A/N: I don't think I've spelled it out, but in this story the Blacks and the Potters are distantly related through Dorea Black, who was James Potter's great aunt, allegedly. Never mind that that makes Harry and Draco related, they have enough to worry about. :-)

During the trials, Narcissa got to keep all her assets under the Black name, but lost them under the Malfoy name (They were blood inheritances that she'll never lose). She didn't go to prison, she was sent to a Siberian Detainment Center in the middle of no where. It was considered rehabilitation. There was nothing but snow and she couldn't leave the property, but she could go for walks, read, and participate in underground greenhouse farming, which sold and distributed food to the nearest towns. It was punishment without reducing her to criminal status, and awarded because she risked her own life by lying to the Dark Lord, saving Harry's life in the end.


Harry's cell had no doors or windows. Anyone who entered, had to do so by security-coded apparation that kept Harry from doing it himself. The temporary holding cell was a ten by ten foot room of coarse, slate colored rubber epoxy. It reminded him of the changing rooms at the public pool he and Dudley sometimes enjoyed, before Vernon put a stop to it. Those rooms always smelled of chlorine, while the smell in here was more reminiscent of turpentine. A drain in the center of the floor sobered him to stay alert. Maybe they used it to hose prisoners down. Maybe they used it to flush all the brains and entrails down the hole after a nice torture and execution. Then an easy rinse of disinfectant to follow, ready for the next poor bastard who would never see anything close to a fair trial.

He knew his imagination was running away with him. Painless executions took place on the lowest floor, using something like the veil that Sirius fell through. He had to do something to take his mind off of his immediate sticky sensations. That was the real smell. Now that it dried to his clothes and still felt a little slimy between his fingers, he tried not to think about it smelling any differently than a normal person's blood. Naturally, when there was this much of it, the metallic trace would be sharper. The thing was, he could taste it in the back of his throat, his body was so coated with it.

At the threat of disgust, his sense of humor kicked in and he grinned. What he wouldn't give for a souvenir photo of himself right now. He'd done it. He'd kicked Lucius's ass up one side of the street and down the other. That made the oily black-red stuff caking under his fingernails, seem not so bad after all. Not nearly as disgusting as it looked. At the first sign of gagging, when he really looked at his clothes, he simply remembered the sound of that arm breaking, and that triumph distracted him for another ten minutes.

But he must've been in here going on three hours. He couldn't be sure. He felt hot. Between his own sweat and the syrupy stains of Lucius, his shirt dried crusted to his skin in places and remained squishy in others. He wished they'd hurry up and process him. He would have to be given a shower.

When he saw his small finger bent at an odd angle, he knew that his mind was protecting him from the enormity of his pain. There was some satisfaction in knowing he'd stomped that wizard like a tick and bathed in his life's liquid. But it was hollow. He didn't really relish things like that, and he might as well have been covered in shit for all the disgust he had to suppress. He pushed his finger back into place. He wasn't so far gone that he wasn't thankful for the grace of feeling physical pain as irrelevant. His body must've been screaming, but the thought of his and his daughter's fate dominated all else. All that really mattered was finding a way to survive for Iece and Draco. If he had to come out of prison, a wasted hull of who he once was, then he'd find a corner and go crazy enough to survive the horrors. He'd dream of her everyday, and that would give him some kind of light in the dark.

Thanks to his friends, he knew what happiness was. He'd pack it away in his mind and keep it safe. And whenever they weren't torturing him, he'd take it out and hold it up to the light. Thanks to Draco, he knew the best that a warm, welcoming body had to offer. While they had a way of comforting each other in bed, that the world couldn't understand, theirs was still lovemaking at its best. When they both let it be. When stress and fear didn't get in the way. His favorite encounters with Draco, his beautiful creamy back and long thighs, were stored in his soul forever. No dementor was gonna suck that out. If anything, that demon's kiss would release him to it. He'd flip the living world a finger as his spirit dashed across the void to live in his version of paradise with Draco. They can have his fucked up body because it was just a painful human suit anyway. Fuck 'em.

