Rehabilitation

Chapter 1

MochiriMochi


Rain pounded on the window of number 117 White Witch Way, a driving tempo that punctuated the seconds as its sole occupant stared at the clock on the mantle. Gwen rested her chin on her palm and gazed at the timepiece, half watching the time half lost in thought.

She had been waiting for seven hours now, seven. She knew the folks in administration at the ministry were a bunch of pompous windbags who wouldn't be able to spot a boggart if it socked them in the nose but still, making her wait seven hours without even a call was a new level of incompetence even for them. The window rattled in its pane as if to punctuate her frustration. She crossed her legs and slumped into her chair, puffing her bangs out of her eyes with a heavy sigh.

It was just about time for her to assume they weren't coming anymore, inconsiderate pricks. The gall that you had to have to basically beg for participants in a program like this and then just not show up when you finally brow beat someone into submission was beyond her. To be fair, she did believe that the program had value. She just hadn't really wanted to be one of the people who had to sacrifice her time to be part of it. In her opinion she had already sacrificed more than enough for the war effort, but here she was.

You hadn't been able to go anywhere in the Ministry, or St. Mungo's, or Diagon Alley, or frankly anywhere that witches and wizards frequented in the last few months without seeing their obnoxious posters. "Do your part!" They screamed in scarlet and gold letters. The faces of the golden trio stared down at you, guilting you every time you made eye contact. Rehabilitation is Possible! Lead By Example! Our Future Depends on You! The obnoxious slogans plastered every wall in the wizarding world, pleading for volunteers.

The desperation was palpable. After the Battle of Hogwarts and the death of Voldemort the ministry had come to realize just how deeply the death eaters had managed to root themselves into society right under their noses. Vast networks of sympathizers and collaborators had been uncovered at every level of government and in almost every business sector. From active participants, to spies, to people who sheltered members of the cult or passed messages. They were everywhere, and they all needed to be prosecuted.

Azkaban had never been intended to hold so many people, and it had only ever been meant for the worst of society. Traditionally, minor offenders had been handled with fines, or short stints of house arrest. In some cases wands were temporarily confiscated, and in even rarer cases they were destroyed. However, the ministry had felt that a firmer hand was needed. A few days after the Battle of Hogwarts the ministry had passed what came to be known as the "Zero Tolerance Act". All death eaters and their collaborators were to be imprisoned in Azkaban, with the length of their imprisonment corresponding to their level of involvement. They had intended to make an example of the death eaters, thinking the number of active members must have been limited.

In traditional ministry style they had severely underestimated the cult and by the time they realized the implications of the new act Azkaban was already overflowing. The sudden influx of people strained the system to its breaking point. Resources were stretched impossibly thin, personnel were overworked and exhausted. Prisoners were packed on top of eachother in appalling conditions even for Azkaban.

Then came the protests. People had been shocked and appalled by the use of dementors to guard Hogwarts, and the students who graduated in subsequent years had begun campaigning for the cessation of their use all together. They spoke of the despair, the fear, the ongoing trauma caused by their mere presence. Within a few months of the act being passed rumors began to spread about the shocking conditions within Azkaban, and soon they were confirmed. Six months after the "Zero Tolerance Act" was passed a minor criminal by the name of Imelda Stamp was erroneously subjected to a dementors kiss by exhausted Azkaban personnel. Two weeks after that, the door to the dementors' keep was accidentally left ajar. Twenty people were permanently disabled in the resulting frenzy, hundreds required on-going psychological treatment.

