TRIGGER WARNING: torture in a flashback

Chapter 2: Truth and hope

Hi Lightning! Care for a chat on Potterwatch? River

The message sat on the edge of Harry's bed. That was weird. He would have woken up if he had had to take it off an owl. Besides, all the windows were closed.

Harry sat on his bed and looked over the windowsill. The hills outside were bathed in warm orange light. The sun hung alarmingly low over the horizon. It was almost eight p.m.! He had slept through the whole day.

Harry's feet dropped into a haphazard heap of blood-stained clothes. Images of last night flashed through his mind, like a film on high speed. It was over. He was done. Done.

Harry heaved a sigh, but it turned into a yawn. He could lie down and sleep for another twelve hours, but his stomach gave an insistent growl. There was no way around it. Harry pulled his sooty jeans out of the heap. It would have to do for a start.

"Hey! Look what the cat's dragged in!" Lee Jordan was alone in the Gryffindor common room. "The hero of Hogwarts! The saviour of the wizarding world! The ultimate eradicator of Dark Lords! The boy who failed to die, again! Which one do you prefer?"

"River?" Harry muttered into Lee's shoulder while being squeezed and clapped on his back. "Where's everyone?"

"Either at their homes or restoring the Ravenclaw Tower. The Weasleys, Hermione included, are gone to the Burrow. And I am here to kidnap you!"

Two broomsticks were leaned against the back of the sofa and a big paper bag stood on the table.

"Out there, a horde of reporters is waiting to tear you apart." Lee gestured towards the portrait hole. "I have a different plan. Have a bite," a gust of savoury smell hit Harry in the face, as Lee shoved the paper bag into his hands, "and then we'll go for a round on the broomstick. My studio is in Hogsmeade."

"I can't talk. I'm too— I'm too—" Harry fished a sausage roll out of the bag. This was more important.

"You don't have to talk tonight. But eventually... People have the right to know. They'd better hear it from you." Lee plopped open a bottle of pumpkin juice and put it on the table in front of Harry. "If you don't give the quill-mills something reasonable to write about, they'll write about the smell of your T-shirt, and that will be the only part based on facts."

Harry pulled at the fabric and sniffed. They'd have a lot to write about. Last time he had changed they still had four Horcruxes to go.

"Don't worry about anything. We'll get you a shower, a bath, a spa, if you like, and as many T-shirts as you can possibly wear. Just don't forget what happened yesterday!"

And that was what life in the first days after the battle was essentially about. Potterwatch now operated in the open, without code names, broadcasting twice a day at regular times, and Harry, Ron and Hermione virtually moved in to Lee's studio. They also gave a couple of interviews to the Quibbler, but remained reserved with the Daily Prophet, and were careful by all means to avoid Rita Skeeter, who went to desperate lengths trying to squeeze a word out of them.

Of course, even when Skeeter seemed not to be around, one could never be sure she really wasn't, since she could be lurking anywhere in her beetle disguise. It took barely a week for Harry to start wondering if he should get himself a replacement for Hedwig and train it to hunt beetles.

"Beetles do not belong to the natural diet of snowy owls!" Hermione gave him a prohibitive look.

"Carrying mail doesn't either," Harry countered, and regretted it the same moment. Hermione didn't stop lecturing him on animal ethics for three days in a row.

When Harry finally ventured a visit to the Eeylops Owl Emporium, the problem turned out to have a simple solution. Who said it had to be a snowy owl? Other owl species did not mind beetles at all, and this was how Harry came in possession of Douglas, a grey screech owl, who looked like an angry cat with wings. A perfect match for Skeeter.

Questions were asked not only by reporters, but also, and even more so, by investigators at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. That meant hours and hours spent in the Auror Headquarters talking about Death Eaters and nothing else. Reluctantly, Harry had to part with Draco Malfoy's wand, which was collected as a piece of evidence and was rumoured to be of central importance in Malfoy's case. Harry had not used it since he had repaired his own, but being the weapon with which he had defeated Voldemort, it had a certain sentimental value for him.

The proceedings at the Ministry gave Harry plenty of opportunity to be with his friends. In the evenings they often went for an ice cream or a butterbeer in Diagon Alley, enjoying freedom and safety. Sometimes Ron and Hermione stayed over at twelve Grimmauld Place. They still had so much to talk, and to cry, and to laugh about. Except, well, it looked like Ron and Hermione were quickly growing into a couple. Harry was wholeheartedly happy for them, of course, but could not deny that more and more often he felt like a third wand in a duel. He wished Ginny was with them, but after Fred's funeral, she went back to Hogwarts to finish her sixth year, so while Ron and Hermione were preoccupied with each other, Harry had to live on Ginny's letters and the wild fantasies they awakened.

