Part I I:

He remembered: I am a government experiment.

. .

"You did not have to keep it going that long," Draco declared and although he was angry, his tone was soft and quiet. The lights were bright and although it (darkness) had all been a trick of the mind, his eyes had to adjust as though he had just been in utter blackness for days upon end. He went on in a tired voice. "Each time- each time you take so much out of me- I see myself suffering there, and I can't-" he immediately stopped talking when he realized that the Auror, (what was this one's name again? she'd been so curt during the introduction he'd erased her name from memory and replaced it with Unfeeling Cunt then hoped she still could not see into his thoughts), was not listening to him at all.

No, she was writing furiously with a quill on her clipboard and looking intrigued by the data she had collected. "Potter wrote here that on your last visit, which was almost-"

"A year ago exactly," Draco put in and rubbed his arm through his silk dress shirt. That had not been fun, though Potter seemed to feel just as awkward as Draco had about the ordeal. He'd made some comment about how he'd been placed on the job after some coworker had gotten ill but it still did not seem fair, Harry Potter seeing Draco's thoughts like that. Harry Potter aiding in manipulating his mind. Last time, the invented reality had only lasted twenty days but perhaps this was only because Potter felt so awkward. Potter had even shaken his bloody hand. It must've looked so damn pathetic to him, Draco's everlasting teenage guilt. Draco's obsession that, at times, had bordered on an experimental-type crush. Thankfully that had already been addressed in his file. ("Boys do that, you know? Question their sexuality when they meet a competitor." Eighteen-year old Draco burned crimson.)

As much as Draco hated it, he was impressed. The effects of the thing were remarkable even now, even after all the years. He still felt freezing and wet, and although he'd been to lunch with his family minutes before arriving at the Ministry, he felt a dull pang of hunger. As much as he despised being the Ministry's guinea pig, he had to marvel at this torture device. It was subtle and it was intriguing.

She shot him a cold look at his interruption. He wanted to say, Pardon me, but it has been fifteen years since I was a young, stupid follower and even then I did not wish for all the death and demise! He wanted to scream, I am not simply an ex-Death Eater! I am a person, you know! But it was foolish to think she'd even care. No one generally bought that Draco Malfoy had repented which was why they brought him here with the others every year. At least Draco hadn't committed murders or high crimes. At least. Draco did not mean it that way, as though he would have if there was no punishment. He was glad he had not.

Father had said that his hallucinations were hideous, but he'd never delve into it. After his sessions, he used to cry and clutch Draco and Narcissa as though he had lost them and found them again. When Draco was eighteen, he'd figured Lucius had to witness the murders he'd executed. Now Draco knew better. The Aurors had been showing Lucius awful things being done to his family, terrible and graphic acts of violence. Certainly, an eye for an eye made sense to Draco but hadn't it been long enough?

And did they really need to enact such illusions upon Mother? She hadn't been as involved as Father but they still scheduled her experimentation every June. They played awful mind games on her, too, and she often left afraid she'd missed Draco's birthday, worried she'd died and he was a child, all alone and walking the war-torn streets. It was a fairly interesting bit of magic and it was serving a purpose. But they all still bitterly agreed it was evil.

"Your feelings for the Muggle-born girl," went on Unfeeling Cunt, flipping a page of parchment, and Draco seethed, "was that something you were dealing with as a boy or was that a new revelation, a trick of your mind?"

Draco flexed his long fingers and smoothed his hair, somewhat embarrassed. "Schoolboy crush," he said in an artificially nonchalant way and shot the Auror a narrow gaze. This part was almost worse than the torture. Aurors were not psychologists. Aurors were not meant to work mind-magic on dark wizards. Aurors lived to hunt dark wizards and Draco could feel the joy in their tones when they felt like they were "figuring him out".

"That must have been something. And did you ever act upon it?"

"Why?" asked Draco, coldly. This was so in the past that he was surprised his subconcious had not completely flattened it. He'd adored Granger (in his own way, of course) from age fourteen until young adulthood but he'd given up on her years ago and he was humilated by what she must think of him. Granger was his first teenage crush and she used to be like a cut on his tongue.

