November 1997.

The night before the beginning of the trials Harry and Draco were playing their usual evening match of chess. Narcissa was there too, giving Draco a piece of odd advice, but mostly, she gossiped about random people and talked about news of the magical world.

Harry didn't mind though, as her soft voice was the only thing separating them from total silence. He didn't understand why women preferred talking about nothing in particular over the silence, but he guessed it was how mothers were. Maybe it was a way to spend more time with her son, maybe it was an appreciation of their freedom and making the most out of it and maybe she didn't know how else to talk with two young men.

Tonight, however, was a bit different because, for the first time since they started playing chess, Harry was winning. At least, he thought so.

He was never particularly good in a game. The best strategies evaded him, the complexity of the openings and defenses was too much for him and the sheer number of combinations that could happen over the board made his brain fuzzy.

Still, tonight he was confident he would come on the top. He found a simple way to turn game into the something he understood; he simply traded pieces down till they were left with rook and pawns end game and there they were.

They both had three pawns each and a rook, but where Draco's three pawns were connected Harry had two pawns facing them, but the third pawn was on the other side of the board, happily marching towards its destiny.

Passed pawn, Harry remembered the term for it, as he pushed it forward. Pieces usually yelled at him, gave him advice, and frowned as he ordered them around, but tonight they were mercifully quiet. Like Harry, his king and his rock never took their eyes from the pawn that threatened to win a game, and as long as Harry used them to ensure the pawn's safety they obliged.

Harry saw a small smirk on his cousin's face and wondered for a second if he had blundered a game, but dismissed the thought quickly. Malfoys were weird like that, seeming confident even if they were losing, refusing to show any weaknesses, trying to throw off their opponents with fake facial expressions.

In Harry's mind, a whole situation was grotesque and it hit too close to home so he had no idea should he laugh to the irony of it or cry because of its deeper meaning. One pawn stood there. It was far from the strongest piece and some may even rendered them useless, but they still existed. Pawns had many uses: you could protect worthier pieces with them, you could sacrifice them for some other advantage, you could hide your king behind them, but at the end of the day, it was clear that their destiny was to be captured.

Not always, though, because they had one other use. If it survived long enough, if it beats everything that was thrown on its way, if it marches forward no matter what, it may become something else: It will reincarnate into something stronger, it will become a game-changer, it will justify all the sacrifices made before, and at the end, it will win the game.

Harry pushed his pawn one last time, queening it, and chuckled quietly. Was he really that pathetic that he compared his life with a life of a charmed, animated pawn? What a realization, he bitterly thought, a bloody pawn has to die in order for queen to come forward and win the game

From then on, a game was completely one-sided and it took only ten more moves before Draco's king took its crown off and bowed to Harry. It made him proud, even if he would never admit it to them. Draco leaned back at the chair, sighing loudly.

"Well, it was good while it lasted," he joked, still observing the board.

"Well done, Harry, I knew it was only a matter of time," Narcissa beamed at him. Harry still couldn't believe that this was the same woman he met on the world's cup, one with a lip curled with disgust. Still, he couldn't help, but smile back. The praise came ten years too late, but it was still very appreciated.

"I thought you were trying for a draw, with all the trading," Draco shook his head, as he couldn't believe Harry, a Gryffindor, beat him in a game of patience and strategy.

"Pawns are a specialty of mine," Harry muttered, more to himself. Draco and Narcissa both looked at him strangely, but he just stood up, swished his wand to put pieces back to their places, and left the room, muttering some excuse.

Draco was no stranger to moody Harry Potter and didn't comment on his abrupt leaving, but he knew his mother will surely be worried.

"What was that, Draco?" she asked and he just shrugged.

"Maybe because of the trials? They start tomorrow?" Narcissa wondered, but Draco shook his head. His mother was usually a sharp and intelligent woman, but most of her life was centered about obliging her husband and keeping her head down. Because of that, and pureblood customs, she never had any real friends and lacked in terms of understanding modern teenagers. Especially those that went through the war.

"No, I don't think it's that," he decided to share his musings with his mother.

"We've been here for what? Month and a half?" he asked and when his mother nodded, he continued.

"And how many times he went to Weasleys? Or to meet his friends? He just practices magic with those portraits and reads Merlin knows what in that library," he said last part of the sentence with a hint of disgust. Malfoy library wasn't the friendliest place, but books that resided in the Black library was a completely new level of gore. He never understood why Harry left them untouched. He thought Gryffindor would burn all that 'dark' stuff without a second thought. Still, Potter managed to surprise him once again, as he always does.