One morning in the third week of May, while Harry was making himself a scrambled egg, three owls burst simultaneously through the narrow opening of the kitchen's window standing ajar. Two of them collided, and were now having a fierce argument. One of the two was a dishevelled barn owl with an issue of the Daily Prophet, the other one was Douglas with a letter from Ginny. The third owl entered smoothly, without getting into anyone's way and was now perched on top of the open sash, patiently waiting for Harry to pay attention to his envelope.

But Harry's attention was immediately caught and fully consumed by Ginny's letter.

Dear Harry! I hope you are having a good time in London, because Hogwarts these days is nothing like it used to be. I wish you were here. Did I already tell you that people were wondering after McGonagall was seen teaching her Transfiguration class and inspecting the grounds with Hagrid at the same time? Well, now it's official. She is on a time turner and some stuff Slughorn is supplying her with which prevents her from dropping dead of exhaustion. Seamus even claims to have seen four McGonagalls at once, but I believe he is under influence himself after messing up in Herbology last week. Anyway, if that is what it takes to be a transfiguration teacher and the Headmistress of a ruin of war in one, then I believe we have space for seven McGonagalls at least. The damage to the castle is in fact not as bad as everyone thought and we are making good progress there. In Flitwick's classes, we just go about setting the school, charming stones back in place and unjinxing everything. They won't let us fix the Room of Requirement though, Flitwick says it's too advanced. They say they've hired a whole team of unspeakables just to repair the room and those were not happy when they saw what was left of it after the fire. I really hope they'll figure it out though. We'll need it next year, won't we? That is, if you are coming back to Hogwarts.

Harry reread the last two lines six times and had to put down the letter for a second. Did he get it right? Ginny was telling him that they would need the Room of Requirement if he were to come back to Hogwarts next year? Not for DA practices surely? Harry took a few sips of his meanwhile lukewarm coffee. Well. That was certainly a reason to go back to Hogwarts. It took Harry some effort to pick up the letter again and continue reading.

And now brace yourself for the best piece of news: McGonagall managed to get rid of Trelawney! Can you believe it? For some inexplicable reason, no matter how much Flitwick and all of us tried to repair the North Tower, it just kept disintegrating every time Trelawney moved around. The other day she almost fell two floors down from the staircase when the step she was about to tread on turned into a flock of parakeets. She ran to McGonagall for comfort, but when Neville saw her leave McGonagall's office, she was perfectly convinced that her death was imminent when the twenty-first stone fell. Neville couldn't say how many stones she had left, but she left the castle in a straight line and gave notice by owl. And guess what? The North Tower is now the safest place in Hogwarts. By the way, Firenze has fully recovered and sends his congratulations and thanks, regrets he did not get a chance to talk to you after the battle. He's going back to live in the Forbidden Forest. Now everyone says this is the end of divination at our school. That's all for the best, I guess. Didn't McGonagall say it was a dubious branch of magic? But Parvati is cross like you wouldn't believe. It was her star subject and now she won't be able to do her N.E.W.T. in it. That's pants for her. Ah, I'm glad I don't have to sit for the N.E.W.T.s this year. It's just one more month until the summer holidays. I am looking forward to seeing you again so much! And I was thinking: Shouldn't we take summer seriously this time? Get away, just the four of us, Ron, Hermione, me and you? Travel a little where your fan mail won't find us? I'll be helping George in his shop and hope to earn some Galleons in July. But in August, let's just go! Miss you! Love! Ginny

"Me and you", "won't find us", "love". What else needed to be said? Harry felt like a feather made levitate by a first year's first wingardium leviosa. He grabbed the Daily Prophet, flicked past seven pages of speculation about Death Eaters' crimes and fates, and was about to go straight for the international section hoping to get some inspiration for possible destinations for their travel, but a short article on page nine caught his eye. Harry put the last piece of cold scrambled egg into his mouth.

He who must now be named Since the fall of the most powerful dark wizard of modern times on the 2nd of May, historians, journalists and ordinary witches and wizards have been at a loss to refer to this appalling but undeniably significant character in wizarding history. Né Tom Marvolo Riddle, was named Tom by his mother Merope Gaunt after his muggle father Tom Riddle sr. and Marvolo after his maternal grandfather, a destitute descendant of Salazar Slytherin. It is no secret that he shunned that name and chose to be known as Lord Voldemort in later life. However, the taboo put by himself on this alias had the effect that the name was hardly ever spoken except by its bearer himself and is documented exclusively as a signature. The most common designation in his lifetime 'he who must not be named' as well as its more colloquial variant 'you know who' are considered outdated and even inappropriate since the wizard's death and the expiry of the taboo. The title 'the Dark Lord' used by a small circle of his followers known as the Death Eaters is obviously an even worse choice. We asked several distinguished members of our community to share their opinion on this burning issue. Ronald Weasley, who fought alongside Harry Potter in the Battle of Hogwarts and the months preceding it, told us that his preference was with 'Voldemort'. "This is the way you called him if you had the guts. This is the way Harry has always called him. This is the way to defeat the fear we all grew up with," Weasley stated in the interview, although he admitted slipping occasionally into 'you know who', blaming old habits.

