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Darkness Within The Light	By : crimson96 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8759 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 34
- 35
- 36
The glow of the streetlight failed to penetrate Milo Mycroft's house, even when Janus stepped inside so that his own body no longer blocked the doorway. He imagined that the wan rays from the buzzing electrical light retreated in fear, daring to venture no further than the cold concrete stoop. A barrage of foul odors assaulted Janus' nose, and with no way to identify its source, the stench seemed a part of the gloom, as if the darkness were an animal filling the air with its fetid breath. His mouth watered with the metallic tang of blood, and his stomach turned from the notes of sewage and decay. His hand fumbled on the wall, found the light switch, and flipped it, but the darkness persisted.

"Guess he forgot to pay the bill," Janus murmured to himself. When he opened his mouth to speak, he could taste the air, and it made him gag. He raised his wand and willed the creation of a ball of light, directing the orb to float above his head.

At his feet lay scattered envelopes, all of them unopened, most of them caked with dirt. As he noticed the accumulation of mail, something cold and wet landed on the back of his neck and dribbled past the collar of his shirt, following his spine. When a second drop fell, he reached back, touched the moisture, and then held his fingers in front of his face. The liquid had a reddish-brown tinge and a strong coppery odor. He looked up to see a dark, wet stain on the ceiling and stepped aside just in time to avoid another drop. After bending to wipe his fingers on one of the cleaner envelopes, he ascended the stairs to the left of the foyer, his ball of light trailing just behind.

The smell grew stronger. He could now taste the blood and decay. Janus took the last few steps two at a time, darted across a hallway, and flung open a white painted door. Staggered by the resulting stench, he took a step back and steeled himself before creeping across the threshold of the tiny bathroom. Rust-colored liquid had flooded the tile floor, seeping out into the hall carpet. A gleaming porcelain sink stood untouched next to an open toilet that looked as if Moreaux had continued to use it even after the water was shut off. Gingerly, Janus flipped the lid down before pulling aside the pink plastic shower curtain surrounding the old-fashioned claw foot tub.

"Mrs. Milo Mycroft," Janus muttered.

The tub's occupant, of course, remained silent, her mouth frozen in an "o" of surprise, her eyes beginning to recede into her head. Fluids wept from the gash on her chest, and the bath water was opaque with her blood. A dark ring stained the porcelain, indicating days of evaporation, and the water level now rose only to the dead woman's sternum. A pipe below the tub leaked slowly, making a rhythmic plinking sound. On impulse, Janus yanked down the shower curtain and threw it over the tub, giving the deceased some semblance of modesty.

As he turned back toward the door, something caught on the toe of his sneaker. He bent down and picked up a book. Its pages damp and discolored, the book had been lying open on the floor near the base of the toilet. Large, rust-brown fingerprints stained the cover, and as Janus flipped the pages he noted several more of the prints. He snapped the book closed and glanced at the title- DivineSecretsoftheYa-YaSisterhood.

"Who knew the bastard could read?"

The joke fell flat in his own ears as Janus imagined Moreaux perusing the pages while sitting on the toilet, oblivious to the fermenting corpse in the bathtub. Janus turned in a slow circle, half-expecting to see Mrs. Mycroft's ghost. If anyone had a right to haunt the living, she did. The tiny room had been made a monument to Moreaux's depravity. Rage burned inside Janus, heating his face and making his hands shake. His fingers clenched around the handle of his wand until the butt of it ground painfully against the bones in his hand.

"Scourgify." He whispered the incantation, but the force of the magic flowing through his wand knocked him back against the doorjamb. He repeated the spell, shouting this time, and forcing his arm to remain steady. Again and again, he repeated it, until a voice in his head warned him that he was exhausting himself.

He shook his head, berating himself for losing his temper. Save for the stained book, all visible traces of Moreaux were now gone from the softly gleaming porcelain. The force of his spell had flung the shower curtain into a corner, leaving the now-empty tub bare, its occupant vanished, wiped away like dirt. He hadn't intended that, and once again, he looked for the woman's ghost, murmuring, "Sorry," even though no specters appeared. As Janus made his way down the stairs to wait for his prey, he wondered if the "Scourgify" spell would work on Moreaux's body once the man was dead, or perhaps even as a means to kill him.

Near the bottom of the stairs, the air grew foul again. A breeze brushed Janus' face, carrying the scents of chocolate and decomposition. Still trailing the ball of light, he followed the stench into the kitchen, where night air flowed through a broken window, rustling a set of curtains stamped with stylized fruit. Empty ice cream cartons littered the floor, interspersed with bones and the wrappers from various snack foods. Something crunched under his sneaker, and he looked down to find a broken plate.

None of what he saw fully explained the smell. Steeling himself, he flung open the refrigerator and then staggered back from the resulting miasma. A pair of golden eyes with dark, horizontal pupils stared back at him, framed by long, drooping ears. Four hoofed limbs and half of a rib cage were arranged around the head with a neatness that surprised Janus, given the condition of the rest of the house. Had Moreaux intended to eat the goat carcass before it spoiled, or was it left here as a surprise for would-be visitors? Janus shrugged and closed the door, his shoulders sagging with relief. It could have been worse. Much worse.

Though the floor had a thorough cover of rubbish and the counters were layered in dishes, trash, and half-eaten food, the kitchen table remained clear, save for two objects placed near the center. Janus bent to examine them. One was a large, gaudy earring that trailed little streamers of silver sequins. Holding the earring up by one of its frills, he noted a dark stain on the back. Twisting his wrist, he examined the object from different angles, trying to think where he had seen it before. It had been recently...

Blood and silver sequins...

"Jett!" He closed his eyes as the image of the crime scene photo from the Quibbler flashed in his brain. The murdered performer had been wearing an earring like this one. Janus let the earring fall to the table, then changed his mind and put it in the pocket of his duster. He could return it to Tawny as proof that Moreaux was dead, his trophy taken back.

The second object on the table was a wallet made of pale, clumsily stitched leather. Janus flipped it over, and what he saw on the other side made him sink into one of the kitchen chairs. He ran his thumb over the eagle stamped crookedly on the back and flanked by the initials W. W.

"William Ward," Janus whispered.

Memories flooded back- the frustration of a tedious Cub Scout project, the temptation to throw the damned thing in the trash can, the embarrassment he had felt when his father insisted on immediately transferring his money and cards into the wallet. He wondered if Moreaux had laughed at the poor craftsmanship when he collected his trophy from William's body.

After tucking the wallet into his pocket with Jett's earring, Janus stood up and began to pace, oblivious the crunching, crackling, and occasional squishing sounds beneath his feet. It was almost as if Moreaux had wanted him to find the wallet. Why else would he have it with him after so many years? Almost as if Janus were expected... But, no- the wards on the house had been simple, the kind used to discourage curious Muggles, not the kind of traps that one wizard would set for another. Had he known Janus was coming to kill him, he could have used any number of deadly counter-measures. The presence of the wallet had to be coincidence. Moreaux had been revisiting old memories, that was all.

Satisfied, Janus exited the kitchen and descended a set of stairs leading to a den lined with cluttered shelves. A television set had fallen off its stand, littering the floor with broken glass. Some of the books had been taken from the shelves. An old college textbook on Nazi Germany lay open on the plaid couch, its pages stained with greasy fingerprints. In the corner, a record player sat intact, ready to play a disc entitled "Favorite Italian Arias" if the electricity were to be switched back on. Some of the kitchen trash had spread to the den, too. The coffee table held an open bag of potato chips and an empty rocky road ice cream container.

Overall, the room seemed to reflect its original occupants more than Moreaux. A set of school soccer trophies lined one of the shelves, and the family photos below it remained undisturbed. Janus leaned close to the wall, examining the smiling faces. In one photo, a girl in uniform chased a soccer ball, blond pig tails streaming behind her as other little girls ran to catch her.

"A daughter..." Janus pulled the frame from the wall and snatched the picture from the frame, tucking it into his pocket.

If Moreaux had spared her, she could still be somewhere in the house, trapped or imprisoned. Janus' mind raced, envisioning things that made the scene in the upstairs bathroom seem comforting in comparison.

"Little girl?" he shouted, too anxious to feel foolish. "Hey- it's ok! You can come out, or you can call for help. Tap on the wall, stomp on the floor, anything!" He closed his eyes and held his breath, listening, but all he heard was the call of a bird outside.

"If I find another body..." he muttered, unsure how to finish the threat. What more could he promise when he had already vowed unimaginable torment for Moreaux?

