The Sentencing
Sirius could seldom think of any other occasion that he had experienced such relief upon receiving the letter from Harry informing him that he was alive, though perhaps not so well.
It had been a short note explaining that he would be away for several days to recover from the injuries he'd sustained and asking Sirius to convey the same message to Dumbledore, along with the revelation he'd apprehended Draco Malfoy for the attempted murder of a student.
Sirius had already retrieved the boy from Harry's home and had him quietly processed by the Aurors.
Not that Lucius was in a position to help his son.
The moment he was captured, he would be subjected to a dose of Veritaserum, and not even the plight of his son would see him emerge to endure such treatment.
Dumbledore had been equally relieved, having learned of what had occurred in Hogsmeade. The village was in ruins, with many of the buildings having been destroyed and some notable businesses in ruins amongst them.
It would take considerable effort to reinstate it to what it had been if such a thing was even possible.
The only saving grace was that the death and injury toll was minimal, though the same could not be said for the rest of the country where the attacks had occurred.
There had been nine in total with the deaths already in the hundreds, and counting.
Most of those were confused muggles who had been caught up in the antics of the Death Eaters, and some Aurors who had responded. In all, the night would be remembered as a bloody affair and as a stark reminder of the power the Dark Lord had at his command.
Sirius rubbed his eyes tiredly.
He'd returned to his office to receive the incoming reports and pass them on to the media. With the influx now having come to a stop, he needed only to complete one other task before he could finally take some rest for himself.
It had been almost twenty-fours-ago that the first attack had been declared and the Minister of Magic was exhausted.
Yawning, he reached for the pot of Floo Powder sitting atop the mantle of his fireplace before throwing a handful into the flames.
"Downing Street," he murmured.
The muggles were currently having an election of their own and it was looking likely that Sirius would soon be making the acquaintance of a new Prime Minister, but for now, he was to make a second visit to John Major, a dullard if Sirius had ever met one.
Still, he expected the man to be most displeased by the news he would bring. Not that anything could be done. If Major decided to be difficult, a simple Memory Charm would be sufficient in placating the muggle politician.
With a sigh, Sirius stepped into the flames, all but ready for this living nightmare to come to an end.
(Break)
The Dark Lord's anger was palpable. His failure to secure his Horcrux was one thing, but to be prevented from doing so by the very basilisk he had spent many hours with during his youth was an insult he couldn't stomach.
Why had it attacked him so viciously?
Lord Voldemort could not begin to fathom the reason, but it changed nothing. The creature of his ancestor had been the cause of his failure. Dumbledore had been at his mercy, weakened and unable to defend himself.
The Dark Lord had been poised to end the man that many had considered his greatest foe throughout his first rise to power, ready to prove to them all that no such man existed.
He had been uttering the words that would be the headmaster's downfall when he had been set upon.
Taking a breath to calm himself, he nodded at his reflection.
In the grand scheme of things, it mattered not.
His Horcrux was safe in the place he had hidden it, and Dumbledore would meet his demise soon enough, along with any other foolish enough to resist the Dark Lord.
A new era would soon be upon Britain, though not as soon as he wished.
Nonetheless, he could feel it approaching and could see himself standing above all others as he seized the power he desired. It would be a new age, one that would last in perpetuity with the Dark Lord at the helm.
He smiled at the thought before grimacing at the fresh blood that stained the floor at his feet. Both Lucius and Nott had been foolish enough to interrupt his reflection and had paid the price with the latter biting through his own tongue from the agony inflicted upon him.
Why should the Dark Lord care about Nott's missing wife?
He snorted at the very thought.
The domestic problems of his followers were not his concern, not when he was on the cusp of changing the very world around them.
It was only a matter of time, and though his anger would not abate at the slight levelled against him the previous night, his mood was improving as he considered all that had been achieved.
According to the reports he'd gathered, Diagon Alley was empty, and many of the businesses simply had not opened. Hogsmeade was in an even worse state and would likely never be the same.
The Dark Lord's creations had done admirably with their task, and when the giants were ready and the next full moon came, Great Britain would endure it's first, full-scale attack.
If the fools believed what they'd experienced last night had been horrific, then what was to come would be nothing short of hellish.
Once more, his own thoughts brought a smile of anticipation to his lips.
It would seem as though he'd not been gone for close to a decade and a half in the coming weeks. If they didn't remember the fear that gripped them before now, they would soon enough.
