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Chapter 7: Day Three, Part II: Trial and Error

Harry left Snape's office, pleased and amazed that he had gotten as much info as he had (the slimeball was usually tightlipped unless it was to release a torrent of verbal abuse); still, Harry's mood was pretty much the same as it had been that morning – fatigue left him with little patience or enthusiasm, and the constant aching in the back of his mind was wearing him down on all fronts.

Herbology was looming near, so Harry decided to pick up some fingerfood lunch for himself and his library-inhabiting friends. The din in the Great Hall almost made him regret his decision, but he managed to sidestep the prying questions that Seamus, Dean, and especially Ginny stabbed at him. He ran into Ron and Hermione on their way out of the library.

"What's that," Ron asked without even a hello, blatantly eyeballing the plate of food in Harry's hand.

Harry smirked. "Nuh-unh. First tell what's that," he said pointing to the books that Ron and Hermione were carrying – Ron was only carrying one huge one, but Hermione had so many that one could only see the top half of her head over the stack.

"Take a few of these things, and I'll tell you," Hermione responded, the strain of the heavy books obvious in her voice. Harry shoved the plate into Ron's suddenly free hand and promptly took about half of Hermione's burden, then, following Hermione's lead, they all began walking. Uh, was the plan to take all these books to class with them?

Ron pulled off some impressive manual acrobatics in order hold the big tome, his satchel, and the plate, while also walking, picking at the food and shoving it into his mouth. Hermione, on the other hand, barely seemed to notice that food was involved at all as she enthusiastically launched into what she had found in the library. "It was just bits and pieces, hints of information in all these books that I've got, mostly on the theoretical aspects of the Quaero Tempus. I can only imagine what we could find if we could get into the Restricted Section, but what I was able to find was fascinating! Did you know that the Quareo Tempus is both a potion and a spell? And more than that, the potion and the spell both have to be calibrated to the individual – I was able to find quite a lot on this spell, the Animadverto Alius Universum if I remember correctly. It's used frequently in therapy, and there's all this intriguingly arithmancy that has to go into it! You have to select which past decisions you would like to alter, then calculate their arthimatic values, which then translate into modified incantations that'll create alternate realities! And the potion! Did you know it is the only time-altering potion known that does not use Ent Tree's blood? Who would have thought? But that's because it does not actually change time, but binds the user to previously nonexistent parallel universes. But this is all hypothetical, of course; all the books I found claim that it is not actually possible to enact Quaero Tempus. Though with everything I've seen since first year, I doubt that anything is actually impossible. . . "

Hermione continued her rant-like lecture all the way to class, with Ron quickly abandoning any pretense of paying attention, while Harry tried valiantly to follow everything she said. It was a lot to take in at once, especially at the speed and excitement at which Hermione was delivering it (it was nice to see that some people never change). The background knowledge provided by Snape certainly helped, and Harry was pleased to find that he understood enough of the situation to notice one key clue:

According to Hermione, the known components of the Quaero Tempus did not use Ent Tree's blood, but there was good reason to believe that Malfoy did use Ent Tree's blood in his attempt. This fact could certainly aid in narrowing the search for the missing component.

The trio arrived at Advanced Charms a couple of minutes late, and Professor Flitwick looked at them as if they had each grown second heads. "I assume you three have a good excuse for being late?"

Hermione flushed – she had been so caught up in what she had learned that she had actually failed to realize that they were late. Harry grasped for something to placate the short, annoyed professor, but Ron (expert excuse-maker) beat him to it. "We were in the library, sir, and it took longer than expected to check out all these books. Sorry, sir."

Hermione and Harry nodded quickly in agreement, then chorused their own apologies. "Very well, ten points from Gryffindor. Take your seats so we can continue."