He tore through the house, checking behind furniture, in cupboards, under piles of trash. He didn't smell another corpse, but then his nose might be dulled from the stench in the kitchen. Vaguely, he realized he was leaving prints everywhere. He would have to burn the place later, he had no choice now, but in the mean time, he had to find what happened to the little girl.

In the master bedroom, he found an armoire askew, pulled far enough from the wall that he could see a gash in the wallpaper behind it. He used his shoulder to shove the heavy piece of furniture away and forced his fingers into the gap in the drywall where someone had cut a panel and replaced it. Behind the panel was a pile that looked more like the treasure trove of a pack rat than anything collected by a human being. A sock, a ring, a pair of glasses, a watch, a high-heeled black shoe, and other items sat piled atop a stack of newspaper clippings. Janus snatched the squares of newsprint and quickly scanned each one, reading them aloud.

"'Hotel Owner Murdered,' 'Suicide at Local Pawn Shop,' 'Couple Slain in Park'... More trophies." Janus sighed and let the rest of the papers flutter to the ground. "You've been busier than I thought."

He took the picture of the girl out of his pocket and frowned, wondering which if any of the items might have belonged to her. The sock was too big, the hair the wrong color, and the dark horn rimmed glasses would have looked strange on a child. He flipped over the picture, hoping it would have a name on the back. It did, and even better, it had a date.

"Kathryn. Ninteen eighty-five."

The child in the picture couldn't be any younger than seven or eight, Janus decided. That would make her twenty now, old enough to be away at college, far from all this. He backed away from the wall and sat down on the foul-smelling bed, slumped with relief and a hollow feeling that might be disappointment. There would be no tiny, dismembered body stowed under a bed or in a closet, but there would also be no wide-eyed waif to save.

"Guess it's not my day to play hero." He replaced the picture in his duster, his fingers brushing the leather of his father's wallet. When his hand came out, the wallet was pinched between his thumb and forefinger. His fingernail followed the grooves of each W. Idly, he flipped the wallet open, expecting to find expired credit cards, receipts, and a punch card from the doughnut shop in Silver Lake.

A flash of light burst from inside the wallet. Pain rippled up from his fingertips to his shoulders to his head. He tried to scream, but his muscles had seized, locking his jaw in place. His lungs still worked, but forcing air through his nose took a tremendous force of will. His ball of light vanished, leaving him with only the faint glow of predawn light from the window. Arms and legs frozen, he was stuck in a sitting position on the end of the bed. His mind raced in a desperate attempt to work non-verbal magic. FiniteIncantatum!Mobulus!Accio,wand!

Whatever curse Moreaux had set on the wallet, it was more than a simple freezing spell. It had somehow locked Janus' magic as well as his limbs. The spells echoed ineffectually in his head without the accompanying surge of power to which he had grown accustomed. Panic boiled up inside him. The smell of Moreaux's body wafted from the bed clothes, filling his nose as it had on the night his parents died. He was helpless, at the mercy of a creature that couldn't rightfully be called a man. A remembered voice reverberated in his skull.

What are you going to do about it?

Draco stirred, and the stiff linen sheet rasped against his skin. He flailed at it, batting the fabric away, only partially aware of his body. He had spent most of the night in a strange state where thoughts and dreams bled into each other. As he struggled with the sheet, it became the robes of Kingsley Shacklebolt. Draco clutched at the hem in supplication, pleading.

"They had my father! They were coming for me next. I had to do anything- anything he said, but I couldn't, I could never-"

"I know what you're capable of. I know what you done in my house, with Harry-"

The voice wasn't Shacklebolt's, it was Janus', but when Draco looked up, his tormentor was gone and the fabric he clutched was part of the shroud covering the Veil. His ankles and wrists were bound, and his father was playing cards with Janus. Both men grinned as if winning.

Glass shattered. Draco craned his neck to see the remnants of Janus' potions glassware strewn across the stone floor. A dark shape darted away from the mess, hissing at the members of the Wizengamot.

"You see!" Draco cried, pointing. "It wasn't me. It was the bloody cat, and Potter broke the mirror-"

"Silencio!" Shacklebolt waved his wand. "For what it's worth, Malfoy, not even you deserve this..."

"It wasn't me!" Draco repeated, clutching at the fabric of Harry's clothing, forcing him back against the wall of the tiny room in the Burrow. "You know the truth, you have to tell them..."

Another crash came from below them, probably batty old Molly Weasley in the kitchen, except that it wasn't her, it couldn't be, because the sound had been real. Awake now, Draco freed himself from the sheet that had tangled itself around his arms and legs and shook the remainder of the dream from his head. After throwing on his robe, he stumbled down the stairs, moving toward the light from the kitchen.

"Mother?" Draco murmured when he saw Narcissa standing near the stove.

"Careful!" she whispered, gesturing to the floor, which was strewn with bits of china. She raised her wand, said a spell, and the pieces assembled themselves into a cup, saucer, and teapot. A second spell banished the dark liquid that had begun to seep into the grout. "It's been so long since I made tea myself." She shrugged apologetically.

"You shouldn't have to make it yourself like some..." Draco waved a hand, searching for an appropriately derogatory word before deciding on, "Weasley."

Narcissa shrugged again and turned to watch the teakettle as it hovered above the blue flames on the stove.

"It's so early, Mother, what are you doing out of bed anyway?" Draco yawned as he glanced at the window, noting that it was still too dark to see outside.

"I was hoping for an owl." Narcissa frowned wistfully at the window. "I was so sure we would hear from Harry..."

Draco flushed, remembering the story Janus had told him about meeting Harry and then asking to have his own memory erased. "Don't worry about Potter," he said drily.

"We could still escape, change our faces, find... employment." Narcissa shuddered slightly at the word.

"Employment, where? Doing what?" Draco laughed bitterly. "You can't even make a bloody cup of tea, Mother!"

"I can't, but you-" Narcissa took both of Draco's hands in hers and squeezed painfully hard. "You were a prefect at school, everyone admires you, and you even earned the trust of the Dark Lord—"

"Pity he's too dead to write me a letter of introduction then, isn't it?" Draco snatched his hands away. The tea kettle began to whistle, and he darted across the kitchen to move it from the burner, hoping the noise hadn't woken Teddy.

"I only meant-" Narcissa began.

"I know what you meant!" Draco sighed. "It doesn't matter. I won't spend my life in hiding, looking over my shoulder. I've had enough of keeping secrets! Today, I clear our name, and we go back to Malfoy Manor where we belong."

"Yes, yes, of course," Narcissa murmured, her hands shaking as she put a tea bag in the pot and poured hot water over it. "And Lucius..."

"He'll get what he deserves, and I'll enjoy watching." Draco sat down at the kitchen table and rested his chin on his fists.

Narcissa didn't answer but continued fussing in the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards, pulling out items and then putting them back. Sometime later, a cup of tea appeared in front of Draco, and he watched the steam rise from it until it went cold. The window began to glow as the sun rose. Draco closed his eyes, shutting out the intrusive light. Soon, more sounds came from the kitchen. He opened his eyes to see Andromeda with Teddy, who currently sported dark skin and wisps of silver-blue hair.

"You should get ready," Andromeda said quietly, her eyes sweeping over Draco.

"As if it matters," he replied, sneering down at his own wrinkled robes. She was right, of course, but it was hardly her place to tell him what to do. When Narcissa glared at him over Andromeda's shoulder, however, he rose from his seat and made his way upstairs where he showered, changed into fresh robes, and combed his hair until he looked like a respectable wizard.

In the kitchen, he found Narcissa toying with a piece of toast at the table. Andromeda stood by the window, still cradling Teddy, who drank from a bottle clutched in his now-pale hands.

"Eat," Andromeda instructed, pointing to a plate of eggs, sausage and toast that sat next to a fresh, steaming cup of tea.

Draco ate mechanically, staring down at his plate in order to avoid looking at his mother. He could feel her eyes on him, pouring over him as if he were a book whose contents she desperately wanted to memorize. She had done the same during the last few days of each summer vacation. When he had finished, he dropped his fork, breaking the silence with the harsh, tinny sound.

"You can stop staring at me like that, Mother," he growled. "I'm not going anywh-"

A loud knock came from the front door. Narcissa gasped and put a hand to her mouth as Andromeda cooed at Teddy, who had been startled by the sudden noise. The knock came again, and Teddy wailed. Sighing, Draco rose and went to answer the door himself. He flung it open, ready to tell whoever it was to sod off, but when he saw who stood on the other side, he closed his mouth.