(Break)
He looked on in wonder as he watched his mother walking up the aisle of the church, her white dress simple as she clutched a bouquet with her eyes brimming with happiness.
With only Sirius, Pettigrew, and a few of Lily's friends Harry recognised from her time at Hogwarts present, it was a small ceremony. but no less a privilege to bear witness to.
He stayed rooted to the spot as they exchanged vows, declaring their love for one another and a promise to be united until the very end.
They had stuck to their word, and though it was a bittersweet realisation, Harry had no doubt that had they lived, they would be as inseparable now as they were that very day.
He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat as he watched them leave the church, hand in hand and beaming at one another before James helped his new bride into a horse-drawn carriage, joining her as they waved farewell to the few guests.
Harry had never been to a wedding before. Perhaps he never would, but he hoped he would live to experience his own, if he found someone he wished to share his life with.
Was that beyond the realm of possibility for him?
Only time would tell, but as the autumn colours of the trees faded to the familiar grey hue he'd grown used to whilst being in Godric's Hollow, he sobered from the joyous occasion he'd been granted a retrospective glimpse at.
It grew suddenly cold, though the chill no longer made him shudder. It was as much a part of him as anything else he'd ever owned, a comfortable cold that served to remind him of his purpose in life.
There was no promise of marriage or children; the only thing guaranteed being war and violence.
As expected, the cloaked figure soon emerged from the shadows of the church, gliding to meet him in the courtyard where it all began.
"Harry Potter," it whispered in a gravelly voice in greeting.
"I don't suppose you are here for a happy reunion," Harry snorted.
"No."
Harry deflated as he nodded his understanding.
"Do you know what those things were?"
"As big an insult to me and my purpose as the containers used to house his fragments of soul," the figure replied. "They are neither man nor woman, neither alive nor dead. The soul is imprisoned within them and tied to your foe."
"I couldn't kill them," Harry murmured to himself. "Will they die if he dies?"
"Yes."
"Can they be killed with him still alive?"
"Yes."
"Are you going to tell me how?"
Silence reigned for several moments before the figure spoke once more.
"They are able to regenerate lost limbs and are resistant to all magicks. You must release the soul from its binding and break the magic that powers them. They do not breathe, and they do not bleed. They have no need of rest and are at his whim."
"So, magic will not work?"
"Not as you intend," the figure answered. "Think Harry Potter. You have the tools at your disposal, the very same thing that will free his soul from the containers."
"Basilisk venom," Harry whispered.
"It would be the most effective option. I will not see my champion delve into the very magic that insults us."
Harry nodded his understanding.
The basilisk would be willing to provide the venom; he just needed to find a way of poisoning the monstrosities Voldemort had created.
His mind drifted back to some of the earliest memories the cloak had shown him, and an idea began to form.
"How many?"
"Thirteen trapped souls; a powerful number indeed. Their very existence offends me. As my champion, I task you with their destruction."
"You didn't even have to ask," Harry returned determinedly, offering the figure a bow.
He'd already deduced that he would meet them again along the way. Next time, however, he would be ready once he'd made the necessary preparations.
It was with a groan from the dull ache plaguing him that Harry woke from his slumber, though he did not feel as depleted as he'd expected from how his foray into Hogsmeade had gone.
Frowning as he glanced out of the window to see it was still dark, he wondered how long he'd been asleep, and he grunted as he pushed himself into a sitting position.
"I do not think it is wise to move so much," a voice chided him gently from the doorway.
"Mrs Nott?"
"Well, since I was given the task to wash the blood from you, I think we are past such formalities," the woman sighed amusedly. "You may call me Violetta."
Peering beneath the duvet he was under, Harry groaned once more, and the woman laughed.
"Do not worry, Mr Potter, your dignity was preserved," she assured him.
"That's a first," Harry grumbled.
"Well, since we are limited on personnel, it was either me or Isabella who had to do it. You could not be left in such a state. Theo, for all his talent in Arithmancy, would have done a terrible job. I thought I was the better option, for yours and Isabella's sake."
Harry nodded gratefully as Violetta took the seat next to his bed and watched him for a moment.
"I wanted to thank you for what you have done for my family," she said sincerely. "Being married to my husband has not been easy, and it's been harder for my children."