They were forced to take the only seats left, each several desks the away from the other. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry vaguely saw Hermoine place her stack of books by her desk before sitting down. Only then did he look down at the book Ron had thrust into his hands – Testimonial Transcripts from Ministry Trials in London Courts, Years 1994-2004. He stared at it for a long moment before forcing himself to retrieve his quill and parchment; then, as inconspicuously as was possible with such a large tomb, he moved the book to the floor. He was feeling an uncomfortable intrigue in the fate of this timeline's Malfoy, but there was no way such large pages could be opened without drawing attention.

! BREAK !

Harry ditched Hermione and Ron (indeed, he ditched the entire next class), and returned to the tower – he didn't want to spend precious time in class when he was on a mission; besides, as there could be no consequence beyond that day, a detention that night was all he was risking.

The Fat Lady had been nosy, but Harry managed to rush the exchange, then he was quickly sitting cross legged with the tome in front of him. This was it, this was what happened to Malfoy.

Harry opened the cover to refreshing youthful pages (so many texts in the Hogwarts library were ancient), then scanned through the table of contents searching chronologically and alphabetically for –

THE PEOPLE VS. DRACO MALFOY Charge: One count of first degree murder
Plea: Not guilty, by reason of extreme provocation.

Court Services Officer Fitz William: All rise. The honorable judges of the London High Court are gathered here today to preside over the matter of the People versus Draco Malfoy, at this time of 10:05, on August 18th, 2001. . . You may be seated.

Chief Judge Riley Kyotee: Well, let's get starting, then. According to this report, the defendant was administered Veritaserum at 9:55, so go ahead and bring him out.

Enter Defendant Draco Malfoy.

R. Kyotee: Mr. Malfoy, you will reply only as you have been asked. Prosecution, you may begin.

Prosecuting Barrister Brion Orion: Good morning, honorable judges of the High Court, spectators. Now, Mr. Malfoy, please state your full name for the court.

D. Malfoy: Draco Lukaas Malfoy.

B. Orion: What is the nature of your relationship with the victim, Lucius Malfoy?

D. Malfoy: He was my father.

B. Orion: And are you, in fact, responsible for his untimely demise?

D. Malfoy: Yes.

B. Orion: How are you responsible, Mr. Malfoy?

D. Malfoy: I killed him.

B. Orion: Yes you did, Mr. Malfoy. And most gruesomely too, if I might add. Would you explain to the court how you managed your father's murder?

D. Malfoy: I stabbed him. Repeatedly.

B. Orion: Thirty-seven times, to be exact. Is that correct?

D. Malfoy: I don't know.

B Orion: What weapon did you employ?

D. Malfoy: A ceremonial dagger.

B. Orion: And what, pray tell, is the history behind this dagger?

D. Malfoy: It is a family heirloom, passed on to the oldest son when he is deemed old enough to kill. It has been traditionally used in the executions of persons of familial significance. The blood of its victims is said to make it stronger.

Harry had to stop reading, everything was too disoriented. The transcripts were not providing information detailed enough for Harry to be able to imagine who this Draco Malfoy was. The words were so callus, but was that a result of the Veritaserum? Or was that a consequence of the transcription process? Or was this Malfoy unfeeling and dangerously sociopathic, as had been the courts final ruling?

Harry forced himself to continue reading, this time at a faster pace.

B. Orion: So, you just happened to be carrying around a ceremonial dagger on the day you murdered your father. Tell us, Mr. Malfoy, was this crime premeditated? . . . I'm sorry, what was that? You will have to verbalize your response.

D. Malfoy: I had thought about it before, but I was too afraid to act.

B. Orion: Why would you have turned such homicidal thoughts towards your father?

D. Malfoy: Because I hate him, I hate him so much I would kill him a thousand times if I could. Send me to Azkaban, give me the Kiss, see if I care. As long as daddy's dead, I can die happy.