"Something must be bothering him," Narcissa insisted and Draco had a fairly good idea what. Screams at the night, clutching of his wand whenever someone made an unexpected move and blank stare he sometimes adopted were telling a story Draco was familiar with. Draco was secretly afraid of that look, even if he would never admit it.

"Maybe you should invite some of your friends over?" mother brought him out of his stupor. He did think about asking Harry, but last time he saw Pansy she tried to sell him to Dark Lord and Theo Nott probably never spoke to the boy before.

"Maybe he isn't comfortable around his lot anymore," she sniffed, causing him to smirk. Malfoys would never like Weasleys. It was the first law of the universe.

"We'll see," he answered, pretending not to hear explosions that could be heard from one of the offices upstairs. His mother and he grew accustomed to it and in some sort of unspoken agreement they never spoke about it. Draco sometimes wished he became a friend with a strange wizard much earlier. Sure, he was strange, weird, impulsive, and a Gryffindor, but one could never say that life of Harry Potter was boring.

(...)

Trials, as Harry was told, were going to have three stages, based on the severity of the crimes committed. The first one will contain marked Death Eaters, ones who escaped Azkaban and those who managed to avoid it last time. The second stage, with a far bigger number of trials, will focus on war profiteers, snatchers, those who came into the position of power by exchanging favors with Dark Lord and so on. The third stage, sad as it was, was left for those who had no choice, those who were imperioused and those who worked for the regime out of their own will, like madam Umbridge.

Harry will have to witness in every single case, he was told, even if he has never seen most of the accused. The truth was, no one really knew what snatchers did to their victims before they brought them to do ministry and everyone who might know went crazy in Azkaban. The prison itself, once the winning side made its way into it, was a disaster.

Dementors had free reign there, torturing countless squibs, muggleborns, muggles, enemies of the regime, and so on. Few remained sane enough to somehow mimic a normal person, but they were unwilling to talk, probably to escape from their own demons. Harry understood all about demons so he didn't hold it against them, but because of it there was no real witness to most of the crimes committed so Harry would have to imprison them all.

He wasn't okay with it. His own godfather was a victim of such a trial, or rather, the lack of it, and he wanted to have nothing with it, but his ten-time blasted agreement with a ministry forced him to do so. He was tricked, he realized, he was manipulated again to lie to the whole world so Kingsley can keep his new position of power.

Accordingly, with every stage of trials, Harry has learned something new. First to earn the life sentence in Azkaban were the worst of Death Eaters, deranged ones, driven to insanity due to the magic they practiced, fanatics, psychopaths, sadists like Rodophulus Lestrange, Carrow siblings and Walden Macnair. For them, Harry could happily say that they deserved what they got and that they were evil scum.

However, Harry realized, most of the men that followed weren't evil. It was strange to see them, chained to the chair in the middle of the courtroom, with the same defiant faces, accepting their fates with grim nodes. Travers, Selwyn, Yaxley, Avery, Dolohov were all stoic in their defeat and Harry couldn't find hate from within himself for these people.

Slowly, but surely he realized those people's crimes weren't as gruesome and hateful as he was led to believe. All they did was eliminating their enemies, Harry reckoned, because that was who they were; soldiers fighting for what they believed, even if their beliefs were a pile of shit.

Rookwood was first to accept the right to talk before Azkaban, surprising most of the room. He was a tall guy, with grey hair and empty, light blue eyes that held no emotions. During the trials, he looked bored, surveying various wizards around him.

He slowly pushed himself to the feet, causing every auror nearby to stiffen.

"Stagnation, mediocrity, tyrant ministry. Is that what you want to settle for?" he spoke softly, but due to the silence in the courtroom, Harry was able to hear every word. Rookwood's eyes have ran across the room, finally settling down on Harry who defiantly returned the glare.

"You let children to fight your battles. You put all your hope into a boy who didn't even finish his education and when he emerged victorious you celebrated as if you have won," he droned on, pausing only to chuckle. It wasn't a happy chuckle. Still, the man observed Harry, only a hint of curiosity in his eyes. The silence in the room deepened during that short pause, Harry noticed.

"You haven't won. You haven't defeated our vision. You merely survived the crisis and the truth about your, so-called, victory will soon become clear."

"You haven't won either. Take him away," Kingsley said grimly, as aurors rushed to obey. However, as they dragged him away, a single word has made its way back in the courtroom.

"Yet."

The following trials, Harry found out, were a sham. Hundreds of wizards and witches who used the situation to make themselves rich and who hunted poor muggleborns down were free to go, receiving only fines for their crimes and less than a year of a prison.