Right. Ron had said that, but it was to Potterwatch, not to Daily Prophet, thought Harry. He wished they would at least get their sources right if they had nothing new to tell.

Dempster Wiggleswade from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, whom our readers know for his reliable advice on a wide range of legal issues, reports that most members of the Wizengamot tend to use the name Tom Riddle. "'Voldemort' is the name he chose. When we call him 'Voldemort' we implicitly do what he wanted. 'Riddle' is the name he was given at birth, which he never learnt to accept like other mortal humans learn to live with the names they are given. Now we know that he was mortal after all. Why don't we accept that he was just a Riddle?" was Wiggleswade's comment on the Wizengamot's policy. According to an anonymous arithmancer at the Department of Mysteries, 'Riddle' is winning the race against 'Voldemort' at the moment. So far, the latter remains confined to the slang of a small albeit influential elite, which includes our new Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt and the Hogwarts hero Harry Potter.

Influential elite? Harry didn't mind "influential", but the word "elite" did not resonate well with him. An advert beneath the article invited witches and wizards to visit Zla Kolata mountain, promising breath-taking views and guided tours to the places where the most powerful dark wizard bided his time before his second ascent. Just at that moment Harry heard gentle rustling of feathers above his head, and realised with a start that the third owl was still waiting for him to attend to his envelope.

The envelope contained a message from someone Inquies Knox, independent magical law consultant, with a humble request to meet at the Ministry, to discuss matters concerning the case of Draco Malfoy.

Thursday afternoon, when Harry left Robards' office after their meeting regarding his upcoming internship at the Auror Office, he was immediately approached by a man aged around forty, not tall, not exactly slender, but agile, with brown hair bound into a short braid and an intent and slightly worried look on his face.

"Inquies Knox," he said, stretching out his hand, "Thank you for responding to my request, Mr Potter."

They moved quickly towards the lift, exchanging polite formulae, and went down to the Ministry dungeon. They were escorted to a small torch-lit room, which contained nothing but an empty table and three chairs. Soon after, Draco was brought in by guards. Harry and Draco took seats opposite each other across the table, with Inquies Knox on the side in between. Draco looked tired and extremely pale, but his shirt was whiter. Their eyes met.

"Mr Potter. Mr Malfoy and I are sorry that in the present circumstances we could not welcome you in a more pleasant environment." Knox looked at Harry, then at Draco, then at Harry again. "My client faces serious charges, of which you are probably informed via Ministry channels, I don't think we need to go into that. What we would like to try with your help, if you would be so kind, is to reconstruct some crucial events of the past months in our memory, to see if our subjective perceptions of what happened converge."

Knox waited until Harry gave a nod.

"One event that we would like to talk about took place on the thirtieth of June last year, in the Astronomy Tower of Hogwarts. Prosecution has presented us with a surprisingly detailed account of a conversation that allegedly took place between Mr Malfoy and Professor Albus Dumbledore minutes before his tragic death. That account was given by a witness, whose name—"

"I am that witness, if that is what you were going to ask," interrupted Harry.

"Thank you, Mr Potter. Your candour saves us a lot of precious time. My client's impression was, however, that he was alone with Professor Dumbledore on the platform during the aforementioned encounter. Do you have any idea why he might have had that impression?"

"Yes. I was invisible."

"Hm. That explains it, of course." Knox briefly looked at Draco, who did not return his look, staring motionlessly at Harry.

"But, Mr Potter, should anyone doubt your presence on the scene, you might have to reveal the means by which you were made invisible."

Harry knew this was coming. He did not fancy the possibility that his Invisibility Cloak would figure in any official trial proceedings, but luckily, there was a simple answer to that.

"That won't be necessary. Incidentally, I also witnessed the second part of the conversation, when your client was joined by the Carrows, Greyback and Yaxley. My account of that part has been confirmed by the Death Eaters. So I doubt that anyone would doubt."

Knox straightened his back and looked briefly at Draco. Draco leaned in, his hands clasped together on the table in front of him.