"You don't need to explain," Harry replied. "Isabella helped me. Twice now," he added with a chuckle. "She asked me to help you in return."
Violetta offered him a smile.
"Well, I am grateful, nonetheless."
"How long was I out?"
"Almost three days. Sorry, I don't have any news to share with you. It is quite isolated here."
Three days.
At least it hadn't been close to a week this time.
"I thought it would be for the best to get you somewhere quiet," Harry explained. "How is Isabella?"
Violetta smirked.
"She has barely left your side," she answered amusedly. "I finally managed to get her away from you so that she could shower and rest."
"Good," Harry returned as he stretched gently.
"How are you feeling?"
"Sore, but I've had worse."
"I've heard of your habit of getting hurt. The Triwizard Tournament was well documented."
"I expect people think I have a death wish."
"Taking on a notorious Dark Lord will give that impression. For what it is worth, you are doing rather well. Barely a day has gone by in the last couple of years that my husband has not bemoaned your interference, and survival," she added. "He told me of what happened after the World Cup. I find it hard to believe, but I cannot fathom why he would lie."
"You mean when he and Malfoy, and the others attempted to murder me?"
Violetta nodded.
"He says that you survived the impossible, that you sat up as though you had only been shoved to the ground. They fear you, Harry Potter."
"As they should," Harry murmured. "They cannot escape what is coming for them."
Violetta swallowed deeply as she nodded, turning towards the door as it was pushed open.
"I told you to get me when he woke up," Isabella huffed as she stepped into the room. "You're not dead then?"
"You can't have all the luck," Harry quipped.
The girl tutted at him, though her expression was one of concern.
"I will leave you to it," Violetta declared as she stood. "I am quite sure Harry will be capable of washing himself next time, so no ideas, young lady."
"Mother!" Isabella choked, her cheeks reddening as the woman stepped past her. "I didn't…"
"I know," Harry laughed, grimacing at the ache in his chest. "She already told me she cleaned me up. Jealous?"
Isabella narrowed her eyes at him.
"Shut up," she grumbled. "Are you still in pain?"
"A little."
"Good," Isabella said with a grin as she took the seat her mother had left. "I've been worried about you. Do you always have strange dreams?"
"Strange dreams?"
"You were really cold and talking about the souls of your enemies. I couldn't make sense of much of it."
Harry waved off her concern.
"They come and go," he said dismissively.
Isabella eyed him questioningly for a moment before deciding against pressing the matter.
"Your wounds are healing well," she informed him, "and thank you. I know you being here isn't what you planned, but it has helped keep my mother distracted. Theo told me what you did for him, what Draco tried to do."
"Well, I couldn't get this far and let him die, could I?"
"You saved him because you're a good person, Harry," Isabella replied. "Despite everything you've been through and you've had to do, you're a good person."
"Your brother can't help the hand he was dealt. He's not like Malfoy and didn't want anything to do with the war. He deserved a chance to escape it."
Isabella offered him a smile as she squeezed his hand.
"Oh, that reminds me. Your Thestral returned whilst you were sleeping. She gave me this."
She removed a sealed envelope from her pocket and Harry immediately recognised the handwriting of his godfather. Without preamble, he opened it, eager for an update on what had happened back in Britain.
Harry,
I have retrieved the Malfoy boy and he will soon be brought before the Wizengamot. If you could provide a memory from yourself and Theo Nott, it would be most helpful in securing a conviction.
An investigation is underway to ascertain what has been done to those Death Eaters you faced in Hogsmeade and I am hoping to have answers soon. I have the very best looking into it as a priority.
The village is a mess and will take considerable effort to restore, but that is a Ministry problem.
Albus has asked me to pass on the news that he was successful, thanks to a very large friend of yours who did not appreciate the Dark Lord attempting to enter the castle.
Focus on getting better and visit as soon as you can.
Sirius
Harry breathed a sigh of relief at the news that Dumbledore had managed to prevent Tom from entering Hogwarts and wished he could have seen the headmaster's face at the sight of the basilisk Sirius was undoubtedly referring to.
"Is everything okay?" Isabella asked, pulling him from his thoughts.
"It could be much worse," Harry sighed. "I suppose things are as well as can be expected."
Isabella nodded.
"Are you hungry? Some food will probably do you good."
"I could eat," Harry replied, shifting to make himself more comfortable.
"Then I'll be back in a moment."