"Good morning, Draco." Kingsley Shacklebolt flashed a slick politician's grin.

"Minister." Draco tried to return the same smile, but his mouth rebelled, twisting and twitching.

"I trust you have enjoyed this family reunion?" Kingsley asked.

Draco opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again when he realized that Shacklebolt had spoken over his shoulder. He craned his neck to see Andromeda standing behind him, still holding Teddy.

"They arrived this morning-" Andromeda began.

Shacklebolt cut her off with a wave of his hand. "They arrived before my last visit, and they never left."

"I see." Andromeda licked her lips and glanced around the house and yard as if searching for hidden watchers. "Then you are here to arrest me for harboring fugitives?"

"I am here to escort Draco and his mother to the trial. It is for their own safety, of course."

Draco shook his head. "I don't understand. If you knew where I was, why not arrest me?"

It was Andromeda who answered. "Because it would hardly do for the new Ministry to be seen dragging a boy and his mother to Azkaban. Bad for public image, so to speak."

"You are uncharitable!" Kingsley frowned and shook his head. "I trusted that your family would do the right thing. That, and had they attempted escape, a team of aurors would have captured them immediately."

Draco tensed and shared a glance with his mother, who had come to stand beside him. "According to the Prophet, you're always sniveling about the Ministry budget, and you have galleons to spend watching me?" He snorted. "What makes me so bloody important?"

"You are a loose end, Draco," Shacklebolt said gravely. "People still whisper that you murdered Albus Dumbledore, and letting a murderer walk free would be bad for public image, so to speak."

"Then find Phillipe Moreaux and deal with him!" Draco growled. "I'm not the threat you should be worried about."

Shacklebolt's expression darkened at the mention of Moreaux, and one of his eyes twitched before he forced his mouth into an unconvincing smile. "In due time. Today, I have a trial to attend." With that, he took Draco firmly by the wrist. "Now, hold onto your Mother's hand."

Before Draco could ask why, the sensation of apparition overtook him.

Draco's feet touched the cobblestone surface of the brick-lined alley as the trio appeared from their journey. Mentally, the Slytherin noted the smoothness of the process, as compared to Harry's clumsy travel by apparition. Familiar sounds caught Draco's attention, and he turned to look over his shoulder. He watched as the busy morning commute of Muggle cars and other traffic on the street passed them, completely oblivious to three people appearing out of the air. For a moment, the thought of running out of the alley entered Draco's mind, causing him to groan softly. Knowing the end result if he did attempt to flee, Draco spun around and observed the rest of his surroundings, with a slight hope of seeing a familiar sight. His eyebrows creased as this hope quickly vanished with the unfamiliarity of the area.

"Where are we?" Draco asked. "There's nothing here but brick walls."

"A very astute observation, Draco," Shacklebolt replied.

"Is this the Ministry or not?" Draco huffed as his cheeks began to heat. "Father never mentioned anything about a brick alley leading into the Ministry of Magic."

Draco watched as the large man slowly turned to face him, crossing his arms in the process. The sight of Kingsley Shacklebolt in this posture made him seem even taller and more imposing. "I bet there are many things that Lucius never told you."

Draco stepped forward to challenge the man before he felt a soft hand pressing on his shoulder as Narcissa stepped in front of him, keeping the two separated. "I must agree with Draco, Minister. If this is the Ministry, then take us inside, immediately."

"I assure you both that we are perfectly safe. And to answer your question, yes, we're here at the Ministry." Draco stared ahead as he felt Shacklebolt's eyes scanning him. "If there are no further questions, then the entrance is at this end of the alley."

Draco felt his mother gently guide him forward as they both followed Kingsley down the alley. He guessed that a secret door would open from the bricks at any moment, thus allowing them to go inside the building. Moments later they came to the end of the alley and stood facing a large, blue rubbish container that was as wide as the brick wall behind it.

"And, now what, Minister?" Draco sassed under his breath. "Did you take a wrong turn somewhere from the other end of the alley?

A small twitch tugged at the bottom of the man's lip as he looked down into Draco's pale blue eyes. "Call me impressed. You actually do have a sense of humor after all."

Before Draco could respond, a loud meow rang from their feet. Draco looked down to see a fluffy black cat with piercing yellow eyes rubbing between his ankles. A second cat emerged from behind the blue container. This one was a short-haired orange feline that stood and placed its front paws on Kingsley's leg.

"Ah, Electra! There you are," he said, bending down to scratch the cat's ears.

"Bloody cat!" Draco shouted taking a step back. "Get away from me!"

"Mistoffelees! Come here," Kingsley said as he snapped his fingers for the cat's attention. The black cat instantly responded to Kingsley's command, and turned away from Draco, lifting his furry tail a bit higher than usual. "You're not exactly a cat person, I take it?"

"I can't stand the beasts!" Draco yelled, his finger tracing the scar on his scalp from Socrates. "Ever since…"

"Since what?" Kingsley asked as Narcissa brushed Draco's fingers away from his scalp.

"Never mind, it's not important." Draco could feel his face heating again, but this time from embarrassment, not anger. He watched as the black cat leaped from the ground and into Kingsley's arms.

"Cats are very smart creatures. They can tell us plenty with one look, a few strokes of their tails, or a different pitch in their meows. They can sense things about people." A soft chuckle escaped Kingsley as Mistoffelees growled and hissed at Draco. "You don't have to read a cat's mind to understand that."

"Feeling's mutual, you brute," Draco muttered as he stared at the cat, almost wishing the animal would try to attack him.

"Are they your cats, Minister?" Narcissa asked as Kingsley opened one of the black plastic doors of the trash container.

"In a way, I suppose they are," Kingsley replied while he reached into the bin and pulled out a large red bowl. He waved his wand in the air and milk filled the bowl. Shacklebolt set the bowl down on the ground, and both cats hurried to it to begin their meal.

"Right, well, in you go," he continued, lifting the other door to the blue trash container and waving his wand to produce a small set of steps that led to the edge.

"Are you bloody mad?" Draco snapped. "That's a Muggle rubbish bin!"

"Two for two, Draco. I'm glad to see that you at least remembered something from your Muggle Studies class. Now, get in."

"Mother, there must be another way in. I'm not setting foot in that thing!" Draco pleaded.

He watched as Narcissa's gaze traveled from the blue rubbish container, to Draco, and then back to an impatiently waiting Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Minister, please! This is so unsanitary. Surely, there must be another way to go in?"

"No, there isn't. I created this way into the building to help avoid being seen in public. It's my own personal passage into and out of the Ministry, when the time calls for it to be used. Now get up here before those two finish that bowl of milk and decide to use either of you as a sharpening post."

"Very well. Come on Draco, let's get this over with." Narcissa sighed as she grabbed her son's hand and led him to the bottom step.

"Mother, please! Stop pulling me around like I'm a baby!" Draco shouted before glaring back at Shacklebolt. "Fine! I'll step into your bloody trash bin, if it will make you bloody happy!"

"It will indeed, Draco," Kingsley responded as he stood to the side of the bin, the small twitch of a smile toying with his bottom lip once again.

Draco reached the top step and looked into the bin, expecting it to be full of colored rubbish bags and nauseous smells. Instead, he saw only black emptiness. "Where's the bottom?"

"Never mind that, just step down. You will feel it, once you step inside. Then move over, as all three of us must be inside with the top closed before we can go any further."

Draco grumbled under his breath as he cautiously stretched his foot toward the blackness. He winced as his foot began to disappear into the space. His mind prepared him for some kind of pain to erupt from his leg, yet it did not happen. Once inside, Draco moved to the edge of the container, as instructed. Next, Narcissa entered followed by Shacklebolt, who closed the top to the container.

The darkness and lack of space inside the container brought to mind a coffin, and Draco fought back the urge to jump out. He shut his eyes, trying to forget the darkness that surrounded them. A metallic sound echoed as the container seemed to move sideways.

"It's time to get out," Kingsley's voice pierced through Draco's closed eyelids. Draco opened his eyes to see his mother and Shacklebolt standing on the other side of a small doorway that opened into a stone-colored room behind them.

Draco followed his mother's footsteps as Kingsley directed them through several doors and down a series of corridors before reaching the door that led into the Minister of Magic's personal office. Along their route, aurors stood to attention as the group passed by, clicking their heels and thrusting their chests forward. They passed a small handful of witches and wizards who muttered insults and then scurried away after a look of disapproval from Kingsley.