B. Orion: As of yet, no punishment has been decided upon, Mr. Malfoy. That is for the court to decide.

A dawning feeling of unease forced Harry to skim ahead. He didn't want to dwell on Brion Orion's patronizingly and provocatively phrased questions, nor on Malfoy's simultaneously dead and hateful responses. Both question and response irked Harry, and if he dared search within himself, he would realize why: he was becoming protective of this evolving concept he had of Malfoy that spanned several timelines. Somehow, feeling Malfoy's pain across hundreds of kilometers was enough to know that the ferret wasn't a sociopathic monster – monsters were not capable of a pain so poignant, so acute, so absolute.

Harry's slowed his scanning when he came to the end of the prosecution's questioning.

B. Orion: Your honors, the prosecution rests.

R. Kyotee: Thank you, Barrister. The defense may question now.

Defending Barrister Kira Wallflower: Your honors, Mr. Malfoy. . . Draco. Would you tell the court what kind of man you think Lucius Malfoy was?

D. Malfoy: He was a monster. The fucking system acquitted him of being a Death Eater, probably because he bought everyone off, but he really was one. He lamented the Dark Lord's defeat and he continued to use dark arts. He was personally responsible for the death of fifteen different people, and not all of them muggles! Not to mention all the ones that I don't even know about. He was. . . inhuman. A brutal, ruthless, sadistic monster. I'm glad I killed him, I will never regret it.

K. Wallflower: What about as a father, Draco? What kind of father was Lucius Malfoy?

D. Malfoy: He was no different as a father than as a man.

K. Wallflower: Was he, uh, "brutal, ruthless, and sadistic" towards you?. . . I'm sorry, Draco, the court can't hear you.

D. Malfoy: I said, yes.

K. Wallflower: Would you elaborate?

D. Malfoy: He. . . tortured me.

K. Wallflower: That's not enough, Draco. What did he do to you specifically?

D. Malfoy: He. . . he kicked me. When I was a lot smaller, the size of something that would get under the feet, he would. . . kick me out of the way. He broke a couple ribs a few times, my jaw once. . . He ignored me most of the time, except when I was in the way. Or when he thought I was misbehaving, then he really let me have it.

K. Wallflower: And as you got older?

D. Malfoy: He didn't take an interest in me until I was old enough to start practicing magic, which was around five, I guess. Then he cast all sorts of horrible things on me in the name of education. But it wasn't education, it was just his natural desire to watch others in pain.

K. Wallflower: Did he ever cast any Unforgivables?

D. Malfoy: . . . All the time.

K. Wallflower: How else-

D. Malfoy: Enough! Don't ask anymore about what he did to me! I think it's been shown that he hurt me.

K. Wallflower: I'm sorry, Draco, but I want the judges to know exactly what kind of man your father was, and just how much you suffered in his custody. . . So, how else did he mistreat you?. . .

R. Kyotee: Stop fighting the Veritaserum and answer the question, Mr. Malfoy.

D. Malfoy: . . . No, I. . . He called my all sorts of unspeakable names. Made me do things, torture and kill animals. . . and he. . . he. . . abused. . . me.

K. Wallflower: It has already been established that he physically and magically abused you, Draco. Did he sexually molest you?. . . Please, a verbal response.

D. Malfoy: . . . Yes. . .

K. Wallflower: Did he rape you, Draco?

D. Malfoy: YES! Bloody fucking yes, you nasty bitch! He raped me, for years! Sometimes Mum was there too! And you know whose fault it is? Yours all! How could you let such a monster become a father! Everyone knew he was a Death Eater! The mediwitches knew what he was doing to-

R. Kyotee: Order! Silence! You will answer only the questions you have been asked, Mr. Malfoy, or you will be held in contempt.

Harry pushed the tome away harshly, so that it toppled loudly to the floor. His mind didn't know how to react, but his face scrunched up on its own and his stomach felt decidedly nauseous. Oh god, oh god, oh god. Had this stuff happened. . . in the other timelines? Oh, he would never forgive himself! He had been so hateful to one so pitable! It was like hating a rabid dog, how could you blame the dog! How could Draco have been sentenced to Azkaban when he had already suffered so much?