Harry hated these kinds of people. Invertebrates, parasites, danglers, scum that never did a single day of honest work in their lives. They were human waste that thrived in others despair, not bothered by the suffering of the others. Write-offs whose only role in the society was to leech onto good, kind, and hard-working people.

"There isn't enough space for all of them," Kingsley defended his decision, "And their gold will be far more valuable to us than them in prison."

"Filthy gold!" Harry had replied hotly, "earned on the screams of innocents. It's bloody money!"

"I won't bore you with the inner workings of the ministry since I know you don't understand politics, but it needs lots of gold. GOLD WE DON'T HAVE," minister lost his composure and Harry almost decided to take his wand out.

"You are no better than Fudge," Harry said through his teeth and Kingsley just nodded.

"As long as it keeps the peace on the streets and stability inside the ministry. Now, onto trials..."

Therefore, Harry had learned the second thing. Any sort of government, whoever is in power of it, firstly and foremostly looks after itself. The weight of that illogical realization crushed what was left of Harry's spirit. The people, the very people who gave everything to ensure the existence of the ministry would always come second in their plans.

He wanted to yell. He wanted to scream. He wanted to crush something, but he knew there was no use to do so. They were all powerless to change it, he mused when the traitorous thought came in the front of his mind.

Voldemort had the power to change it. Dumbledore had the power to change it. Riddle tried and failed. Dumbledore didn't try and he didn't fail. Was it really that simple?

The third stage of the trials, which was conveniently open to the press, was so staged that Harry cringed a bit. Useless wizards like Pius Thicknesse were pardoned for their crimes and put back in the position of power. Said wizard, for example, became a new head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Crouch, at least, knew many languages, but Pius got his previous job only because his blood was pure enough and there was no one better around.

Kingsley had a few inspiring speeches too. Merciful leader, who was taught by great Albus Dumbledore himself trying to do his best and ensuring just trials. Press loved it and Harry wanted to puke.

Only good thing Harry could affect was a trial of Dolores Umbridge. He went into full witness mode for her, retelling his whole fifth year and his brief visit to the ministry in disguise just to pain her as bad as possible. Ugly woman, it seemed, lost of her spirit once Riddle was gone and she quietly sat in her chair as the jury discussed what to do with her. In the end, she got 10 years in Azkaban and Harry knew that would be enough to break hideous witch.

Even though this part looked more like a circus than like a trial Harry figured out another lesson. The press, if it was in the right hands, was a powerful weapon. Harry remembered that even Mrs. Weasley believed them when they said he was dating Hermione.

All in all, Harry couldn't be happier when all of the trials were finally over. The whole farce went on for almost a week; the whole day and every day.

(...)

Exhausted, unhappy and bitter, he decided he deserved a few drinks in the Leaky Cauldron. Tom the bartender tended to keep you alone if he saw you were in a bad mood and he knew how to ensure privacy for Harry. It was all he needed.

Once he flued into the unsightly inn, as graceful as ever, he saw the most unexpected guest helping himself with Merlin knows which fire-whiskey. Even if red hair wasn't enough to recognize him, the absence of one ear would suffice.

"George," he clapped remaining twin at his back, harder than he intended, and forced him to spit his last sip.

"Blimey, you moron," he jumped on his feet, narrowing his red, drunken eyes in order to recognize Harry.

"Oh, it's you," he said then, settling down on his chair.

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that. Just haven't seen you in a while," Harry responded, taking one of the free chairs and motioning Tom for 2 whiskeys.

"You would if you bothered coming over," drunk Weasley scolded him with a slight frown. Harry was just about to answer when George started talking again.

"It's just the whiskey talking out of me, s'alright. That you didn't visit, I mean. Ron's being prat 'bout it, Ginny's all hysterical and mom's sure you don't eat enough, but the rest of us gets ya. Where you're comin' from, that is," he explained and Harry nodded, with some relief showing on his face just as Tom brought them the whole bottle.

"You deserve it, boys," he told them quietly and rushed away before Harry or George could pay for it. The two of them sat in there in silence for a while, sipping themselves a generous amount of alcohol.

"Didn't know you left the room," Harry pried.

"Angelina came. Dragged my self-pitying ass out," he responded shortly and changed the topic.

"I've been to the shop too. Ron's been around helping as much as he can. Not very imaginative, that one," he joked, but the effects didn't quite reach his eyes, "Anyway, I've seen a lot of people in Diagon. Those who were with us and no one has seen you around."

"Yeah, I'm mostly at home, preparing for NEWTs," he said, sounding lame even to himself as George chuckled.