She left and Harry revelled in the relief that not all had gone awry. His own efforts had not ended desirably, but Tom had equally failed in his.
The realisation offered little comfort when he considered the developments that had followed. The Death Eaters he'd encountered would be a problem, but knowing what he could do to defeat them was another small mercy.
"Here," Isabella announced as she entered the room carrying a tray laden with food. "I brought you a little of everything."
"Thank you," Harry said appreciatively, realising how hungry he was as the tray was rested on his lap. "Have you been eating?"
Isabella shrugged.
"Not really," she murmured. "I've been busy looking after you, Theo, and Mum."
Harry shook his head and gestured towards the tray.
"Eat," he urged. "You're no good to anyone if you're wasting away."
"You're the one who needs looking after."
"You can't do that if you're not looking after yourself. Eat."
Isabella rolled her eyes at him, as she often did, and helped herself to some fruit.
"Not the melon!" Harry protested.
She quirked an eyebrow at him before eating it, nonetheless and Harry pouted.
"I wanted that."
"You should have been quicker," Isabella pointed out as she reached for a pear, only for Harry to snatch it away and take a bite out of the fruit. "You're such a child."
"You're picking on a cripple."
"Now you're being dramatic. You're only temporarily incapacitated"
It was Harry's turn to shrug as he continued eating his pair victoriously and Isabella laughed at him in amusement. When he was done, he yawned and she stood, taking the tray from him.
"You should get some more rest," she suggested, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear.
Harry nodded as he sunk into the mattress once more, the effort of eating proving to be more taxing than he'd expected.
"I'll check on you later," Isabella assured him.
"Did I dream that you were sitting next to me and holding my hand?" Harry asked as she made to leave the room.
Isabella paused.
"It may have been real," she answered before continuing on her way.
"I didn't know Healers offered that service," Harry called after her.
"And I didn't know patients could be as difficult as you, Potter."
Harry chuckled as he settled to rest, only to raise an eyebrow when Isabella returned, her demeanour quite maudlin.
"I really thought you were going to die. There was so much blood. I had to make sure you made it through the night."
"I didn't know you cared so much," Harry said with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood once more.
Isabella shook her head.
"You know, you have a way of making people do that, caring for you, I mean."
She placed a kiss on his cheek before leaving the room once more and Harry could only stare up at the ceiling, lost in thought until the much-needed sleep eventually took him.
(Break)
Sirius stared at the floating arm that had been placed on his desk, the pale flesh still bearing the runes that had been intricately carved into it. The Unspeakables had housed it within a jar, somehow making the dismembered limb more macabre.
"What have you discovered, Croaker?" he asked curiously.
The old man with intelligent blue eyes took the seat opposite him and stared at the arm thoughtfully.
"Not as much as we would have with a complete specimen," he sighed. "Nevertheless, despite the nature of the magic, it is quite impressive."
Sirius nodded and gestured for the man to continue, not doubting the brilliance possessed by the Dark Lord.
"The residual magic suggests that a ritual was conducted whilst the subject was still alive. As a result of it, he would now be considered dead, fuelled and animated by the magic that continues to exist within him. In essence, the Dark Lord has created something resembling both an inferi that can think actively for itself and possesses magic, and a human that is no longer bound by its physical vulnerabilities. It is unprecedented, Minister."
"What about the runes?"
"That is the genius behind the magic at play," Croaker continued. "Although they are not here on this arm, I have no doubt that there is a cluster dedicated to regeneration, amongst many other things. What is puzzling is that I can think of none who would willingly endure such a transformation, no matter how loyal they were. It would have been agonising to experience, and their own magic would have been heavily resistant. Even under the Imperius Curse, our research suggests such a ritual would have failed. No, we can only deduce that this was tested on those who were unable to resist, but were very much alive."
Sirius frowned thoughtfully and released a deep breath as he pondered the revelation.
"So, if someone's mind had been damaged so badly that they were just a live shell without conscience?"
Croaker nodded.
"I suppose that would make for a suitable candidate, a perfect one, in fact. If that is what has happened here, it would make sense. However, we would need a whole and active specimen to determine it with any level of certainty."
Sirius continued to stare at the limb.
"What about killing them? I have it on good authority that thirteen of these exist."
Snape had provided that snippet of information, and though Sirius would never fully trust the man, he had no reason to doubt him in this.