Oh god. Harry's head fell into hands and a strangled sob was torn from his throat. He buried his face into the bed, and cover his head with his pillow. Images from the day before flashed on the backs of his eyelids – women, men; all colors; pale skin on pale skin, on blood. . . Through his tears the images melted to one of a ghostly, scraggily teen, slowly rocking back and forth where he was huddled in the corner of a cold, dark cell. His clothes were in tatters, and his skin and hair were grimy, but he was still recognizable as Draco Malfoy. He was humming quietly, tunelessly, just enough to focus on in an attempt to block out the sobs and moans and screams that could be heard throughout the prison. . .

Harry woke to the sound of a loud tapping. His eyes felt scratchy and his sinuses stuffy, but his emotions were blessedly numb. There was an ordinary barn owl at the window, rapping on the glass. Harry opened it, but the bird didn't come in, it just proffered its leg. Harry untied the thin scroll there, then didn't even have time to get the courier a treat before the owl loudly took off.

Harry gazed awkwardly at the parchment in his hands, and though it bore his name, he felt an odd lack of interest. His sense of curiosity had been burned just a few too many times of late, and Harry just. . . didn't want to know. He stuffed the letter in his pocket, then eyeballed the tome where is still lay on the floor. Did he dare? He no longer felt curiosity, but he felt a sense of. . . duty. To Malfoy, to his mission, to himself: it was hard to say.

His eyes flicked to the wall clock – the last class would be out soon, so he would have to read fast. He grabbed the book and sat cross legged on his bed, then, steeling his will and emotions, he opened up to where he had left off. The judge had adjourned the court after Malfoy's rant and the transcripts started up the next day, but most of the big bombs had already been dropped and there were few surprises. The defense's last questions, however, definitely caught Harry's attention.

K. Wallflower: Draco, would you tell us what precipitated your attack outside Flourish and Blotts?

D. Malfoy: My father was going to slip an evil diary into, I don't know, Potter's bag I guess. Or maybe Granger, or one of the Weasleys. I don't know all the details, I don't even know what the diary was trying to accomplish. Father only said something about it possessing someone and turning them into the Dark Lord. Or something like that. I wasn't thinking, I just looked into the bookshop and saw the faces of the people who were going to be his victims, and I knew that hurting others wasn't a line I could let him cross. Not this time. If the Ministry wouldn't take care of him, then he was my responsibility. So I took care of him, and I stopped him forever.

K. Wallflower: If what you say is true, as it would seem to be, you had no intention of killing your father that day, is that right?

D. Malfoy: Yes, that's right.

K. Wallflower: Then why did you have a ceremonial killing dagger on you?

D. Malfoy: . . . Just in case.

K. Wallflower: Just in case what?

D. Malfoy: Just in case I need to defend myself. . . or kill myself.

K. Wallflower: Thank you, Draco, that's all. Your honors, the defense rests.

R. Kyotee: Thank you, Barrister. Prosecution, do you want to rebut?

B. Orion: Yes, your honor.

R. Kyotee: You may begin.

B. Orion: Mr. Malfoy, an evil diary? Even if such an object existed, why was no such object found at the scene of the crime?

D. Malfoy: It was in an invisible bag that my father was carrying.

B. Orion: But no such bag was found. Can you explain that?

D. Malfoy: Well, everything got dropped when I attacked. Maybe someone else stumbled upon it and took it.

B. Orion: Is that really likely, Mr. Malfoy?

D. Malfoy: I think it's perfectly possible. Either that or maybe the Ministry's incompetence simply overlooked it. Or maybe they did find, and purposely failed to report it-

R. Kyotee: Stop it, Mr. Malfoy. We have heard enough of your wild accusations against the Ministry.

D. Malfoy: On the contrary, I don't think you've heard enough-

R. Kyotee: You will cease this instant, or this court will hold you in contempt again. . . You may proceed.

B. Orion: One more question on this topic, if you will. You claimed to attack your father to save Harry Potter and his friends. But what do Harry Potter and his friends think of you?