An old witch and wizard hurriedly passed by them. The witch politely nodded toward Kingsley, yet when she saw Draco and Narcissa, her face contorted into a scowl and she began to swear under her breath.

"Why don't you try saying it to my face, you old hag!" Draco shouted at the old witch and her counterpart.

"Draco!" Narcissa spat as she grabbed her son's arm to keep him from running after the old couple.

"What's wrong with those fools?" Draco asked as they reached the door to Kingsley's office.

Kingsley looked over his shoulder at the old witch as she passed into the darkness of the torch-lit corridor. "They know who you are, and what you represent." His gaze drifted and met Narcissa's eyes before he drew his wand and pointed it at the door. "Now, both of you inside before someone else hisses at you."

Inside the office, Kingsley extended his hand toward the sofa that lined the opposite wall from his desk. "I'm afraid it's a bit worn, but it is quite comfortable."

"Thank you, Minster," Narcissa said as she led Draco to the lime green sofa and sat down on the cushion beside her son. "May I ask a question?" Narcissa asked as she folded her hands into her lap.

"Please do, Narcissa. That's one of the reasons why you both are here right now," Kingsley replied as he pulled the chair from his desk across the floor, and angled it next to the sofa.

"I thought we would be going to the trial once you brought us here. Am I wrong, Minister?"

"No. The trial will proceed today, but the Wizengamot is not yet ready to convene. I wanted to take this time to speak to the both of you, and try to find the truth on a number of details before-"

"Nice try." Draco spoke up, interrupting Kingsley. "Think you can get a confession this way, do you?"

A genuine smile spread across Kingsley's face as he shook his head. "Once again, Draco, you amaze me! Your lack of knowledge of Ministry laws and regulations is astounding." Draco's face turned a shade of red, like Ronald Weasley's hair, as his clenched fist trembled in anger. Before Draco could hurl another insult, Kingsley cut off his retort. "You still have much to learn about the rules of the Ministry of Magic and in particular how the Minister of Magic has to obey those rules all of the time. Let me guess…You believe that Lucius told you everything that you needed to know about the Ministry?"

Narcissa touched her son's hand, and Draco felt some of his anger dissipate. Reading his mother's eyes, Draco leaned back into the sofa, relaxing his muscles, and obeying his mother's silent pleas. "No," he said softly. "I'm not a fool."

"Perhaps not." Kingsley shrugged, looking unconvinced. "Draco, I didn't bring you here to force a confession out of you or Narcissa. You will have your chance in front of the Wizengamot, but I must warn you about the circumstances of why you are here, and why you are being placed on trial today."

"I know why!" Draco huffed.

Kingsley leaned forward in his chair, his arms pressing on his thighs. "Then you know that you are being charged with the murder of one of the greatest wizards of all time, a man who had a significant amount of influence with the Wizengamot, and a man whom many people called, 'a great friend'."

Draco gritted his teeth and leaned forward, his own elbows digging into his thigh. "I didn't-"

"As Minister of Magic, I must keep all personal feelings aside, and judge the situation dispassionately. You will prove your own guilt or innocence."

"I'm trying to bloody tell you, Minister! I didn't-"

"Please, stop!" Kingsley said, waving his hand at Draco. "Telling me that you did or didn't kill Albus Dumbledore right now will not benefit you in the least."

"Then what is the point of this stupid conversation?" Draco demanded.

Shacklebolt sighed and shared a glance with Narcissa. "I only wish to prepare you for the ordeal to come."

"Kingsley," Narcissa said. "You mentioned Lucius. What's become of him?"

A knock at the door interrupted the conversation as Kingsley opened the door. Stumbling forward, juggling several books and a handful of rolled parchment while fixing his skewed glasses, Percy Weasley greeted the Minister, and then slightly reeled as he caught sight of Draco and Narcissa Malfoy sitting in the room.

"It's alright, Percy." Kingsley reassured his young assistant while taking the parchment from Percy's hand.

"Minister, sir. These important documents are for you, and there is a situation that is developing in the atrium that needs your urgent attention."

"What situation?" Kingsley's eyes flared to life as he glanced up from the words on the parchment and into Percy Weasley's face.

"Um, well, you see, Minister…" Percy mumbled as he fiddled with his glasses, causing them to be crooked upon his nose.

"Come on Percy, I don't have all day!"

"Well, um, there is a crowd that has gathered in the atrium. Many of them are shouting for their removal," his long, bony finger pointed at Draco and Narcissa. "By force, if necessary, sir."

"Word gets around quickly." Kingsley slightly chuckled as he concentrated once more on the parchment. "There's no need to worry, Weasley. I anticipated something like this, which is why I have some of my best aurors on duty today. Go and speak to Westbrook. Tell him that I want an area cordoned around the fountain for the onlookers to stand. Can't have them cluttering up the entire atrium. Once Draco's trial is finished, I'll go and issue a statement to them."

Percy slowly cleared his throat, which reminded Draco of Dolores Umbridge.

Kingsley slowly glanced up from the parchment, as if irritated by the sound. "Yes, Weasley?"

"I-I thought that the trial would be open to the public?"

"Absolutely not!" Kingsley shouted, slamming the parchment down upon the desk. "I will not have a circus in the courtroom! This trial will be closed to the public, due to the sensitivity of the circumstances that are involved with it."

"And what of the press, Minister?" Percy asked as he recoiled from Kingsley's outburst. "Already, you have several members from the Daily Prophet that are screaming for their 'freedom of the press'."

"Rita Skeeter?"

Percy nodded slowly.

"Damn her." Kingsley growled, his fingers tightening around the edge of the parchment. Fine, I'll grant her access, but just to make it fair I'll give the old bat something else to write about. I want you to escort her and Lovegood to Courtroom Ten. Don't say a word to them. I'll take care of everything when I go into the room. That'll be all, Weasley."

"Yes, sir." Percy Weasley wheeled around before quickly stepping out of the office, and then closing the door shut.

"My apologies." Kingsley said as he looked up from the parchment at Narcissa and Draco. "Here, it's probably going to be a long tiresome day for all of us. I suggest that you eat and have something to drink." He flicked his wand, and a large plate of toast, sausage, and treacle tart appeared on the table next to Narcissa, along with utensils and a pitcher of coffee and tea.

"Thank you, Minister." Narcissa said as she handed Draco a small plate. "Before I was interrupted, I had asked about Lucius?"

Kingsley stopped reading the parchment and gazed at Narcissa and Draco. "Honestly, your husband was one of the things that I wanted to speak to the both of you about." Draco could feel the piercing glow from Kingsley's eyes as he shifted on the worn sofa cushion, trying to avoid looking directly into the Minister's stare. "Tell me, Draco," Kingsley continued, "what really happened at Malfoy Manor."

"And what makes you think I know?" Draco snapped, his eyes darting from Kingsley to the desk behind him. "You are the Minister of Magic, aren't you? Don't you already know what bloody well happened?"

Kingsley smirked as he sat down in the chair once again. "I see you haven't lost that Malfoy wit, have you? I do have one version of the story about what happened at Malfoy Manor, but I need your side of the events to put it all together. Now, let's be honest with one another, Draco, your little contingent was seen walking through the front gates of the manor, so that places you at the scene."

Draco swallowed hard as Kingsley continued. "What was more fascinating was the report that Potter and his friends made up this little group. So, this does support the stories of the two of you in London together."

"We didn't kill anyone there!" Draco shouted, jumping from the sofa and pointing toward the window in the office. "I don't care what rubbish the Daily Prophet says!"

"Give me a chance to finish, before you bite my head off," Kingsley calmly said as he stood, raising himself above Draco. "If I were to believe everything that the Daily Prophet has published about yourself and Potter, then you and I wouldn't be here having this conversation right now. Now, sit back down."

Draco deeply exhaled as he felt his mother's hands tugging at the back of his robes. "Come, Draco, there is no need for all of this, right now." The young Slytherin plopped himself back into the sofa, crossed his arms, and stared away from Kingsley.

"Now, to continue on. Yes, I had someone watching your home, but the contact had direct orders not to interfere with anything that happened there. They were on strict orders to report on anything that I deemed necessary to know of from Malfoy Manor. Your little party wasn't the only one to visit Malfoy Manor. I also know that Arthur Weasley visited with a team of aurors, less than a day before your home was severely damaged." Seeing that Draco was not going to answer, Kingsley turned his gaze elsewhere. "Narcissa?"

