as well, Mr. Malfoy. I'm not one to diminish the importance of one's studies, but this may take precedence."
"Fine," Draco gritted his teeth.
THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC v LUCIUS MALFOY, CASE No. 29345851 TRANSCRIPT OF INTERVIEW OF HARRY POTTER
ELENA DOGE: When did you become aware of Draco Malfoy's plot to kill Albus Dumbledore?
HARRY POTTER: In the middle of my sixth year at Hogwarts. We were classmates.
DOGE: Not friends?
POTTER: No, not friends. We, er, frequently clashed together.
DOGE: And you had grown suspicious of him separate from this?
POTTER: I'm not sure what to call it. I knew of his ties to the Death Eaters, and I had seen Lucius Malfoy with Riddle when he returned. Our...boyhood rivalry must have been part of it, but it was far more serious than that.
DOGE: And then Severus Snape killed Dumbledore, with you and Draco Malfoy present? How did Mr. Malfoy act?
POTTER: Yes, he was there. I don't think he would have killed him. He told us how he was being blackmailed.
DOGE: He did not have intent to kill Albus Dumbledore?
POTTER: Well, he did. But he didn't. Because Riddle had said he was going to kill his family if he didn't, you see? Er. It's a bit complicated.
DOGE: And Draco Malfoy spent the year attempting to break Hogwarts' security measures, as per your statement.
POTTER: Yes. Dumbledore offered to help the Malfoys, but he refused—
DOGE: He?
POTTER: Draco. He said no.
DOGE: So the Malfoys' alliances did indeed lie with the Dark Lord?
POTTER: The Malfoys regretted following Tom Riddle far earlier than the final battle at Hogwarts. Narcissa Malfoy aiding me in defeating Riddle was only one aspect of that. At least, that's what I believe.
DOGE: What proof do you have?
POTTER: I found Draco...crying one day. It didn't make sense at the time, but later, I knew it was because he had been blackmailed into killing Dumbledore. He was sixteen. Do you remember being that age? I reckon he was scared and convinced his family was going to die. He should have taken Dumbledore's offer, but I understand why he didn't. He had a fear of Tom Riddle that few children understand.
Draco pushed the testimony away from him. He couldn't read any more. "Did Potter really say all this?" he said, feeling a heat creep onto his face.
"Yes," Opal said.
"Well, I don't know how important it is to know—to know what I was doing in the—in the Hogwarts bathroom, in fact, isn't that some sort of invasion of privacy?"
"It's actually quite relevant. Would there be any witnesses we could call upon?"
"Snape," Draco spat. "But obviously that isn't possible." He shuffled through the rest of the statement. A sentence caught his eye: And then I used a spell I had never used before, which I later found out was a hex Severus Snape had crafted as a student… He met DuBose's gaze. "Is all of this true?"
"Does something sound false to you?" DuBose's brow furrowed.
He thought of his old professor often enough, but he naively thought there would be no other secrets to unearth after reading the interview Potter, Granger, and Weasley had given exclusively to The Quibbler when the dust of the war had settled. His family didn't subscribe, naturally. But he had been curious. So he had done what any other sensible prisoner would have done in his position and dangled a galleon in front of one of the younger Aurors guarding the house one day in exchange for a slightly bent copy of "In Harry Potter's Own Words: The Quest to Defeat Lord Voldemort."
He later realized he shouldn't have bothered, because the commentary in the rest of the press in the weeks following had been relentless, with page after page of The Daily Prophet dedicated to analysis of Potter's journey and adulatory op-eds penned by prominent witches and wizards.
So the rumors about Severus Snape working for Albus Dumbledore had been true. The facts were all there, corroborated by Potter, Granger, and Weasley (otherwise known to the press and public as the "Golden Trio," a phrase which almost made Draco throw up in his mouth the first time he had read it). Strangely, the memories he had of Snape remained unchanged. It was as though the news of his old professor's status as a spy had yet to catch up to the memories he had of him.
"Does this mean Potter is going to tell everyone how he almost hexed me to smithereens?" he said.
DuBose shuffled through her papers. "He was surprisingly forthcoming to describe an incident that portrays him so negatively. Is there anyone he may have told?"
"No," Draco said quickly. "Madame Pomfrey didn't even ask questions."
There was one other witness he could call upon, technically. But he immediately dismissed the notion. He was not going to bother Moaning Myrtle for the first time in two years so she could correct the public record. What use would it be to have her admit to every earthly being he had ever known that he had blubbered his way through his sixth year, a pale mess of nerves and adrenaline? There were things he had told Myrtle that he could never bear to say aloud again.
And anyway, he hadn't seen her since then. She was the type to hold a grudge. No offense, but anyone could surmise such a thing from the mere fact that she was a girl who had decided to spend all of eternity haunting the bathroom where she had been murdered. He had a feeling she wouldn't welcome him with open arms if he wandered back into her presence. To his credit, a good chunk of his not staying in touch could be attributed to being on an indefinite house arrest, but it's not like he went out of his way to see her during his seventh year. She would be sure to bring that up.
Still, she had been his friend, plain and simple. The first time he had told her everything—everything—it was only the second time they had ever spoken to each other. He had sat on a toilet seat and listened to her tell him everything about her life at Hogwarts, the days leading up to her death, the aftermath. And then it had been his turn to tell her about his life. Of course, she relished telling the story of when she died, so he would hear it many times after that. But it was a small price to pay for the ear of a willing confidant.
"Well, Mr. Malfoy, I've worked with many teenagers before, and I can tell you that it's never pleasant to revisit these events, particularly in an official setting. Will you be able to talk about this freely?" she asked in the most sympathetic tone he had heard her use since he had met her.
"Er," he mumbled. "I don't recall much about that day, to be honest. I lost a lot of blood."
DuBose tilted her head, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. "I meant generally."
It dawned on him that she felt sorry for him, and not just because Potter had once used an illegal spell to shred his skin into a bloody pulp. "Of course. I'll be able to say anything you need me to," he closed his eyes briefly, remembering the searing pain of it, the white hot heat as the spell had cut into his body. But it was only a memory, long gone now. She was right. He didn't care about that. The faint scars on his torso from the day Potter had cursed him in the bathroom remained, though Snape had done his best to try to make his skin heal completely. And later, when he had regained consciousness, Snape had been there still, pacing, seething at Potter. That man had been working for Dumbledore all along?
But today was not the day to think about such things.
He imagined the scars would stay with him forever, and with them the odd feeling of being proven wrong hundredfold about a man, in ways he could have never predicted or fathomed. But the pain was as meaningless and fleeting as mere flesh and bone.