D. Malfoy: . . . They hate me.

B. Orion: . . . Tell us, Mr. Malfoy – and this is probably the most important question to be asked at this trial – if you were found not guilty, and you were not imprisoned, would you be a threat to others?

D. Malfoy: Yes, definitely.

B. Orion: Why, Mr. Malfoy?

D. Malfoy: Because I hate you all. Because the system is a fucking joke. My father gets off free because he has enough dirt to blackmail the whole world. He gets to abuse children and kill muggles because no one really cares what he does, as long as the bribe money keeps flowing. I abhor this disgusting, revolting, vile system! It is weak and shady and corrupt, and I will have nothing to do with it! If my father was found innocent, then I want to be found guilty! Because if my father is what this system values, then I want to be condemned! Give me Azkaban! And if you don't, I will spend the rest of my life hunting down those responsible! -

R. Kyotee: That is enough, Mr. Malfoy!

D. Malfoy: Everyone who knew better! Beware, Fudge you fucker! You are first on my list! And the judges! And-

Court Security Geraldo Ambrit: Silencio!

R. Kyotee: . . .The court has heard enough, barristers. The prosecution has previously submitted a psych evaluation concluding that Mr. Malfoy is seriously and dangerously disturbed, and everything we have seen here leads me to concur. The three judges are in agreement. Draco Malfoy is hereby found guilty on the count of first degree murder, and sentenced to Azkaban for the rest of his natural life.

Harry closed the tome carefully. And that there was the answer to how Draco Malfoy had ended up in prison – trying to save him and his friends. Did this mean that the Chamber of Secrets was never opened in this time line? That Ginny never had to suffer through Voldemort's possession? He tried to remember how Ginny had seemed during breakfast, even though he hadn't been paying attention. Now that he thought about it, she had seemed less shy, more bubbly – or was that just him projecting what he wanted to see?

He heard the loud thumbing of teenage boys coming up the stairs, and he quickly hid the book under his bed. He hoped that he didn't look like he had been crying.

Dean was the first through the door. "Oooh, Harry, you gonna get it! Skipping two classes!"

Seamus was in the room a second later, still laughing over something Seamus had said seconds before. They both sobered slightly, seeing that a decidedly off-looking Harry. "You okay, mate," Dean asked.

Harry nodded, trying to give himself an animation that he didn't feel. He felt. . . wasted. "Yeah, I was just feeling a little sick before, but I'm feeling better now. How were classes?"

Seamus plopped down on his bed, facing Harry, while Dean bent down to dig through his trunk. "Ad Trans was as you can imagine," the Irishman burred. "Potions was a worse nightmare than usual. Without you to focus his nastiness, it was just Hermione and me there to receive the lashing. I don't find it too hard to just ignore him, but Hermione looked like she was going to bust a hernia by the end of class."

Harry offered a weak smile. "Where's Ron?"

"Common Room," Dean answered absently. "But we were trying to round up some people for a game of football. Ron's convinced that being goalie will help his Quidditch game."

Football? Since when did they play football? Harry's interest was peeked, but he felt too exhausted to commit to something like that. Besides, he should probably give a look through some of those books Hermione had checked out of the library.

! BREAK !

An hour later, Ron was outside playing football, while the other members of the Golden Trio were in the library – Hermione was doing some Runes homework, while Harry was trying desperately (but somewhat futilely) to pay attention to the arcane and overly detailed book in front of him. Ginny and couple other fifth year Gryffindors were sitting at the other end of the table, and Harry couldn't help but notice that Ginny did seem a lot more talkative and chipper than he remembered her. What else had changed because Tom Riddle's diary had never been delivered? Had the Chamber of Secrets never been opened? How many lives had been spared because Lucius had died? Perhaps more importantly, if he was in an alternate timeline that happened to be another dimension, what was going on in his dimension!