"Sure, and I'm thinking about a career in the ministry. Seems like the bottoms of the cauldrons are getting too thin again..." he trailed as Harry punched him in the shoulder, causing him to laugh even louder.

"Lay off, you prick," he said, without any real venom in his voice, "I just don't feel up to hanging out. With all the people looking at me anywhere I go."

"Mm, that gets old real quick, I reckon," George agreed, "Say, any of the rumors from the ministry are true?"

"What rumors?"

"They say you gonna for an auror, that Kingsley offered you position without training and so."

"What? No. I'm not working for ministry any time soon," Harry said in disbelief," Just doing a favor for Kingsley. Now that trials are done, I won't set my foot there anymore."

"Right. I thought so, but you never know," he said and the two of them fell into another comfortable silence, each of them in their own thoughts.

"George?" Harry finally started.

"Yeah?"

"D'you think we've won?"

"Yeah, sure," George started, his voice filled with emotion, disgust and sarcasm, "I've won a pretty, wooden coffin at the graveyard. A whole lot of them, too. The hell was there to win? S'not like we had much to begin with."

"We were happy?" Harry offered, but George just scoffed.

"You've bought happiness for Fred and me so the two of us were, but others? You? Merlin, Harry, I've watched you for years and I don't think I remember you being happy. Maybe that first Christmas at Hogwarts, when we charmed those snowballs to chase Quirrell around," he said with a fond smile and Harry smiled too. It was his first real Christmas. Everything was so good back then, but George was right. Every next year was harder, and there was always more stuff to cope with.

"You reckon we are going to be happy one day?" Harry asked, almost desperately, but George shook his head.

"I don't think we were meant to be happy," he said after a few seconds of thinking.

"You know, back in the Hogwarts, when everything went bonkers, Lee and I were fighting this guy with a hood and we somehow managed to overpower him. We threw him back hard and he landed at those bloody spiders, but you see, at that moment, his hood fell off and we saw this ordinary guy whose gaze was completely focused, imperiused for sure. They started to eat him, those spiders, and at that moment his eyes went normal for a second, he broke out of it, I reckoned. His eyes widened as he started screaming, pleading for life, crying and shit, we just stood there watching as they ripped him apart. A guy whose only sin was that he wasn't strong enough to fight the curse. We killed him, Lee and I. We killed his dreams, probably ruined his family too because we had no other option," he spoke as tears started to appear on his face and Harry listened in silence, not wanting to interrupt him.

"No one is supposed to witness something like that. No one! Yet we've seen it. We, the DA, and everyone who stayed behind. Even those under-aged kids who sneaked back in to fight seen the worst of it, but they shouldn't. We should've play quidditch, chase birds and just enjoy life, be normal kids, you know?" Harry just nodded, unable to speak.

"How can we be normal after that? How can we be happy?"

"So what do we do?" Harry asked, no one in particular, but George responded nonetheless.

"We ensure that the next generations don't have to go through the same crap we did. Kingsley should make a good job out of it, once everything's fixed," he said, but Harry wasn't so sure about that. Still, he kept his doubts for himself, and once again he remembered Rookwood's little speech.

Have they won?

(...)

The next morning was hell. Hangover hit him hard and not even Kreacher's potions could help with his headache. He took another sip of his tea, which was heavily laced with pain-numbing potion, hangover potion, and calming draught.

Kreacher didn't like that he added his own potions into the combination, but they helped. A bit.

Draco, the bastard, caught him unprepared so he, for some reason, has agreed to play a host for friends Draco invited over. It would be weird to spend his time with Slytherins around, but maybe that was what he needed; the change of the environment.

Narcissa too wasn't happy with his state and she berated him over and over about misuses of potions and alcohol. After half an hour of her rant he has had it enough.

"Alright, alright, for fuck sake, it won't happen again," he said loudly, raising his hands in defeat. Narcissa crossed her arms, raised her chin, and gave him a superior look.

"You better remember your promise, young man!" she said and before he could ask what promise she was talking about, she already left the room. Cursing softly under his breath, he quickly followed her. There was no way in hell he would let them drill him like this without getting anything in return.

Once he caught them, he roughly stabbed the air with his wand, forcing all doors to close themselves.

"Alright. Draco, you can invite your friends over and Narcissa, I'll keep potions and minimum, but the two of you are going to meet my godson," he said firmly and when they both opened their mouths he quickly interrupted, "No excuses! I won't let history to stay in the path of my family. You Blacks and your stubbornness! I've had enough of it."

They stood in silence for a few moments, before Draco finally broke it.

"Umm, Harry?"

"YES?" he snapped back.

"Can you release the charm from the doors?" he asked hesitantly.

"Oh."