"Very well, then. I am glad we have clarity on that point," said Knox. "In this case, I would like to briefly recapitulate some important fragments of that conversation, the way I understand them from my client's account. Please, correct me, Mr Potter, if you feel that my understanding differs from yours at any point."

Knox paused, and then continued.

"When Mr Draco Malfoy appeared on the top platform, he and Professor Dumbledore talked for some time."

"Well. First, Draco Malfoy disarmed Professor Dumbledore and then explained his entire assassination scheme to him," Harry said. Draco closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, then opened them again, staring at Harry with increased intensity.

"At some point in the conversation, Mr Malfoy talked about his reasons to participate in that... scheme, didn't he?" Knox continued without taking much notice of Harry's comment. "Can you remember, Mr Potter, what those reasons were?"

Harry had to think a little. He looked at Draco again, whose face looked so different from the Draco at the top of the Astronomy Tower, that it didn't really help him remember. He closed his eyes and recalled the scene.

"Yes," he said finally. "He said he had no other option. If he had not done it, he and his family would have been killed."

"Yes, this is what Mr Malfoy told me, too," said Knox with a tiny bit more melody in his voice. "After that, Professor Dumbledore offered Draco the opportunity to change sides and protection for him and his mother, whereupon Mr Malfoy lowered his wand."

"Yes. He lowered it a little."

"When Alecto and Amycus Carrow, Fenrir Greyback, and Corban Yaxley arrived, they urged Mr Malfoy to kill Albus Dumbledore. They did so four times, to be precise. Amycus Carrow, twice, and Corban Yaxley, twice. Mr Malfoy did not comply."

"I'm not sure about the numbers, but yes, they did urge him, and no, he did not do it."

Knox was gaining momentum. Next, the interview moved on to the encounter at Malfoy Manor during the Easter holidays, and how Draco refused to recognize Harry, and how that gave him and his friends an opportunity to escape. Then they moved on to the incident in the Room of Hidden Things during the battle, where Malfoy tried to stop Crabbe and Goyle from cruciating and killing him. In the picture which emerged from Knox's presentation, Draco looked like a guardian angel who had been protectively spreading his wings over Harry ever since taking the right path down the spiral staircase of the Astronomy Tower.

Harry kept saying 'yes' with a growing feeling of dissatisfaction. All that was said was true, but, in his opinion, did not grant the conclusion that Knox was steering at. What did it matter what Draco did or didn't do, if they had no idea what drove him? Without Draco's conscious intent behind it, this could all have been just a sequence of coincidences, and there was no proof whatsoever that it had finally dawned on him that what he was doing was wrong. Harry just wasn't sure how to ask the question he was burning to ask.

When Knox finished, Harry was fed up with talking about Draco in third person. He stared at Draco's lowered eyelids.

"So you want me to repeat all this before the Wizengamot?"

Draco held his hands clasped in front of him, like in a prayer. It was his turn to say 'yes', but by way of reply, he looked up and met Harry's eyes.

"Give me a reason why I should care." Harry waited for a reply, but Malfoy did not oblige. "Fine. Answer one question then: Why didn't you tell her, Bellatrix, that it was me?"

A few seconds ticked by. Draco finally took a breath to speak.

"Do you want a true answer or a short one?"

"A short true answer, please, but just a true one will do."

Draco chuckled inwardly. A true answer! Potter had no clue what he was asking. What did he want to hear? 'Oh, I didn't want you to die!' or 'Oh, I changed my mind about the Death Eaters!', or something else to the effect that he wanted to do the so-called right thing. The problem was, none of that was the real reason. He really wished it had been.

Why hadn't he told Bellatrix? Draco thought back about that day, the last day of March, he remembered it so well. Potter's ugly face inches away from his, and Bellatrix's impatient breath at his ear.

He tried to remember exactly what he was thinking. If he had recognized Potter, they would have called the Dark Lord. If he had not recognized him, the hex would have worn off soon enough, and then they would have recognized him without his help, and they would have called the Dark Lord anyway. One way or the other, the arrival of their most distinguished guest was at hand, and, that much Draco knew very well by now, every time He appeared on the scene, somebody would be either tortured, or killed, or first tortured and then killed. Draco was not in a state to figure out who that would be in which case. For what it looked like, all options were equally terrible.

'And? What do you do when all your options are terrible? Right. Nothing.'

He was looking at Potter's disfigured face, everyone else was looking at him, and he had just one wish—to do nothing. Not be there at all, if he could help it. But since he couldn't, just stay as close to doing nothing as possible. 'I can't be sure' was his best bet. They would not summon Him just yet, and torture and death would come just a little later.

How could he have known that Potter would actually manage to escape?