"Well, it would be a simple case of breaking the magic that holds it all together," Croaker explained. "A Killing Curse may be sufficient, but since these creations are not truly alive in human form, it may have no effect. No, it would be best to find another method as equally powerful."
"Fiendfyre?"
"That would certainly do it," Croaker confirmed. "I suspect that these things are aware of that particular vulnerability. Was that not the cause of the resulting explosion when young Mr Potter attempted that very thing in Hogsmeade?"
"It was," Sirius confirmed, not questioning how the man had come by the knowledge.
The Unspeakables were a mysterious group that operated mostly within the shadows of society and one that Sirius was pleased to have onside.
"Then I suspect another method must be found. I will begin working on it immediately, with your leave, of course."
Sirius nodded gratefully.
"Your efforts are most appreciated, Croaker," he offered. "If there is anything you need, you only have to ask."
"Thank you," Croaker replied as he stood, pulling his hood up and gathering the jar from the desk before taking his leave.
Sirius could only curse under his breath at what he had learned.
Voldemort had always been a dangerous foe, but he was delving into magicks that not even Sirius's own ancestors would experiment with. The man was proving to be much more unhinged than he'd thought.
Still, with Croaker and his team looking into the matter on his behalf, he could, for the time being, shift his focus to the many other things that required his attention.
This morning, he would be attending the gathering of the Wizengamot to determine the fate of the Malfoy boy.
Sirius suspected there would be a lack of leniency towards the young man, and without Lucius nor any other in a position to defend him, it was likely he would receive a harsh sentence, especially with the current climate in the country.
The Wizengamot would look to make an example of the boy, to set a precedence of zero tolerance to assisting the Dark Lord in any manner, and if Sirius was honest with himself, he couldn't find an ounce of empathy for young Draco.
He truly was a product of his father's upbringing, so deeply indoctrinated in the belief that he was superior to all others, which would not serve him well in the proceedings to come if he comported himself as Sirius expected.
(Break)
Harry stretched when he woke, grateful that the aches and pains of his injuries had lessened considerably from when he first regained consciousness after his ordeal. The realisation brought with it a sense of restlessness.
He had never been one for remaining idle.
Whilst living with the Dursleys, he'd not been allowed to be left unoccupied with no meaningless tasks. Petunia simply could not stand to see him with nothing to do.
He'd kept that habit since leaving, and even in his injured state, he longed to be on his feet again.
"You're awake," Isabella greeted him as she opened the door.
Harry nodded as he sat up, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
"What time is it?"
"You've just missed lunch," she explained. "I'll bring something in for you."
"No, it's fine," Harry declined politely. "Would you mind helping me up?"
"Up?"
"I can't lie here anymore," Harry sighed.
Isabella shook her head.
"I don't think that's a good idea. Your wounds…"
"Feel much better," Harry cut in.
She eyed him for a moment before muttering under her breath.
"Let me check them first," she urged. "If I think they're healed enough, we will go from there."
Harry nodded his agreement, and Isabella hesitated before peeling back the duvet.
"You'll need to move your shorts," she said shyly.
Harry smirked as he did so and she narrowed her eyes at him.
"Don't look at me like that," she warned.
"Like what?"
She shook her head before inspecting the wound, her cheeks reddening slightly as she pressed her fingers around it.
"Does it hurt?"
"Not much," Harry said with a shrug.
"Not much?"
"It aches a little, but that's it."
Isabella hummed as she reached up his shirt and felt his ribs, eliciting a gasp from Harry.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to…"
He waved her off as he chuckled.
"Your hands are cold," he explained amusedly. "It's not sore."
She glared at him once more.
"I think there is a part of you that thrives on being injured," she said flatly.
"What's not to like?" Harry snorted. "A nice warm bed, food brought to me, and being tended to by a beautiful girl."
She blushed once more and Harry wondered why he'd said what he had, chastising himself for the outburst he would expect from his father, having witnessed the man say very similar things to his mother.
He was on the cusp of apologising when Isabella looked up at him rather boldly.
"You know, if we were in St Mungo's, I'd have you sent for a cold shower. Maybe two."
Harry felt another smirk tug at the corner of his lips.
"It wouldn't be so bad if you joined me."
She quirked an eyebrow at him and shook her head.
"Don't say things like that. You'll only give me hope, Potter," she replied with a grin of her own. "Well, I think it's safe to say you're feeling better. I'd rather you didn't try to walk just yet, but we both know you're not going to listen. Take it slowly."