Draco. I did it for you too. He didn't just fail you as a father. He became your enemy. When he let that madman change you, he didn't care if it killed you. Hate me all you want. I fucking love you and nobody's gonna get away with what they did to you. To us.

And Iece. If he was headed for isolation amid cold and stone, a bleak surrounding of sea that he'd never glimpse, with salt air and wet fungus slowly ripping his lungs to shreds, and whatever else was germinating in the bowels of Azkaban, he put his daughter's light where even a dementor could not get it. He'd have to learn to shove the feel of her little arms, hugging him as tightly as they can, down into a false-bottom cellar of his mind. Push it right into that abyss and take it with him to paradise. He will survive this. He will.

He hadn't beaten Lucius's ass for nothing. He may not have killed him like he wanted, but he wasn't afraid of him anymore. Some part of himself had returned. That connection was very soothing, like finding himself again. In spite of all the evidence, he inhaled and exhaled pure certainty that no matter what decision other people were going to make about this, he'd be okay. And his daughter would too.

His veins suddenly swelled with liquid relaxation. He let go of his tension, as if it were wrestled from his hands. The sudden feeling that came over him, made him wonder if invisible angels were real, shushing his worries and telling him that it was all worked out. His muscles let go. His breathing found balance. He associated that kind of soothing with women. Something they could get away with, while men could not be taken seriously. Stroking gentleness and soft whispers.

Mr. Weasley's livid expression shocked him back to reality. It was the first one he'd seen since being arrested. It appeared, not inside with Harry, but across from him. That poured, hard rubber surface changed in texture and gave Harry a view of his concerned face. The image was small, about the size of a text book. At the first tug of shame at being seen this way, Harry stiffened his jaw and braced his courage to look Mr. Weasley in his eyes.

"Harry…" Mr. Weasley started. He blinked a little too excessively at what he saw, but managed, "Good. You're responsive. That's an improvement."

Harry wasn't even tempted to decipher the meaning of that. He could guess well enough.

Arthur Weasley's face flickered, as if he were on a muggle camera. This detail told Harry that his image was the hybrid result of magic and muggle technology. He bent forward, pressing his greatest urgency upon Harry.

"They've only given me a few minutes to talk to you. No one could get through to you when you were brought in. You've been given a period to cool off, as the muggles say. Banks suspects you'll talk to me before you talk to anyone else here. I hope he's right."

When he got no response, he continued, "We're family, Harry. Whatever has happened, please trust me like a father and tell me what on earth made you do that to Lucius?"

Harry suppressed the cynicism rising in his gut. The absurdity of expressing anything he felt, died in an impossible wasteland in his mind. He wanted to laugh at the childish assumption that he could simply talk it all out. He felt better about things, but he wasn't sure he could trust that entirely, now that Mr. Weasley brought the real world back into the cell. How can you explain hate to someone who only understood love? How can you explain revenge, to someone who was so quick to forgive? If he opened his mouth right then, they'd just be speaking different languages. There was no way he could make him understand the level of dysfunction he'd let himself sink to. And he really didn't want someone as kind as him, to know what that was all about anyway. Just let whatever's going to happen, happen, he wanted to tell him. Don't contaminate yourself trying to save me. I'll be fine.

"Lucius is severely injured, Harry. He could die. If it weren't for magic, he would die. What were you thinking? I know you don't want to talk, but this might be your only chance to defend yourself and say what prompted you. You will be tried for attempted murder, treasonous exposure to our world, and putting muggles in danger with reckless behavior. Draco has sent a team of legal representation, but I talked everyone into giving you a chance to confide in me. Once you leave that cell, you will be treated with the severity of a dangerous criminal. I will not be able to help you. So tell me now, while you can. What really happened? No one believes you're a criminal. What did Lucius do to bring this eruption out of you?