The public was outraged. The incident held a match to the previously niche anti-dementor movement, which then exploded as the news of the dementors' aid to the Dark Lord broke just days later. The ministry had attempted to keep their betrayal from the public as they deliberated on whether or not dementors could be held culpable for their actions and debated the extent of their free will. The resulting violent protests ground wizarding society to a stop. After three weeks of pandemonium the ministry was forced to remove all dementors from Azkaban. Conditions worsened immediately. Without the oppressive force of the dementors, riots broke out daily, culminating in the escape of several high-ranking death eaters. Something had to be done

Thus the program was born. The Death Eater Advanced Rehabilitation program, shortened to DEAR, was initially a desperate attempt to reduce the surplus population of Azkaban. Former death eaters who showed remorse for their actions and satisfied a strict set of conditions were stripped of their wands and placed with muggle borns on a live-in basis. Somehow, the poorly thought out last-ditch attempt to fob the rehabilitation of criminals off onto the public was fruitful. The test group of 50 former Death Eaters and sympathizers demonstrated remarkable improvements in empathy and acceptance when exposed to muggle-borns and their lifestyles. Monthly examinations by an occlumens showed genuine growth in over 80% of participants. Within 6 months of the program's conception there were over 500 former death eaters participating, with a waitlist numbering in the hundreds.

The program was extremely appealing to those death eaters who qualified. Rather than finish out their sentence in Azkaban they could spend a year living with muggle-borns and surrender their wands for the length of their original sentence. For those who had joined the Dark Lord out of convenience or pressure it was the obvious choice.

For the general population however, the initiative was a harder sell. People were upset to see former death eaters walking around their neighborhoods, and extremely hesitant to allow them into their homes. It took the announcement of an extremely generous "DEAR Bonus" to grow the program at all, but even then muggle-born participation had stalled out at around 500. They were lucky to have even that.

Gwen had been skeptical of the program in the beginning, the idea of putting racists together in close quarters with the people they had victimized seemed half baked and dangerous at best. However, she hadn't been able to argue with the results. Still, she had never intended to participate in the program.

Out of desperation the ministry had begun to lean on their muggle-born employees. At first slapping up posters encouraging them to participate, then trying to incentivize them with more vacation days. Finally they had begun offering independent bonuses to employees who signed up for the program. Eventually she had agreed, after much pleading from those higher up at the ministry. It hadn't been the money that swayed her, her ministry salary was more than comfortable and combined with her monthly survivor stipend she really had no need for anything on top. Mostly she had just agreed to get out of listening to them harp on and on about it.

A knock at the door broke her out of her reflection. She checked the clock again, it was now close to midnight. Were they serious? She groaned audibly and reached for her cane, spreading her weight between it and the edge of the table as she stood. Her joints protested the shift in position and she regretted spending so long in the stiff wooden chair.

She made an attempt not to scowl as she crossed the kitchen and made her way out into the hallway. It wouldn't do any good to make a poor impression on the woman she was supposed to be living with for the next year. That had been her stipulation for participating, that the person assigned to her must be a woman. The idea of having a strange man in her home, and a former death eater at that was abhorrent to her. The ministry had hemmed and hawed, making an exaggerated show of deliberating for a few weeks. But they were desperate, and her request was granted, on the condition that she be discrete and not spread around that they'd caved to her demands.

After brushing the wrinkles briskly out of her clothes, a pair of black linen slacks and a loose but well-cut black t-shirt, she slid the chains across both of the security chains and unlocked her deadbolt. The humidity of the warm summer night enveloped her in a sticky wave as she opened the door. When she saw the man who was waiting on her steps her face softened.

"Atticus, you're the one they've fobbed this off on?" The portly man on her doorstep smiled sheepishly in response, closing his umbrella and giving it a little shake before stepping through the doorway.

"Yes well, half the department decided that today was the perfect day to take a sick day, you know how it is when there's inconvenient work to be done…" He leaned his umbrella carefully against the shoe rack.

"And of course you're too dedicated to do the same. You should take a page out of their book." She gave him a sympathetic smile. The man was only a few years from retirement, and incredibly well loved by all the staff. He was something of the office grandfather, always ready with a kind word and gentle pat on the back.

"Well, when there's inconvenient work that needs doing it's got to fall to someone I suppose. Speaking of, there have been a few… complications with the DEAR assignments and we were hoping you'd consid-"

It was then that she saw the figure standing behind him on the porch, lingering a few feet behind Atticus. For a moment she stared at him, unable to process what her eyes were telling her. Reality rushed back in and she cut him off mid-sentence.

"No. Absolutely not." Her eyes narrowed as she struggled not to lash out at the very apologetic looking man in front of her who no doubt hadn't had any control over the situation. "That man is not coming into this house."