Harry shook himself from his thoughts as she held out her hands to help him out.
With considerable effort from the girl, he managed to pull himself to his feet, though he found himself to be a little unsteady on them.
"Slowly," she reiterated, catching him by the hips as he stumbled. "You're a bloody nightmare."
Harry laughed as he held onto the girl to prevent himself falling.
"Maybe I did that on purpose."
"Maybe I should put you back into bed."
"Oh, that's an offer I can't refuse."
"Shut up," she grumbled, blushing once more as she took his hands again.
"I see he is feeling better," an amused voice sounded from the door.
Isabella whipped around and Harry almost fell as she did so.
"Bloody hell," he cursed, bracing himself on the bedside table. "Is there an option for private medical care? If you're going to be a Healer, I think I'll avoid St Mungo's."
"I was just helping him out of bed," Isabella explained, panicking slightly.
"Of course you were," her mother said with a smirk. "I can't imagine what else two hormonal teenagers could possibly be doing. Not that Potter seems to be up for much. The poor boy can barely stand."
"She's taking advantage of my weakened state," Harry protested.
Violetta laughed heartily as Isabella glared at him.
"One more word out of you and I'll put you back in bed," the latter warned.
"See," Harry pointed out.
Violetta shook her head.
"Mr Potter, I think you have a misconception of my daughter. You have seen the kind and caring side to her, but I wouldn't forget the family name she carries. I can assure you, she is a very capable witch. Her great aunt saw to that."
"The same great aunt that brought you your violin?"
Isabella nodded.
"My Aunt Rosalina was an excellent duellist. She won five national championships, four European, and was even a world championship."
"That's impressive," Harry complimented.
"She was a wonderful woman if not a vicious one at her best. Unfortunately, she is rather old now. I think she would have liked you."
"She probably would have," Isabella grumbled. "Better now?"
Harry nodded and took a few tentative steps around the corner, allowing the blood to flow back to his legs.
"Much better," he declared.
"I suppose that means you'll be leaving."
"I should get back," Harry sighed. "I have classes to teach and a war to fight."
"You say it so casually," Isabella murmured.
"It's all I've ever known," Harry pointed out.
Isabella offered him a sad smile.
"I'll collect your things," Violetta declared, leaving them alone once more.
"It will be strange without you here."
"You mean injured and sleeping most of the time?"
"At least you're not causing trouble when you're sleeping," Isabella said with a warmer smile before her expression fell again. "You'll be careful, won't you?"
"I always am."
Isabella nodded before carefully wrapping her arms around him.
"Thank you," Harry whispered gratefully, "for not letting me die."
"I think you have enough people who want you dead," Isabella returned. "You should have a few people that want to see you live, at least."
"Even if I am irritating?"
She rolled her eyes at him, a habit he was growing fond of seeing.
"Even irritating people deserve to live, Potter."
"Here we are," Violetta declared, announcing her arrival. "I managed to repair your robes and get the blood out of them."
"Thank you," Harry said appreciatively, frowning slightly as Theo entered the room.
"Nott," Harry greeted him.
The boy nodded as he stepped forward, offering his hand.
"Thanks, Potter, for doing what you did, for all of us."
Harry accepted the proffered limb.
"You're welcome."
With a final nod, Theo left the room and Harry readied himself to depart, being pulled into an embrace by Violetta when he had done so.
"Do visit when you can," she urged. "Even if it is just to bring us news from home."
"I will," Harry assured her.
She offered him a tired smile and a pointed look towards her daughter before following Theo from the room.
"Are you really going to visit?" Isabella asked hopefully.
"Well, it's quite likely I'll get injured again."
"You know what I meant."
Harry nodded.
"I'll visit," he promised. "If there's anything you need before then, you only need to let me know."
"I will," Isabella sighed as she wrapped her arms around him again, this time a little more tightly. "Don't get yourself killed."
"Would you miss me?"
She shook her head, her eyes alight with mirth.
"I need someone to practice on," she quipped.
"Oh, I see how it is," Harry snorted. "I'll make sure I get a few more injuries for you then."
"Don't you dare," Isabella warned. "I'm not spending my life worrying about you or patching you up."
"I'll do my best," Harry chuckled. "I'll see you soon."