Harry wanted to use insane laughter to protect himself from Mr. Weasley's fear. To use it as a buffer against any remorse threatening to bubble up from the acid in his stomach. But nothing came. He sat there willing Ron's father to go away and leave him to his punishment.

"Your daughter deserves your self-preservation. She deserves her father in her life, not in prison. Draco deserves it. Speak up for yourself, Harry. A wizard's blood drenches the streets. Your attack was witnessed by too many people to obliviate, and that number is still growing as they use their contraptions to replicate and share those images over and over again all over the world. Our muggle contacts say that yours and Lucius's faces will be on T-shirts and mugs before the week is out. I'm no fan of his, but I don't want you going to prison over him. You must defend yourself. Give me something I can understand. Did he threaten you? Did he threaten your child? Why would you disregard him for over two years, only to turn your fury on him today? The Smallest whisper from you will carry more weight than any vat of lies he can come up with. You'll have to receive punishment, but telling me your side of it right now, no matter what the legal repercussions, could be all the difference between probation and years in Azkaban. What did he do?"

Harry didn't realize how much he needed water, until he spoke. "You're better off not knowing. I'm sorry this hurts you. But let me go to prison. It's worth it."

"You're in shock. You're probably injured and you're not thinking clearly. Nothing is worth your daughter growing up without you. Nothing."

Guilt twisted, wringing his guts. He made a fist and pounded his leg to keep from telling Mr. Weasley to go to hell.

"She has Draco. He loves her. He'll take good care of her. I trust him."

"Loves her as much as you do?"

He stared hard at that question and at Arthur. "Probably more. He deserves her. I'm just complicating things." He risked a lingering look into the other man's eyes. "I'm too messed up to raise her."

Aurthur nodded. Not in agreement, but in silent confirmation. "He loves her like his own, yes?"

Harry nodded. It was second nature to give all the credit to Draco. Then he realized his mistake.

He and Arthur locked stares.

He rushed, straightening. "That's not what I meant."

Arthur raised his hand. "Stop. This communication is not private. I want to know why you did this, but I want you to be clear about what you're saying. Does she or Draco have anything to do with why you attacked Lucius?"

He didn't know whether to curse him or weep in praise. Arthur had just given him an out. It wasn't hard to think of one, now that the truth threatened to spill into the room.

"Draco…"

"Yes, go on. We haven't much time."

"It's personal. Very personal. Draco and I have problems because of that curse. It's not over for us. Our hell is as fresh today as it was years ago and my daughter is suffering for it. She's being hospitalized right now for what that curse did before she was even born. So I let Lucius know how effective and lasting his crimes are on all our lives. No matter how much time he did in prison, he's still hurting us. Her. I couldn't let him get away with that. It wasn't revenge. It was problem-solving. She'll never be safe as long as he has access to her. He hates the fact that she exists. She's a reminder of, of what he did to his son."

He snagged on that, stunned by the thought that he could've been talking about himself instead of Lucius. He shook it off.

"I couldn't live a minute longer with keeping silent. And being too scared to approach him and hold him accountable. I tried to kill him to keep her safe."

Arthur leaned closer to the screen. A look of distraction came over him as something got his attention out of Harry's view. Someone appeared to speak to him. He turned back to Harry.

"All right, then. Um, Harry, there's someone here to see you. I'm being asked to step out. Stay calm and cooperative for now. If I can get back to you, I will."

He watched him stand and the view filled with Arthur's chest as he shuffled to the side to let another have his seat. Harry's breath caught at the sight of royal navy blues and high ranking stripes taking the place of Arthur's formal robes. A robust man with thick, coiffed white hair that almost concealed his bald spot, sat down and looked to where Arthur's finger pointed him to. It was the Admiral, Bicksby, a representative of the CIUM. Central International of Unified Magic.