"Gwen please, if you'd just consider it for a moment."

"Not happening. How does he even qualify for the program?"

"He meets every criteria, believe it or not."

She glared over his shoulder at the man behind him as he spoke and the man seemed to look anywhere but at her. She recognized him, of course she did. Her time at Hogwarts had overlapped with his son's first two years there and the man had made an absolute nuisance of himself the entire time. It hadn't been strange to see him storming down the halls towards the headmasters office, practically mowing down students as he'd gone. Even if she hadn't recognized him from Hogwarts she would have recognized his face from the thousands of wanted posters that had been plastered all over in the year leading up to the battle. This man had been instrumental in the return of the Dark Lord and his rise to power in the second wizarding war, and now here he was on her doorstep awkwardly avoiding eye contact with her.

"That's why you're so late." It dawned on her. "No one will take him."

"His placement has been… difficult."

"No Shit. Serves him right, guess he'll have to go back to Azkaban." She began to pick Atticus' umbrella up and hand it back to him.

He stepped towards her and spoke in a quiet voice, leaning in. "The ministry is prepared to double the bonuses, both of them."

"Nope, not for all the-"

"Triple them."

This gave her pause, that was almost three years' salary. The ministry must have been truly desperate. Sure, she didn't strictly need the money, but it seemed absolutely absurd to turn down so much. "Why?" Her eyes narrowed as she processed. "Why do they want him placed so badly?"

Atticus gave a little shrug along with a sheepish smile. "They don't exactly tell me these kinds of things."

Gwen looked back and forth between the two men, she couldn't believe she was actually considering it. To have Lucius Malfoy of all people living with her in her home to learn some basic empathy? It was really beyond the pale. Was she willing to turn down three years salary though? Or to go back to work and have to explain why she'd turned away an (apparently) qualified candidate for the program? There was also a nagging voice in the back of her head that was asking why, if she believed in rehabilitation, did she think only some people deserved it? She made her decision.

"Fine, I'll consider it." She sighed, stepping aside to allow them in and leaning wearily on her cane. "Come in."

Atticus blustered gratefully in, removing his raincoat and hanging it on a hook above the shoe rack. She pointed him towards the kitchen. Lucius moved slowly and warily, as if he was approaching an animal he might frighten. As he passed her in the entryway he finally looked up to meet her eyes. His expression began as something apologetic but she watched as surprise flitted across his face before he quickly made his expression more neutral. She saw his eyes sweep from her temple down the side of her neck and she knew what he was following. It was a song and dance she was familiar with, navigating peoples' first reactions when they saw her.

She brushed her hair behind her ear, exposing the left side of her face and the pale silver scars that twisted down from underneath her hairline and over her left temple. They extended like tendrils down her cheek and jaw, writhing down her neck and under the collar of her shirt. When she had first been injured she had tried to disguise them, cutting bangs and arranging her dark hair to cover her face. Not now though, she had finished hiding for other peoples' comfort.

"I know what you're wondering." She looked at the man unflinching as he quickly snapped his eyes away from her face. "Yes, they do go all the way down." Her tone was wry as she pulled back the hem of her left pant leg, revealing the scars that wrapped around her ankle and over the top of her foot. She wasn't sure what had come over her really, she had come a long way in processing her anger over her injuries and it was taking more than a few steps back to be so aggressive. It surprised her how much bitterness welled up as she looked at a man who had been an active participant in the organization that had been responsible for altering her life so dramatically. That would be a fun discussion to have with her therapist later.

She sighed, trying to release some of the tension she could feel building in her chest and shoulders. On the exhale she consciously relaxed her muscles, taking a less combative stance. It wouldn't do her any good to be aggressive with him now, she'd already invited him into her home.

After motioning for him to follow she turned and followed Atticus down the hall and back into the kitchen where he had made himself comfortable in one of two chairs at her small table and was using his wand to dry his hat as he waited. She sank into the other chair, leaving Lucius to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"Are you familiar with the safety protocols in place for participants?" Atticus asked, getting right to business.