Isabella nodded as she released him, squeezing his hand once more before Harry activated his portkey to return to Britain and the war that was waiting.
(Break)
Sirius watched as the smugness faded from Draco when he realised there were no familiar faces amongst the Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot. Lucius was a wanted man, as were all those who may have offered some defence of the boy.
Not that Sirius thought any would be so foolish to do so, not so publicly.
The young man seemed to finally realise what he was facing, and the reported pompous attitude he had exhibited during interviews with the Aurors was all but absent.
"Draco Lucius Malfoy," Sirius addressed him. "You stand accused of attempted murder, colluding with the Dark Lord known as Voldemort, and endangering the life of students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry through such association. How do you plead?"
"Not guilty," Malfoy replied defiantly.
"Very well," Sirius sighed. "As you have pleaded not guilty, you will be questioned under Veritaserum according to the laws of Wizarding Britain."
"I refuse to comply," Draco returned. "I wish to speak with my Father!"
Sirius shook his head.
"You are a man of age and are not required to have an appropriate adult speak or act on your behalf. According to my notes, you refused legal counsel and chose to proceed with your trial without it. You cannot refuse to be questioned under Veritaserum, Mr Malfoy. You are to be tried as an adult."
Draco looked horrified as two Aurors approached and forced him into the chair. He screamed in protest as he was secured to it, though fell silent as the potion was administered.
Sirius waited for a moment for it to take effect before continuing.
"What is your name?"
"Draco Lucius Malfoy," was the reply, the young man's eyes glazed over.
"Are you or have you ever been a Death Eater."
"Yes."
"Did you do so willingly knowing that following the Dark Lord is against the laws of Great Britain?"
"Yes."
"Did you wilfully attempt to help Lord Voldemort enter Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the knowledge that it would endanger your fellow students?"
"Yes."
Sirius held up a hand to silence the murmurings of the Wizengamot.
"Did you attempt to murder one Theodore Nott the night you were apprehended?"
"Yes."
"And finally, were you acting of your own free will throughout the entirety of the aforementioned incidents?"
"Yes."
"That concludes the questioning. Take Mr Malfoy back to the holding cells to recuperate whilst we deliberate a suitable sentencing."
The Aurors did so and Sirius offered a subtle nod to Rita Skeeter who was sitting amongst the rest of the journalists.
The news of the arrest and subsequent trial would reach the evening edition of The Daily Prophet, and those who had already, or were considering joining the Dark Lord would see that no quarter would be given.
Sirius had vowed there would be a zero tolerance approach to dealing with those serving the Dark Lord, and Draco Malfoy would the example he intended to set.
(Break)
Lucius frowned as he heard the commotion emanating from the bedroom he shared with his wife, and as he opened the door, he was forced to duck below a vase that was thrown in his direction.
"This is your fault!" Narcissa hissed in a frightful rage, trembling as she held up a copy of a newspaper. "Twenty-five-years, Lucius. They have sent him to prison for twenty-five-years."
"Who?" Lucius asked confusedly.
"Our son!"
Lucius balked as he snatched the newspaper from her grasp, his mouth falling agape as he skimmed through the article on the very front page.
He'd heard nothing from Draco since the night of the last attack, and had even enquired with the Dark Lord as to whether Draco had contacted him. For his impertinence, he'd been punished most harshly, having caught his master in a terrible mood.
Evidently, Draco had been apprehended for his part in the affair, had been held by the Ministry, put on trial, and sentenced.
"I-I didn't know."
He reeled from the slap Narcissa unleashed, the Black temper she had always kept a handle on being unleashed upon him.
"Get him back, Lucius," she seethed.
"I can't just get him back."
Lucius flinched as the woman drew her wand, the look in her eyes uncharacteristically manic.
"You will bring our son home," she spat. "I don't care who you have to beg, bribe, or blackmail. I want him home."
She stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her and Lucius could only stare in astonishment.
Narcissa had always been calm and calculated, something he'd relied upon during times of crisis. Now, however, she was like a feral lioness whose cub had been taken from her.
Her emotional distress was clouding her judgement.
With how things were in Britain, it would be impossible to retrieve Draco, and not even the Dark Lord would be willing to help with what he would deem an unworthy venture.
Nonetheless, Lucius knew he would not be granted a moment of peace until Draco was safely within their walls once more, though he could not even begin to fathom how he would achieve that.