When the He dropped out of the air on the carpet covered with the shards of the smashed chandelier, he was already furious for having been disturbed. But when he heard from Bellatrix, why he was disturbed and how it was for nothing, his fury made place for cold wrath.

His first Cruciatus hit Bellatrix. She gave a long low wail, and when it stopped, sank to all fours.

"And why did you lose him?" he asked.

"We weren't sure it was him, at first," gurgled Bellatrix.

"Draco! You weren't sure it was him? I thought you went to the same school," he said, conversationally.

"He was transfigured, My Lord," replied Draco.

"Transfigured?" he peered into Draco's eyes. There was no point in trying to gloss over the facts. "No, it's called disfigured. Bellatrix, I think we need to teach Draco a lesson in magical terminology."

"Gladly, My Lord," said Bellatrix struggling to her feet, but her anticipating smile suddenly faded. "My Lord! I regret, but I can't. I lost my wand."

"Not just Potter, but also your wand to Potter?" and Bellatrix got another round of torture. She convulsed screeching helplessly on the floor, until his attention finally switched to the Malfoys.

"All right then. Who of you still has a wand? Narcissa, I suppose you do. Why don't you discipline your son properly for once? And I don't mean spanking."

He looked expectantly at Mother.

"My lord, I— I can't. I— I don't know how. The curse— I didn't learn it."

"You didn't? Okay, then you'll learn it now. The incantation is simple, it's 'Crucio'. Cru-ci-o. Please repeat."

"Cru— Cru— cio," she repeated, gasping for air, but he made her repeat the curse a few times until it was fluent.

"Very good. And now you have to think of his weakest spot, for a start, and you have to wish to hurt him. In case you lack motivation, think of this: If you give me a nice Cruciatus, we'll leave it at that. If you don't, it's Cruciatus first and then we'll practise Avada Kedavra. You can do it, Narcissa. Let me help." He put his arm around her shoulders, and directed her wand hand at Draco.

"Crucio!" she screamed, and Draco was hit by raging pain, as if his skin went up in flames, and he yelled.

"Good, Narcissa, keep it up, keep it up." But then the pain stopped.

Draco coughed and tried to regain control over his body. The Dark Lord gave a disappointed sigh.

"Ah, Narcissa, you are such a failure. Maybe your sister can give you a little demonstration." He waved his hand casually, and Mother's wand flew into Aunt Bella's hand.

Bellatrix stumbled forward, still dizzy from the rough treatment. She pushed Narcissa away, and took her place beside her master.

"Now look, Cissy. Crucio!"

What followed was an inferno of unfathomable proportions. Draco felt flayed and burnt, until he lost the sense of having distinct body parts and turned into a single shapeless mass of pain. He did not know whether he screamed because his vocal cords had dissolved in agony. Images of his parents prostrated on the floor, begging for mercy, flashed up occasionally, but above all he could hear two voices, as if coming from the epicentre of the fire within him.

"Oh my, he's so easy! I'm just tickling him, but look how his body responds!"

"Yes. Beautiful. Beautiful."

And then everything was black.

"Draco! Draco! Are you all right?"

Draco had almost passed out.

"Mr Malfoy?"

Draco blinked and looked around in bewilderment.

"Mr Malfoy, should I ask for a healer?"

Draco stared at Knox. It took a few seconds before recognition shone in his eyes.

"What? Why? No, no." He straightened his back and breathed. His eyes narrowed, as if he tried hard to remember something. "I was just thinking about your question." He looked at Harry. "Did it help? Was it worth it?"

"Absolutely. You bought me time, and it saved my life, as Mr Knox has already explained so eloquently. But I would like to hear from you wh—"

"Okay then," Draco said, "I could not foresee that. But I'm glad it turned out that way."

Harry was not satisfied with the answer. If anything, it meant that Draco did not see any of it as a consequence of his own choices. But it was Draco's choices that he wanted to understand. Why? What had he wanted then? What was he after now, apart from saving his own skin? Had anything changed in that small bigoted mind? Harry wished he had answers to these questions before he had anything else to do with this person. The only reason he did not press the issue was because, for what it looked like, Draco had just had a fit of some sort, although Harry did not quite trust that either. Malfoy was well-known for his tendency to feign maladies to achieve tactical goals.

"I do believe that you need a healer, Mr Malfoy," Knox said and hurried out.

Harry gave Draco another long piercing look. Perhaps, there was one thing that had changed. It was the expression of Draco's face, his posture, the way he held his hands clasped in front of him, and the way he talked, or rather, was silent. Harry could not say what it meant, but he felt his anger die down. All right. He would give him another chance.