It had never been clear to Harry if he was a wizard or not, but he certainly moved among them with ease. That, and his stripes, told him that something unprecedented was about to happen. Harry could never sense any magic on him, yet muggles did not make it into Ministry Headquarters, so this wasn't an average man. He straightened up.

The Admiral squinted into the little window. "My goodness, son. If you feel half as bad as you look, you have my condolences. For what it's worth, I hope you got the bastard good."

Harry gasped. Not what he expected. Banks and his high court were listening?

"I know working your way through a list of bureaucratic bullshit right now, is not what you need. So I'll get to the point. According to the law, your actions against one Lucius Malfoy earns you a due trial and sentencing. The CIUM organization is not above the law and we can't spare you that. But. We can postpone it. As soon as Mr. Malfoy becomes stable, the terms of your release can be negotiated and signed, allowing you to leave here a free man, or wizard, if you prefer. However, your freedom is contingent on contracting your service to us. Assist us in one of our highest profile cases, and your incarceration might be negated through service to society. Ours is a global operative with jurisdiction across all governing regions, borders and international waters. It is a matter of global security and your unique abilities make you an essential fit to our needs in sub-level investigations not generally known to the masses."

"A plea bargain?"

"This is not technically a plea bargain. You're still going to have to appear for trial. But not until you've helped us. Matters have heated up somewhat since last we spoke. Time is now a factor and the safety of innocent people takes precedence over a family squabble. In-laws, what're you gonna do? You're not the first person to want to kill his. Don't let them make you think you've done anything that god-awful. Everyone's overreacting. If you really wanted that joker dead, you would've used your wand on him in a hundred different ways, without anyone knowing it was you. I think you could've made a safe fall on his head from two blocks away. You gave him a fair fight, like a man. More than he deserves, I'm sure. If and when you go to court, details like that are going to have to be factored in, and not lightly."

"If? You said you can't spare me that."

"I can't make you promises like that. Definitely not before you sign. But your Minister can. Your equivalent of the govenor-general could pardon you. It all depends on convincing them if its worth it. Naturally, your fellow wizards are going to press for a trial, if nothing else, to know what's ticking away in your brain. Two years ago, you were the Boy Wonder of magic. Now you look like a serial killer. Citizens are paying for protection, so it will have to be proven to all that you are still the sane young man that they all remember you to be. If you don't shed light on your actions, a trial certainly will. You might find it helpful to know, the more you reveal up front, the fewer reasons they have to drag it out of you in public.

"If you join our organization, you'll be involved in a case that's expected to last for months. Your conduct will be monitored, reported, and rewarded. You will learn and grow. By the end, the day of your trial might be little more than a thirty minute private lecture, a year's probation, community service, and a psychological evaluation. If you decline our offer, with your actions fresh in everyone's shocked minds, your trial could start and end this week, with a one-way ticket to prison. Blood speaks louder than good intentions, I'm afraid. And people are flat out scared of you right now."

Harry bent and rubbed at his eyes, cursing, as that only made the grimy, stinky residue get in his eyes. "Fuck."

He would have to make this decision while sitting in filth, and needing to get it off him in the worst way. He would've signed for a shower, and kicked himself for creating yet another situation where he had no good out but to run from one painful situation to a less painful one. Why couldn't these things be considered over a meal and the kind of long introspection that went well with wine? Because he was fucking Harry Potter and every major change in his life had to be done without an ounce of caution and clarity. Just rush right into those flames, there you go. You'll be fine because you're Harry Potter.

"Do I look like I'm ready to go to work for some covert government?"

"We're not your government. We're not any one government. We're made up of governing bodies and parliaments all over the world. We represent magical and non-magical beings, who do not necessarily hold allegiance to traditional territories."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means, you could be a human being and go all your life not knowing that wizards really exist. We're the officials who attempt to policy all the creatures that aren't supposed to exist, so that people can feel safe in their little boxes, not knowing what else really lives alongside of them. Believe me, wizards don't begin to tell the real story. This world is populated by beings far stranger than that. We may call them creatures, but when you see and interact with them, they're just people with mutual and different needs. Some of whom happen to have wands or antennae."