Draco heard his mother deeply inhale. "Draco, dear, you're the one that wanted to stop running from everything. That begins with this. He should know what happened." Kingsley motioned for her to continue, while he reached for his cup of tea.

"Ever since Hogwarts, Lucius has not been himself. Power and ego have clouded his mind, more so than ever before, and it's as if he wants to take the Dark Lord's place. Yet, he has spoken about protecting us, because of our lack of actions at Hogwarts."

"Protection? From whom?" Kingsley quizzed as he sipped his tea.

"Death Eaters, or so Lucius has said. I suppose it would be those that have not yet been captured."

"Interesting," he said rubbing his chin with his fingers. "Yet, that's a very unlikely scenario."

"But, what if it's true?" Narcissa asked.

"Allow me to elaborate, please. After Hogwarts, the Death Eaters that were still alive fled into isolation and hiding. Without Voldemort to command and lead them, they are not as strong or as likely to mount any type of a counterattack. Yet, still they must be found and brought to justice. The wizarding world cannot suffer another war, or what we've had to endure in our past."

"Hence, your greater good?" Draco asked, causing both adults to startle. "Father had some kind of idea about a new world order. Yes, I did go back to the manor because I had unfinished business with him. He had mother imprisoned in our dungeon."

"What kind of man imprisons his wife in a dungeon?" Kinglsey asked. "For that matter, what kind of man has a dungeon?"

"Lucius was unwell-" Narcissa began, but Draco cut her off, saying, "One that has outlived his usefulness. I meant to kill him that night. It's the reason for my unlikely alliance with Potter."

"Unlikely indeed, Draco. Why Potter?"

Draco opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again when the words failed to come to him. His tongue darted out, moistening his suddenly parched lips. "It's hard to explain, but for a time I didn't see him as what everyone else perceived him to be; you know The Bloody Boy Who Lived, or some type of Gryffindor hero."

Kingsley nodded. "I think I see your point. You began to see the person beyond the name, the real Harry Potter. The individual that lives within his soul and behind his eyes."

"Yeah, I suppose that's how someone like you would put it," Draco replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"From worst enemies to best friends, eh?"

"Not exactly." Draco scowled down at the floor, suddenly worried that Shacklebolt might attempt legilimency. He took several deep, slow breaths as he put his mental blocks in place, guarding his memories of those few days with Harry. "If I were you, I wouldn't be worried about Potter, though, not when Phillipe Moreaux is loose."

"Oh?" Kingsley said as he slightly stiffened in his chair.

"He works for Father. On the night that I went to rescue Mother, it was Moreaux that destroyed much of the manor as he battled Potter's friends."

"Yes, that corroborates with what our observer witnessed. As he described it, a series of explosions came from inside the manor as windows shattered outward, and parts of the manor seem to be blasted apart from the inside."

His gaze drifted to Narcissa, who didn't reply, but simply nodded her head in agreement. "So, Moreaux is loose again, and is bankrolled by Lucius. Thus, his story to the both of you about 'other Death Eaters' attacking Malfoy Manor. You're very lucky to have survived Moreaux's attack."

"Where is Lucius, Minister?" Narcissa asked.

"Safe and secure right now, Narcissa. After the attack, we found Lucius unconscious in the dungeon. Therefore, he was taken somewhere safe. It looks as if you didn't finish what you set out to do, Draco."

"Bollocks! Someplace safe," Draco replied as he stifled a snort. "It'll be finished one way or the other."

"I think that-" Kingsley started.

"Stuff your thinking!" Draco shouted, tossing his hands into the air. "You don't know what it feels like. You can't possibly understand because you've never felt an Unforgivable delivered by a man who tells you that he loves and cares for you!" Tears began to trickle down Draco's cheeks as he continued. "I once wanted to follow in my father's footsteps." He sniffled, and swore under his breath while quickly brushing away the tears with the back of his hands. "And don't tell me," Draco started after regaining his composure, "don't you dare stand there and give me some politicians' lie about Ministry regulations, and how the Ministry can't become involved in domestic disputes." Draco's chest heaved as his voice began to crack. "My own father used those curses on me, and even tried to kill me with the killing curse! And now he has this monster of a man working for him," Draco said, tossing his hand at the window. "So what are you going to do about that, Minster?"

"I found and captured Moreaux once before. The same will happen again."

"But how many people will have to die before you do that?" Draco snapped as he stood up and walked to the window, his hands folded at the small of his back. "Yes, Potter and I bumped into him in London. A mere coincidence considering that all three of us were there at the same time that two Muggles were mysteriously killed, wouldn't you say, Minister?"

"I have given that much thought." Kingsley rose from the chair and walked over to the window, standing beside Draco. "And it's the reason why you are not being held for their murders. I know that neither you nor Potter killed those two poor Muggles. Just remember the real reason why you are here today, and leave Moreaux to me. Now if the two of you will-"

"Before you usher us out, I have one more question to ask you," Draco said, as he crossed the room and stood beside the sofa. "What do you know of a person named Janus?"

"Draco, no!" Narcissa hissed. "That man helped us!"

"Thatman, Mother, is dangerous, and is hiding something," Draco spat as Narcissa got up from the sofa. "And I want to know what!"

They both watched as Kingsley paced across the room several times, muttering the name under his breath. "Janus and the WTF. James Ward!" Draco shouted, his patience at its end.

"Janus, yes I remember now. Dumbledore really went out on a limb with the Wizengamot to have the young boy placed into Hogwarts after…" Kingsley's words trailed as he looked up from the floor, his gaze locking with both Narcissa and Draco's. "After his parents' murder."

"Well, what about him?" Draco asked, as the words came from his throat in a shrill shout. "What can you tell me about him? Why were the Wizengamot against him being in Hogwarts?"

"Honestly, Draco, there isn't much to tell you. He left Hogwarts shortly before the first war. From what little I remember, there were always a number of curious circumstances surrounding him. I haven't seen him since then, though you said something about the WTF? The Wizarding Task Force."

"Yes. Janus mentioned that he works for them in America."

"I have a contact over there that can verify this." A small smirk momentarily toyed with Kingsley's lips until his eyes made contact with Draco's stare. "Beyond this day, I would recommend that you keep your distance from Janus. With only the past and everything that surrounded him then to go on, until further information can be brought to light, I would be very careful if you come across him. It's a good possibility that he is very unstable."

Draco's hand gently massaged his throat, and then went to the wound on his scalp. Feigning an itch he dropped his fingers from his head, as his arms went limp at his side.

"Well, I must say that this has been a very illuminating conversation. I am thankful for the opportunity to speak to the both of you. The information that you have given me will remain strictly confidential but will go a long way in helping us all." Extending his long arm and hand toward the office door, Kingsley continued. "Now, outside my door you will find two aurors that will escort you to Courtroom Ten. I, along with the full Wizengamot, will join you both shortly." He opened the door and watched as the two men flanked Draco and Narcissa, and led them away.

"Your time, Moreaux, has come to an end," Shacklebolt whispered as he waved his wand for a purple Ministry memo to fly out of the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please!" Kingsley said as flashbulbs dazzled his vision and temporarily blinded him. "Please, I have an announcement to make. Would everyone please…" Kingsley shrugged as the noise and flashbulbs from the crowd escalated to a deafening roar. Questions rained down upon the Minister like fire from the sky, as the mob inched closer, moving past the fountain.

Loud red sparks crashed above the crowd, stunning them into momentary silence and causing many of the witches and wizards to back away. "Now!" Kingsley started, his voice echoing off the atrium walls. "I do have an announcement to make. I've just been informed that the reconstruction of Hogwarts is ahead of schedule. With good luck, the school will open on time or only slightly delayed." Approved murmurs and small rounds of applause came from the crowd as Kingsley continued. "I am sorry that you all have to stay here. However, once this hearing is over with, I will come back, make a statement, and answer your questions at that time."

"Why can't we be at the trial? Why the secrecy, Minister?" A female voice shouted somewhere from within the group.

"Due to the intimate nature of this subject, and whom this trial surrounds, only a select few will be allowed in the courtroom. Once the trials are over with, I will provide all of the information that you will need."

"Minister, where is Lucius Malfoy?" A second female voice spoke from within the circle.

"Lucius Malfoy is in the custody of the Ministry of Magic. Thank you, that's all for now." Kingsley turned to leave the group when a final question stung his broad back.