"Yes, but like I told Clive there are a few modifications that have to be made to make them work here."

Atticus raised his eyebrows. "Somehow, he managed to leave that part out. What do you need?"

Gwen sighed, of course the Ministry couldn't communicate internally to save its life. "First, casting a protection spell on me isn't going to be possible. We discussed the use of a shielded port-key instead, but I'll assume this is the first you're hearing of that?" She paused and Atticus nodded apologetically in response. "Secondly, the warding spell on my room will have to be modified to allow him entry in the case of an emergency. An exception for an invitation from me for example." Atticus nodded but furrowed his eyebrows.

"May I ask why a protection spell isn't an option? I doubt it will be needed but we don't want to be accused of negligence later on."

"Magic and my body don't seem to get along any more." She tapped the scar on her cheek for emphasis. "Having it used on me apparently accelerates my condition, so nothing except for emergencies, doctors orders."

Atticus looked up at her in shock, a mix of horror and sympathy on his face. He clearly didn't know how to respond. All of her co-workers knew she'd been injured in the war, she hadn't tried to hide it and it would have been impossible anyways. The details of her condition however, had been no one's business but her own until now. As far as she was concerned it could stay that way too, she didn't offer further explanation. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Well, I'm sure something else can be arranged. For now why don't we set up the wards around your room and we can take it from there." He stood up quickly, with a nervous energy that was almost palpable. Disability wasn't something that the wizarding world was often confronted with, there wasn't much that magic couldn't fix. Gwen had gotten used to making people nervous, but her heart still fell as she watched her favorite co-worker suddenly fumble in her presence.

She nodded and led him halfway down the hall to the door of the master bedroom. They spent some time deliberating on the best changes to make to the warding spell. The spell left alone would completely bar a specific person (in this case Lucius) from entering a room or otherwise interfering with it, a standard safety precaution for the program. In her case however, a blanket ban on the entry of the only other person in the house was unwise. Eventually they settled on the desired modification: Lucius would be allowed into the room if he was invited in. In any other circumstance should he attempt to enter a barrier would be generated, the Ministry would immediately be alerted, and an auror would be sent to deal with the situation.

Atticus did not inquire any further into why the modifications needed to be made, and Gwen didn't offer any explanations.

When the spell was done Atticus presented her with a few pamphlets laying out the various expectations of behavior for herself and Lucius, milestones to meet and goals to achieve. The program had what could very generously be called a curriculum, activities she was meant to facilitate for the candidate and that they were then meant to reflect on. From deceptively simple things like learning how to safely use electricity to making at least 10 muggle acquaintances over the course of the year. The whole thing felt surreal, like she was a parent accepting an exchange student for a homestay except this exchange student was a 45 year old criminal who'd been fighting for her subjugation less than a year ago.

She tucked the pamphlets under her arm and thanked Atticus, attempting to herd him gently but instantly towards the door. It was now well past 1 in the morning and no matter how much affection she had for the man, she was still ready for him to get the hell out of her house. There was a certain someone she wished he'd be taking with him, but it was too late for that now.

Atticus gratefully took the hint, grabbing his hat and umbrella and putting his coat on with as much haste as a man of his age and disposition could muster. He stopped at the door though, turning to her with kind eyes. "If you need anything I'm just an owl away." He grasped her left hand tightly and looked meaningfully into her face. Her heart swelled with affection for the gentle, old man. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that if she summoned him he'd be there in a heartbeat. She gave him a nod and a smile and he blustered his way back out the door.

His exit left her feeling conflicted, on the one hand there was one less person in her house at one in the morning. On the other hand, there was a death eater in her kitchen. Or rather, former death eater, but that really didn't make her feel all that much better about the situation.

Reluctantly, she walked back to the kitchen to deal with the man whose emotional growth was now somehow her responsibility. She found him peering curiously at her electric kettle and heaved a sigh. He started and turned around.

"Look, it's late and I'm tired." She said, pushing her hair back off of her face, not bothering to conceal how exasperated she was by the situation. "For now I'll show you your room and we can worry about everything else tomorrow. In the meantime, for god's sake don't touch anything with a cord."