"It's another sign you're not... with them," she said in a snotty way, fixing him with a glower.

He snorted. As if she meant that. She just wanted dirt on him, wanted to further embarrass a Malfoy and brag to her Auror friends that she'd "made him crack". Draco studied the office. It was bright and blank, and he was still lying in the hospital bed with the potion hooked into his veins. The small cauldron had flickered out but he could still almost smell the torture chamber, the filthy old apartment his eighteen year old self had manifested fifteen years ago. "Obviously I never acted upon it in the right way," he replied.

"You teased her, didn't you? I see in your file you had fun teasing a great many classmates-"

"I did far more than tease her," he said, and he gritted his teeth at the memory. He'd done enough self work now to be honest but it did not help him sleep at night, not yet. "I mocked her appearance. I, obviously, mocked her background. Called her names, foul names, Muggle-born names-"

She jotted something down again. "Were you aware of your attraction to her?"

"Aware? I knew I hated her and that I couldn't get her out of my brain," answered Draco plainly. "But I did not know why. Can we change the subject?"

"One last question. How do you feel about that memory now?"

Draco was silent for several moments. For some reason, that took him by surprise. "What good would it do to feel anything?" was his response. And then he went on, "But regret."

"Have you ever apologised, told her your true feelings?"

Draco snorted again. "You said, one last question."

"Mister Malfoy," she pressed bitterly.

"No," he answered abruptly and stared her down. "Why would I want to further destroy her life? I keep away from everyone as best as I can."

"Your old flame came up again," she went on, flipping a page of his file. "Pansy Parkinson. You're still extremely guilty about how you treated her-"

"I'm guilty about many things," he said instantly. "Why are we focusing on my relationships this time? Don't you want-"

"You know, Malfoy," she cut in, "it's normal for teenagers, especially teenage boys, to feign love in order to feel physical intimacy-"

"I'm very aware of that," he responded. "It doesn't make it any more right." Physical intimacy. It was not intimate in the least. Pansy was a bitch but she never deserved all that.

The Auror made a face at him he couldn't quite decipher. "You know," she clucked her tongue, "being guilty about everything in your past doesn't make you a better person. You aren't brought here to invent pain. You're here so you can understand what you put others through!"

That about tipped Draco over the edge but he knew Astoria wouldn't be happy if she got a lecture from a Ministry official upon picking him up (again). (Two years ago, the Auror assigned to Draco had attempted to pick apart his competition with Potter, had accused him of being everything Draco already knew he was but he was tired of sitting and being quiet while people made judgments and then the Auror had the gall to insult Astoria, had the utter cheek to declare her insane for marrying Draco- that was when he lost it. You could insult him all you wanted, he'd take it, but never- dare - insult - the - family.)

Instead, he drew a breath the way he'd been taught and nodded. "I am not trying to appeal to you. I can tell that's never going to happen. These manifestations, they're not my creation, they're your people's. You bring up all these feelings, and I don't choose-"

The Auror was not listening to him. "My people's- my people's? Malfoy, care to explain what you mean by-"

"Oh, sodding- you know what I mean-"

"Half-bloods? Is that what you're referring to?" Her voice was high-pitched and accusatory.

"No!" he snarled. "No!" He sat up and scratched the tubes that had been inserted into his arm to no avail. "I don't know you! How in the hell do you expect I know your blood status? I am speaking about AURORS!" He clenched his teeth. His neck veins popped, blue against ashen. He sounded like Lucius in times like this.

She clucked her tongue again and he shivered with rage at the sound. He hated her calm, holier than thou demeanor. "Ah. Aurors. My people. Well, at least that's a safe prejudice for you to have, Mister Malfoy-"

"Excuse me?" he snapped but she ignored him, purusing his file again. He checked his pocket watch, wanting to be done but he felt if he further ruffled her feathers he'd possibly get a bad report. And that would really be idiotic, after he'd made such intense progress. After all, during his first session he'd blamed everything upon his Father for he'd been extremely furious with Lucius at that point, furious about his upbringing and how Lucius had signed them all into a murderous cult, given himself up and for what? He'd tormented Mother and left Draco confused. He was lectured for this, and verbally slapped across the face. The first Auror thought he was a brat, and rightly so.