"What are you going to do about Phillipe Moreaux?" Kingsley stopped in his step as the question left a mental welt that made the muscles in his back twitch. He ground his teeth as the response came to his mind. Quickly he rounded, and marched right up to the crowd. "Who asked that?" A silence fell over the group as each person could feel the blaze coming from the Minister's eyes. "I said who asked that question!"

A handful of people shifted to the side, leaving a smaller group of people. "Well?" Kingsley snapped as he shifted his gaze to the three men who made up this small cluster. He watched as the tallest man, gulped harshly, and stepped forward.

"I…I asked it, s-sir," the young man trembled. Kingsley sized the young man up as being approximately twenty-five to thirty years of age. A light mop of fine, brown hair on his head matched the small freckles that were speckled onto his face. Black-rimmed glasses sat upon the bridge of this young man's nose, and an inexpensive looking wedding band clung to his thin finger.

"And where did you hear of Moreaux?" Kingsley calmly asked, as two Aurors walked up beside him.

"I-I didn't, Minister. It's…it's just a rumor that I thought you could comment on, s-sir."

Kingsley dabbed his index finger onto his chin. "Ah, I see! A rumor. Well, I will tell you that I do not work with rumors, mister…"

"Ugh…Flanagan."

"Let me ask you a question, Mr. Flanagan. Do you have a child?"

"Yes-s, sir. A little girl."

"Do you find comfort and solace in the fact that you don't have to worry about some dark wizard, coming in the middle of the night to your home and murdering your little girl?"

"Yes…sir," Flanagan gulped again.

Kingsley leaned closer to the man. "Thanks to the efforts of my staff, as well as myself, you and your family can sleep well at night. That's not a rumor, that's a fact." Kingsley began to step away from the man, along with the aurors, as Flanagan stood there, slightly trembling. "Now, once more, Mr. Flanagan, I will ask you, where did you hear about Moreaux?"

"No…nowhere Minister." A shaky attempt of a laugh escaped the man. "It's nothing sir, nothing to be worried about at all. Just a…a silly rumor."

"Exactly!" Kingsley announced as the crowd began to slowly gather back around the still shaking Flanagan. "If there were any substance to these rumors about Phillipe Moreaux, you would hear an official announcement from me!" He looked over the crowd at Flanagan. "And not from every witch or wizard that you meet in the street."

Kingsley turned once more to leave the crowd, but as he did so, the sound of a baby caught his attention. Spinning around he found the source of the baby's sounds. "Allow her to come through," Kingsley pointed at the Aurors to separate Andromeda from the crowd. Seconds later, Andromeda stood beside Kingsley, as the two exchanged words with their eyes.

"Very well. I'll escort you to the courtroom," the minister said as he led Andromeda and Teddy away.

Draco Malfoy shifted nervously as he sat waiting for Kingsley Shacklebolt to approach the podium. The Wizengamot had all taken their seats, flanking where the Minister would be standing. Draco watched as many of the witches and wizards, some in plum-colored robes and others in black, whispered to one another while occasionally stealing a glance toward him. A lone witch sat silently by herself, her pink brooch glistening in the dim light from the far corner of the back row. She smiled slightly at Draco as their eyes momentarily locked.

"Umbridge!" Draco whispered, leaning toward Narcissa. "What's she doing here?"

"I don't know, Draco," Narcissa replied.

"That bitch!" Draco heatedly whispered, causing Narcissa's eyes to widen in shock.

"Draco Malfoy, that's no way to talk about Dolores!"

"No, I'm not talking about Umbridge, mother!" Draco whispered as he jerked the back of his arm away from Narcissa's grasp. "Her!" He tilted his chin at the blonde-haired witch who sat across the room in her acid-green robes, smiling and flashing her big, pearly, white teeth, and subtly winking at Draco. Her long, red nails tapped audibly on the arm of her chair. "And what's that half-fool Lovegood doing sitting there beside her?"

A hand came down upon Narcissa's shoulder causing her to gasp as she turned to see the person standing behind her.

"Andromeda!" Draco exclaimed, reaching for Teddy, as Narcissa hugged her sister. The smile that had surfaced on Draco's face quickly vanished as out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rita Skeeter mumbling to her wickedly green quick-quotes quill. The tip of the quill hurriedly scratched across the surface of her parchment.

"Sorry, Cissy, about startling you, but we just barely made it. Teddy became a bit of a handful after you and Draco had to leave," Andromeda said as she sighed, sitting down next to Narcissa and holding Teddy to her chest. "What's wrong?" She asked as she looked into the faces of her sister and nephew, and traced their glare across the room. "Oh! Not her!" She turned back to Draco, and reached for his hand. "Don't worry about Skeeter. You go up there and tell the truth."

"Yeah, I suppose." Draco replied as swallowed dryly. His gaze shifted from Rita Skeeter back toward the Wizengamot. "What's Umbridge doing up there?"

"Dolores?" Andromeda asked, sitting fully into the back of the bench and scanning the faces of the Wizengamot. "I knew that she had been imprisoned, and I don't understand why she would still be allowed to be here."

"Have you heard from…Potter?" Draco asked. Just having to say Harry's surname was a struggle for him.

Andromeda shook her head. "No, not a word." Draco exhaled and folded his arms across his chest. "I saw Arthur Weasley outside and asked him if he had heard from Harry. He said that they had not, either."

"Draco," Narcissa spoke up, cradling her arm around her son. "There's no telling where Potter could be."

"I know where he probably is!" Draco spat, massaging his knuckles with his hand. "I suppose we know who we can trust, and it's not Potter!"

Draco's words ended as Kingsley Shacklebolt strode to the podium in his turquoise colored robe.

"Before we begin today's proceedings, there are a couple of matters that I need to address. First, we are joined in the courtroom this morning by representatives from The Daily Prophet as well as The Quibbler," Kingsley said, motioning his hand toward Rita Skeeter and Xenophillius Lovegood. "Also, we have with us the Ministry's court scribe, Percy Weasley. I have a few words to say to our guests," he said turning toward Rita and Xenophillius. "Madame Skeeter, you are aware that quick-quotes quills are not permitted within this courtroom?"

Rita flashed her large smile, and laughed. "But Minster, how am I to take notes without my quill?"

"Oh, you'll have a quill, along with plenty of ink and parchment. But, you won't have that quill." He raised his hand. "Accio, quick-quotes quill." The green quill floated through the air and landed gently into Kingsley's large hands. He pretended to write words in mid-air, before giving Rita a small smirk. "It a very nice quill, Rita. Very flexible and almost perfect to the touch. I'm very much aware of your flair for writing, and your panache for telling a story."

"Thank you, Minister," Rita hissed, but with a smile on her lips.

"Today, those qualities will not be needed as you will use this." Kingsley raised his wand as a quill along with a bottle of ink and several sheets of parchment floated from Percy Weasely's table and landed in front of Rita.

She touched the quill gingerly as if it had dung smeared onto it. "You're too kind, Minister," Rita replied, feigning a smile.

"This is most important," Kingsley started. "Today, the record will be set straight, and I want no deviation from anything that is seen and heard from this room to be printed. Mr. Lovegood your work for The Quibbler, while a bit unusual at times, is exemplary. Rita, you are here because I am allowing you one chance to redeem your work. I warn you, do not abuse my generosity."

"Now that we have the preliminary matters taken care of, let's turn our focus to the reason why we are here. Mr. Malfoy would you-"

A soft, throat-clearing sound resonated from behind Kingsley, causing him to stop in the middle of his words. "You have something else to add, Dolores?" Kingsley asked without turning around.

"Yes, Minister. I feel that what I have to say is most vital to the proceedings," Dolores Umbridge said as she stood. "I hereby pledge my full faith and trust in young Malfoy. While during my time as High Inquisitor and as Headmistress of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy was a shining beacon of the model student that is sat down by the Ministry of Magic guidelines. His devotion and unwavering desire are top among all students that I helped to guide and mold. His progress must not be discouraged and we as authority figures must preserve the special balance that a young man, such as Draco, brings into the world. I would find it immoral to cast a vote of guilt upon that young man's head."

"Thank you, Madame Umbridge, for that lovely bit of rhetoric. However, allow me to freshly remind you exactly why you're still allowed to be a member of the Wizengamot, and caution you to know when it would be most fruitful for you to cease your speaking."

"Yes, minister," Dolores quietly said as she sat back in her chair, and looked dejected from Kingsley to Draco.