He stared. "Like the Men in Black?"

"Something like that. Only not as cute. We resolve real threats between interspecies cohabitation and promote unity and cooperation between all sentient life forms. The CIUM is a front-door organization only. A multi-government interface for people to call on. Once you're inside, the bigger picture is almost unexplainable to the masses. Too much inaccurate history has been taught. It's too late to get everyone on the same page concerning what's possible, so we police what we can. When there's trouble we do our best to diffuse the situation. And right now, we need you on our team."

"Why? I'm retired from catching dark wizards."

"Because you have a hell of a wandhand. None of my people can pull a person's thoughts out into the air like that, and we have what you might think of as mind-reading technology. It doesn't touch what you can do."

He shook his head. It was too easy. Something about it didn't sound trustworthy.

"I've never heard of you until a few weeks ago. I wouldn't know what I was signing."

"So you'd take your chances on Azkaban? Kid, nothing I give you to sign is going to be as bad as that. Think of your family. It's like learning any new job. It takes a while to master the basics. You might be asked to wear a uniform, a suit, in the field. You'd make a competitive salary the first year, automatic double the following year. That's if you stay out of prison and want to stay on. All of this is voluntary. Even if you sign and want out of it, the circumstances of your current duress, ensures that you can come back to this cell if you feel you've been coerced in any way. What's more, this is not a daily gig, but you might spend weeks away from home, depending on how much we need you in any given case. Once you're with us, you'll have affiliates all over the world. You can cross any border, live any where, with a host of health and security resources. How much time do you really need to think this over, given your current situation?"

Harry glared. "I don't know what I'm getting my family into. I would love to walk out of here. Let it be that simple. But I don't know you. Not really, and I need to understand what I'm signing."

Bicksby reached out of view and came back up with a booklet. "You can read all two hundred pages of your employment contract while you're stewing in there, and hope you can understand the legal jargon. Or you can sign this one sheet on top, and read the rest from the easy chair in your home after a long hot shower. It's up to you. We high-tailed it to get to you before those Wizengamot zealots did. We figured you'd want out of there. I hope we haven't been presumptuous."

Harry measured the thickness of the booklet in his mind.

"I'm told that if I press this button, you'll receive whatever's placed here, at your end."

Harry nodded, thinking. He asked, "Mr. Bicksby, does that mean that you've been following me? The fact that you knew and acted so fast?"

"Of course we've been following you, we told you that. We made the offer before. How do you think we came to that decision?

"If I sign, will me and my family ever have privacy again?"

"The question is, if you don't sign, will you and your family ever have privacy and safety again? As long as you're feeling harassed, you'll be given a team of secret security, paid for by the CIUM. You will be helping to thwart major conspiracies against your world infrastructure, political and otherwise. You will save lives with every case and still make it home for dinner most nights. You'll be one of us. We have to watch you. Your privacy will only ever be breached to keep you safe, and you will be aware of it when it happens. Can I send this through now?"

Harry gave a slow and deliberate nod, and watched the booklet appear on the floor in front of him. So that's how prisoners were fed in here.

"When you're done reading, tear out the first three pages and send them back through. These fellas are telling me that sending something in, automatically holds the way open to send it back out again. The contract has a legal obligatory binding on it, so your Minister has to make sure I get it as soon as he can. You'll have time to-"

He stopped talking and looked down. Harry had shoved the whole book through the wall, back the way it came. His signature was written on the first page staring up at Bicksby, in Lucius Malfoy's blood.

It was light, but there. He'd spit into his hand to re-wet the rust-colored smudges and traced it with his finger.

If the Admiral was disgusted, he hid it well. He smiled. "I would've given you a pen."

Harry didn't return his smile. "I'll settle for a shower."