Finding himself hopelessly distracted from his "research", Harry began jotting down some questions about this timeline that he wanted to ask Hermione or Ron. He wasn't sure why he cared, it's not like it mattered. For better or worse, he had to return himself, and Malfoy (Malfoy was going through this too, right? despite not remembering?), to the original timeline. Wasn't he just torturing himself with what-ifs?

Impulsively, Harry wadded up the parchment and threw it in the bin as the Gryffindor group headed towards the Great Hall for dinner. After a scant lunch he was famished, and he and Ron were both too busy shoveling food into their mouths to converse much.

"Geez, you guys. What are you trying to do, see who can choke to death first," Hermione asked disapprovingly.

Ron and Harry looked up at her, then at each other; shrugged, then launched back into their feeding frenzy. Food was so much more scrumptious when one was famished.

Back in the common room, food coma began to sink in, and Ron and Harry found themselves slumped heavily into maroon chairs (Hermione went to her dorm to fetch her study materials). Harry in particular felt as if he could fall asleep right there, despite whatever it was that was awkwardly stabbing into his hip. Reluctantly, he shifted to retrieve it from his pocket – it was the letter he had received earlier.

Torn between a superficial numbness and a deep-seated apprehension, Harry unrolled the parchment, started reading, and promptly began hyperventilating.

Dear Harry,

How's it to be back at Hogwarts? I hope you enjoy your sixth year, it was certainly my best year in school. I dated my first sweetheart that year (as did you father, wink nudge). It was great, before I was dumped. Ah, young love. Anyway enough of that.

Everything is preceding as well as can be expected. Lots of boring reconnaissance, little to report. The upside to this is that the movement doesn't seem to be as big as feared; the down side being that most of the key players also happen to be key figures at our foundational institutions. Nothing we haven't always suspected I suppose.

How are Ron and Hermione? Both reluctantly single? Have you started remedial potions with the slimeball yet? The Old Man still giving you trouble?

Right back soon. Love,

Snuffles

"Harry, are you okay," Ron questioned, concern obvious in his expression and tone.

Harry was still breathing heavily, and his eyes were fixed on the parchment in front of him, but he did manage to shake his head stiffly. Ron hoisted himself off his chair and came around beside Harry to glance at the letter in his hands.

"What's wrong," he asked. "It's a letter from your godfather."

Harry ripped his burning eyes from the words and turned his head to look at Ron. The tension in his fingers crumbled the paper without any conscious awareness. "There wasn't a fight with Voldemort at the Ministry last year," Harry croaked.

Ron's eyebrows narrowed further as his worry increased. "No, there was. L-," he sighed heavily, clearly stressed by the question. "Luna was killed."

Harry hadn't even noticed her absence.

The surprises of the last few days were finally too much, and the strong emotions evoked too draining. He couldn't deal with it anymore without a serious breakdown. Still, he was tired enough to crash, even though it was only half past eight, and maybe sleep would help calm and clarify his feelings.

He stood up feebly. "I'm gonna go to bed. Tell Hermione good-night."

"Wait," Ron started, placing a freckled hand on his friend's forearm. "I want to help you, no matter what is going on."

Harry nodded and felt a soothing wave of affection – it was a relief to feel something that wasn't unbearably distressing. He was even able to offer up a weak smile: at least Ron was constant. "I know, Ron, and I really appreciate it. I'm sorry for putting you and Hermione through all this today. It's been a lot for me too and I need some sleep before I collapse. I promise, everything will be back to normal tomorrow. . . Okay?"

Reluctantly, but somewhat reassured, Ron nodded and let Harry go.

! END CHAPTER !

Ugh, sorry it took so long to get this baby out, blame a week long Star Wars fest at my house! Anyway, it's quite a bit longer than usual, so I hope everyone is happy. I'm really excited to start the next chapter – things are going to start getting a lot weirder. I just ask you to hang on, a promise an ultimately satisfying story arch and conclusion.