Kingsley craned his neck to look back over his shoulder toward the witch, before turning away from her and focusing onto Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, if you would." Kingsley extended his hand toward the single, wooden chair that sat in the middle of the floor.

Draco nodded and stood up from his place beside Narcissa. She softly grabbed his wrist, causing him to pause and look into her eyes.

A small tilt of his head in understanding, Draco slipped his wrist from his mother's grip, and walked out onto the courtroom floor. His fingers lightly touched the wooden chair that sat before the Minister and the Wizengamot. Slowly, he edged himself onto the chair and looked upward. The cathedral-like ceiling seemed to stretch forever. Draco peered into the emptiness, expecting to see dementors hovering in wait.

Stars.Draco thought to himself. Beautifulstars.Nodementors.Justacalmnightskyfilledwithmillionsofglowingstars.JustliketheGreatHallatHogwarts.

"Mr. Malfoy!"

The sound of his name brought Draco out of his daze.

"What?"

"I said, let's begin by giving the court your full name."

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," he replied, his middle name hissing across his tongue.

"Thank you," Kingsley said. "Before we continue, there are a few items that I would like to speak to you about. First, this is not the courtroom of old. There will be no chains or ropes that come to life from that chair."

Draco glanced at the arms of the chair, imagining then seizing him and holding him in place. "Second, as you seem to be aware of now, there are no dementors allowed in this building. All dementors will stay within the boundaries of Azkaban prison. Third, I want to remind you of the charges that you are facing. If at any time, I feel as if you are not telling the truth, the hearing will stop, and Veritaserum will be administered. Do you clearly understand what I have said?"

"Yes."

"Very good. Once questioning has been completed, the Wizengamot will proceed with a vote of innocence or guilt, and sentencing will be carried out forthwith. You will be given proper time and opportunity to defend yourself. Are you prepared to do so, Draco?"

"I'm ready," Draco hoarsely whispered as ghostly visions of Azkaban prison danced through his mind.

"Very well, then. Draco Lucius Malfoy you're accused of murdering Albus Dumbledore. How do you plead?"

Draco felt his spine stiffen as he inhaled deeply. "I didn't kill Dumbledore."

"So be it. Mr. Weasley let the record state that Mr. Malfoy has entered a plea of not guilty." Kingsley deeply exhaled as he looked down from the podium, and into the blue eyes of Draco Malfoy. "Alright, Draco, it's your defense. If you didn't kill Albus, then do you know who did?"

Draco's lips instantly went dry, as the name of the person flashed into his brain. His eyes drifted toward his mother, and the many memories that he had of her. Teddy was the next person that his eyes found, as he remembered the happiness that he felt when he was speaking to and playing with the young child. The warmth and care from Andromeda were next for Draco to see, as she smiled her encouragement. As Draco continued to stare at his family, a door opened and closed in the distance. Narcissa turned her head in the direction of the noise, and Draco followed her eyes to the far end of the courtroom where a figure had entered.

As the figure approached the podium, Draco recognized the distinctive, arrogant strut. A painful lump formed in Draco's throat, and his face heated with an unpleasant stew of emotions. A part of him wanted to fall at Potter's feet and call him a savior, and another part wanted to strangle him for taking his sweet time and making a dramatic entrance.

Throughout the courtroom, all eyes were on the Boy Who Lived. Rita Skeeter tapped her chin with the end of the quill and began furiously scribbling on her parchment. Quiet murmurs rippled through the Wizengamot as Harry approached the podium, his eyes locked with Draco's. When he reached the chair, Harry stood in front of it and placed his hands on Draco's shoulders. Leaning so close that their faces nearly touched, he whispered, "I'm here, Draco."

Draco put his hands on Harry's forearms, planning to push the Gryffindor away, but instead he found himself gripping hard, probably bruising the tender flesh. "It's about damn time!" he growled.

With an insufferable smirk, Harry stood up and jerked his arms, pulling Draco out of his chair and into an embrace that Draco returned without thinking. For an instant, Harry was all that existed. Draco's senses filled with the sensation of their bodies flat against each other, the smell of Harry's hair, and the sound of his breath. A heartbeat later, Draco realized with horror what he had done, and in front of whom. Scowling he pried himself away from Harry and fell back into the chair, his arms folded protectively across his chest.

"Don't worry," Harry whispered as he stepped away from Draco and nodded to Kingsley.

"This is certainly a surprise," Kingsley said dryly. A chuckle rippled throughout the Wizengamot, and Skeeter's quill danced across her parchment. Kingsley slightly shook his head as he gazed from Rita back to Harry before asking, "Are you sure this is where you want to be, Mr. Potter?"

"It's where I belong, Minister," Harry replied, walking to the bench and sitting down next to Andromeda.

"Very well. Now let us continue," Kingsley said. "Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco didn't respond as his gaze locked onto Harry's face. A smile crept over Draco's face as it dawned on him that Harry was truly his. Even after the way Draco had hurt him, he had still come to Draco's rescue, and he still wore that pathetic lovesick expression as he peered from behind those ridiculous glasses. The lump was back in Draco's throat now, and he swallowed hard as he looked from Narcissa to Harry to Andromeda and Teddy.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

"What?" Draco snapped, his thoughts of Harry interrupted.

"Please pay attention, before I lose my patience!" Kingsley's large hand quickly massaged the side of his temple before he continued. "You've told us that you did not kill Albus Dumbledore."

"Yes," Draco replied.

"Then who did?" Kingsley asked, a slight growl in his throat.

Draco inhaled deeply, and steadied his slightly trembling hands on his knees. "It was Snape. He killed Dumbledore."

Silence filled the room as all quills had stopped writing; even Rita Skeeter, was still, stunned by the revelation. Several members of the Wizengamot moved in their seats, causing a slight creaking sound to break the silence while others began to whisper.

Kingsley cleared his throat and reaffirmed his grip on the podium. "Severus Snape?" He asked, leaning further over the edge to look more closely into Draco's eyes.

"Yes," Draco flatly replied. "Snape killed Dumbledore, and then he led me down the tower steps, and away from Hogwarts. Potter and his friends tried to stop Snape and other Death Eaters, but we got away from them."

"I'm well aware of that, Draco, as I was one of the members that you and Severus managed to avoid." Kingsley stepped out from around the podium and made his way down to the floor. "I want to see it, Malfoy. Your Dark Mark!"

"What does that have to do with anything? You asked me who killed Dumbledore and I told you! I'm telling you the truth!" Draco shouted as Kingsley grabbed Draco's left arm and ripped his sleeve back.

Kingsley stared down at the pale skin. "Why is it fading?"

"Because he's dead!" Draco shouted jerking his arm away and ripping the sleeve of his robe in the process. "Are you happy, Shacklebolt? Glad to see myDark Mark?"

Draco got up from the chair, making sure to stay away from Kingsley's reach. "Alright, yes, I was a Death Eater," Draco began. "My father was a Death Eater. I had no choice but to become one! I had to do what heordered me to do."

"He? Voldemort?" Kingsley questioned.

"Yes! If I didn't do as he ordered, he would have killed me and my family! I fixed the vanishing cabinet to allow the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. He wanted me to kill Dumbledore, and I tried that night. I tried to force the words to come out, but I…I…I couldn't do it!" Draco shouted as tears began to stream down his face. "But Snape knew. That's why he came to the tower; to protect me. If the other Death Eaters had found out that he killed Dumbledore instead of me, they would have told him!"

"Alright, Mr. Malfoy. Please, gather yourself together." Kingsley replied as he walked back to the podium. "Why would Severus Snape protect a Death Eater?"

"He was a Death Eater as well," Draco said through hard sobs. "And now he's dead. One of the only people in the world that cared about me is dead."

"I find this new information difficult to fully believe, Draco, so I have to ask you, do you have any proof to your words? Do you have a witness?"

Draco nodded and pointed to Harry, who had stood up from his seat.

"Very well, Mr. Potter. Please, come and offer us your testimony," Kingsley said, motioning for Harry to stand beside Draco.

"You are fully aware that you are not on trial, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry replied, as the fingers of his left hand lightly touched Draco's arm.

"Proceed."

Harry began to pace in the area beside Draco, his eyes briefly connecting with Draco's. "Draco is telling you the truth. It was Snape that killed Professor Dumbledore."

"Can you prove this?" Kingsley asked before Harry could continue.

"Yes, but let me continue as there is more to it," Harry replied as he stopped pacing, and stared right into Draco's face, before turning to look as Kingsley. "Professor Dumbledore was already dying."