By the next year, it was all his own fault and that was not right either. The Auror assigned had assisted him in making that first step, that taking all the blame was selfish but in a different way. That led to Draco half-blaming Lord Voldemort and half-blaming the world. This was making progress but still was not truthful. Draco had played his part, he'd dabbled in wickedness, although he was not really a dark wizard in the same way others were. He grew to accept his mistakes instead of pitying himself. Sure, it was a mind game but it wasn't without a purpose. But soon, Draco learned new things on his own. He stopped relying on professors and parents and Ministry officials to deal his cards. He lived life and chose a career instead of lounging at the Manor as he'd always told his professors, in a lofty, rude way, was his ultimate life goal. He became invested in the plight of others through work at St. Mungo's. He helped his parents with charity work. He joined the school board at Hogwarts. He coupled with a kind-hearted woman, produced a quiet, well-mannered son, ran a loving home. As he lived, he learned the true error of his cruel, petulant ways and honestly, those three experiments would have been enough.

But it was not enough for the Ministry. Just when Draco felt secure in his own humanity, just when he felt he'd accomplished positive goals, he was due for his yearly Ministry meeting and would be newly shattered. Food did not taste right. A smell hung in the air. It was cold. He was a bad-tempered, whining, pathetic shadow of a human being again and he avoided mirrors and jumped at small noises. He saw the Dark Lord at the window, heard him calling at the door.

Astoria hated it, but Draco explained time and time again. It was for his own good. At first she did not understand but now she allowed him his space and silence. She refrained from touching him, especially stroking his arm (where he swore he could feel the hot pain, even now). It was in these haunted weeks after the experiments that Draco would become fearful of his affect on Scorpius. The boy was already shy and too polite, too quiet. And it was apparent that he was afraid of Draco in general, but more so afraid of the Draco whose eyes were narrowed and whose tone was tense. Scorpius hid behind his mother and stared at Draco often, and Draco was fearful the small child was going to figure him out better than anyone else had done. Though this gave Draco a certain amount of hope for the child. If Scorpius hated him early, instead of idolizing him like war hero as Draco had done with Lucius, maybe Scorpius would not become him.

The Auror went on about the Malfoy file. She asked a few questions that had mind-numbingly simple answers: How did it feel being tortured by Lord Voldemort? How did it feel being on the receiving end of pain? Did it make you feel guilty? Not only was this woman a snot, she also was quite simple whilst going about her job. But Draco held his tongue. After all, his opinions of other people did not matter anymore. He was a harsh critic and he'd been broken down for this, then glued back together. A fight would not help. It never did. He kept his acid tongue behind his teeth most of the time these days.

Draco stayed quiet for most of the meeting and breathed a sigh of relief when she finally removed the tubes. He was glad to get out of there but like the Dark Mark, the fear never really went away. The Ministry was making sure he never forgot. The days between each experiment were only like a short vacation from a deep horror that would never end. Reformation was nice but it could not be measured. What could be, however, was the amount of regret portrayed in each ex- Death Eater's war related hallucinations. He'd passed the test for the fifteenth time, but you never knew what could happen. You could slip up, say the wrong thing, make a wrong friend, and the Ministry would find out. Once trust had been removed from the wizarding world, things started to change. These were not nice times.

When he reached the fourth floor waiting room, he placed his hand on Astoria's waist and his fingers on Scorpius' shoulder. He breathed in deeply and prepared for the weeks to come. Rats would be hiding in the shadows and he'd see the faces of dead classmates. Sometimes Astoria's blue eyes flickered red. As much as Draco hated the experiments, he had to admit the genius within the realism of it all.

And poor Father. He'd fallen prey to it just last year. From what Draco work out it had been a particularly brutal scene. Lucius had been shown something abysmal and he'd pledged allegiance to Lord Voldemort to get out of it. Apparently, they'd unplugged the tubes right then and carted him away. He was kept in a unit away from others at St. Mungo's but Draco was not allowed to visit him because Draco might get ideas. Traitors weren't welcome, not anymore.

The Ministry had little patience for ex- Death Eaters. It was a bit drastic, yes, but it was for their own good.

fin