"What do you mean a cord?" He spoke for the first time and she was struck by how meak he sounded. The last time she had heard his voice he'd been accosting children in the shops at Diagon Alley, all haughty spite and grandeur. Now he spoke with a cautious weariness that sounded alien to him.

"One of these." She crossed the kitchen and picked up the cord to the kettle, giving it a little shake for emphasis. "Don't touch these either for that matter." She gestured to the outlet on the wall. "The last thing I need is you electrocuting yourself on day one."

He gave a small nod and clasped his hands together at his waist. With another sigh she motioned for him to follow her back down the hallway, leaving the room without waiting for a response. She turned a tight corner by the front door and led him up a narrow set of stairs. With each movement she placed her left foot with deliberate caution, taking extra care to make sure it cleared the top of each step. The railing creaked under her weight, protesting in tandem with her weary legs as she progressed. On a good day the stairs were a mild annoyance at worst, on a day like today they were an absolute pain. She had chosen a room downstairs for her own bedroom to avoid just this kind of laborious trudge at the end of a hard day, however the rest of the bedrooms were unavoidably upstairs.

Thankfully, the bedroom she had prepared for her guest was the door nearest to the top of the stairs. She crossed the hall and flipped the lightswitch, flooding the modest room with light before stepping to the side so that Lucius could enter.

"The amenities won't be much use, I was expecting a woman." She gestured to a basket set on the large antique dresser at the front of the room. In an effort to be hospitable and foster a good relationship she had filled it with scented soaps, muggle shampoo and conditioner, bath beads, and feminine hygiene products. "The bathroom is at the end of the hall, towels in the linen closet."

"Thank you." Lucius still struggled to meet her gaze, looking all around the room as he twisted his hands together unconsciously. "I believe my bags will be delivered by owl shortly, please don't trouble yourself with waiting up, I'll do my best not to disturb you."

Gwen gave a curt nod in response and an awkward silence fell, neither seeming to know what to say to the other. Gwen chewed her lip and Lucius worried his hands together. Great, they were off to a wonderful start already. Without letting the quiet linger for too long Gwen made her move to leave. "Well, goodnight then." She said briskly, making it halfway out the door before something occurred to her. "Hang on, do you know how to turn the lights off and on?"

Lucius shook his head, again, unable to meet her eyes. This time Gwen got the distinct impression that it was out of embarrassment.

"Easy enough. See this switch?" She tapped it in demonstration "Up is on, down is off." With a flick she turned the lights off and then back on again. "Don't touch it with wet hands and you'll be fine." Without any more production she exited the room and made her way back down the stairs as quickly as she could manage, the creeks of the stairs and tapping of her cane punctuating her hasty, labored progress.

Struggling to maintain her composure and more mobile on a flat surface she sped around the corner, down the hallway, and into her room. She pulled the door shut behind her, crossed the room and flopped heavily down on top of the covers. Every fiber of her being was screaming, and she resisted the urge to grab her pillow and actually scream into it until her lungs gave out. With a huff she flopped over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling in disbelief. Lucius Malfoy was in her house, sleeping in her spare room. Not just for a night, or a week, but a whole god forsaken year. What had she been thinking? Why in the world had she not briskly told him to go rot in Azkaban and kicked him off of her porch, money and morals be damned?

With some effort she heaved herself back up off of her bed, walking over to the heavy antique dresser to pull a brush through her hair and haul on a long, loose pajama shirt. As much as she had been tempted to just lie there staring at the ceiling for hours, no one was worth sleeping in your day clothes for. Especially not the man upstairs.

She flicked the lights back off and made her way back to bed, hanging her cane in its familiar place on her bedpost. As she slipped under the covers her head swam with thoughts of the next few days and months.

They certainly wouldn't be boring.


Thank you for reading!

This fic has been rattling around in my head for years and I've finally decided to try and get it out. I'm still hammering out plot details, so I'll be taking my time to get it right, which means it might be a while between uploads/

That being said I'm super excited about what I do have planned so far and I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed maladaptive daydreaming about it for years.