Harry expected a series of murmurs and whispers, or even a question to come from members of the Wizengamot, yet when he heard nothing but silence, he continued to speak. "You see, in the summer prior, Dumbledore found one of Voldemort's horcruxes. It was the ring of Salazar Slytherin, but it was cursed. Dumbledore put the ring on, and instantly the curse began to course into his body. The professor returned to Hogwarts where Snape helped to stem the curse in his hand, but they both knew that it was too late. Knowing his fate, Dumbledore instructed Snape on what to do, and why it had to be done. Professor Snape promised Dumbledore that he would do as the headmaster wished.

"Just a moment, Harry," Kingsley interrupted. "You're telling me that Severus Snape was both a Death Eater and a member of the Order?"

"Well, not exactly a member of the Order, but he was loyal to Dumbledore. Professor Dumbledore knew everything about Voldemort, including what Draco had to do in order to allow the Death Eaters inside of Hogwarts through the use of the vanishing cabinet."

"And Dumbledore knew of this?" Kingsley said, towering over the podium.

"Yes, I believe that he did," Harry nodded. "You see it was all part of Dumbledore's plan, and everyone had their parts to do within the plan, no matter the cost. Snape informed Dumbledore about Voldemort's plans, and in return Snape carefully misinformed Voldemort.

"Professor Dumbledore knew that he was going to die, so he had to have everything planned, and all countermeasures ready, which included his death. He made Snape promise to kill him, in order to save Draco's life."

"That's quite an interesting story," Kingsley said neutrally, "and a convenient one for Mr. Malfoy. Given that Professor Snape isn't here to speak for himself, we have only the word of Mr. Malfoy's…" Shacklebolt frowned as he looked from Harry to Draco and back. "What, exactly, is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco bit his lip until it bled, preferring the concrete pain to the sensation of dread. Mere seconds passed between Shacklebolt's question and Harry's reply, but each one felt like an eternity.

"That doesn't matter." Harry waved a hand dismissively. "As I said before, I have proof."

"And that is?" Kingsley asked.

"I was there with Dumbledore that night on the Astronomy Tower. We had just returned from finding another horcrux, when we spotted the Dark Mark above Hogwarts. Dumbledore knew then what had to be done. We flew to the Astronomy Tower and he placed an invisible spell over me, but I saw everything. Professor was weak from the poison that he had to swallow in order to retrieve the horcrux, and he allowed Draco to easily disarm him. Yet no matter how hard he tried, Draco couldn't say the words."

Harry turned to look into Draco's eyes, as the pain of remembering the sounds and feelings of that night entered both young wizards. "Snape appeared shortly afterwards, as Dumbledore called out for him to do what had to be done before the other Death Eaters arrived. Keeping his promise to Dumbledore, Professor Snape sent the killing curse into his chest."

The courtroom was silent once more. "I was the last person to see Professor Snape alive, after Voldemort had set Nagini on him."

"If Voldemort trusted Snape, why then would he kill him?" Kingsley asked, as his fingers tapped on the podium.

"With Snape's dying words, he gave me a memory from his mind. The proof and the answer to your questions are in that memory, if the Wizengamot wish to see it." Harry reached into his pocket and removed a small vial.

Kingsley motioned for Harry to approach him and carefully took the vial from Harry's hand, holding it up to the light and squinting at the swirling liquid inside. With his free hand, he beckoned one of the court aurors and said, "Go, bring me a pensieve."

After nodding assent, the auror apparated away. Kingsley set the vial down on the podium and rested his hands on either side of it. The room filled with small, restless sounds of anticipation: the tap of a booted foot, the rustling of fabric, and the creaking of chairs as people shifted in their seats. Lovegood and Skeeter both scribbled intensely on their parchments. Harry returned to his place between Narcissa and Andromeda, though his eyes remained on Draco.

After several minutes, the auror returned, bearing a large metal bowl which he balanced against his body with intense concentration. Shacklebolt waved his wand, conjuring a small table in front of the podium, and the auror set the pensieve on it, looking relieved to put the device down.

"Come," Shacklebolt gestured to the members of the Wizengamot. When Rita Skeeter began to rise from her seat as well, he shot her a look of disapproval and shook his head. The reporter sank back into her chair, pouting, as members of the Wizengamot surrounded the table, blocking the view of the pensieve with their bodies. The minister waved his wand again, and the next words he spoke could be heard only as a vague buzzing sound.

Time seemed to stand still. The room had gone silent, with even the scratching of quills stopped. A sickening trickle of sweat streamed down Draco's sides. He could hear his own heartbeat. In a moment of paranoia, he glanced around the room, wondering if everyone else could hear it, too.

How long does it take to watch a bloody memory? Draco wondered.

Teddy began to cry, and for a moment the members of the Wizengamot glanced up at Andromeda, who rose from her chair and raced out of the room with the infant. When she returned, Teddy asleep on her shoulder, nothing had changed save the dampness of Draco's robes, which now clung to his sides.

Just as Draco began to think that this was worse than going to Azkaban, the members of the Wizengamot returned to their seats. Dolores Umbridge was grinning, while a few of the others dabbled at their eyes with their sleeves. Shacklebolt himself was expressionless as he returned to the podium.

"Draco Malfoy," the Minister intoned, "would you please stand?" Draco stood, yet felt the weight of his body pressing down upon his knees. "How do the members of the Wizengamot find the accused?" Kingsley asked without turning to face the Wizengamot.

Slowly, each member of the Wizengamot stood. Then, clearly and in unison, the word, "innocent," came from the members.

"Before I finalize the Wizengamot's decision, I want to personally thank you, Harry, for coming forward and sharing this information with us. I believe now that we all can finally find peace and solace with this conclusion," Kingsley said as he turned from Harry to Draco. "Draco Malfoy, you are hereby acquitted of all charges."

Blood pounded in Draco's temples as the verdict sank in. His knees buckled, and he stumbled, only to be steadied by a strong pair of hands on his hips. He fell against Harry, letting him clasp his arms around Draco's waist and squeezed. His own hands, still shaking with relief, drifted to the small of Harry's back. When Harry started to pull away, Draco tightened the embrace as the two stood in place as one. "What about her?" Harry asked, jerking his chin toward Rita Skeeter.

"I don't care! Right now, all I care about is you, Po-Harry. You saved my life," Draco said, his eyes beginning to sting. "After all of the things I've said, after what I've done..." He released Harry and stepped back, shaking his head.

"You should know, Draco that I always have to do the right thing. And I couldn't live with myself if I let you go to Azkaban."

Before Draco could reply, he and Harry were smothered in warm, soft hugs by Narcissa and Andromeda, each of them murmuring thanks and congratulations.

A soft clearing of the throat caused the group to quickly split apart. Kingsley Shacklebolt stood before them, his hand outstretched. "Once more, Harry, you have saved someone. It's starting to become a habit of yours!" He said, crushing Harry's hand in a warm handshake. "Mr. Malfoy, thank you for your information today, and I'll check on what we spoke about earlier today."

"Thank you, Minister," Draco replied, shaking the man's hand.

"Narcissa, Andromeda would you both wait in my office? I think a public statement with these two young men would go a long way in clearing the air about all of this. After that, we can get you all out of here without making a scene."

"Good publicity?" Harry asked as he, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Draco Malfoy entered the lift. "Honestly, Minister, I'm not sure that speaking to reporters right now is the best thing to do."

"Of course it is, Harry," Kingsley beamed as he placed his large hands upon both Harry and Draco's shoulders and squeezed. "Your…relationship with one another is your own business, but to clear away lingering doubts about Albus' murder, I think a few words are worthy of being said. You'll both do just fine. Give them 'yes' and 'no' answers, and I'll take care of the rest."

"Let's just get on with it," Draco growled. "Then the Ministry can move onto something that really matters, like catching Phillipe Moreaux."

Shacklebolt flinched at the mention of the name, and his hands clenched briefly into fists. "I don't recall hiring you to advise me on how to run my government!" Kingsley snapped.

"If you don't catch him soon, at least one more man is going to die," Harry said.

"Indeed? Do you have information that I do not?" Shacklebolt tilted his head as he turned to look at Harry.

Harry's knees wobbled when the lift made a sudden turn. "It's Janus," he said, as a hollow pain numbed his body.

"Small loss," Draco muttered. "If Janus and Phillipe kill each other, that's two birds with one bloody stone…"

Kingsley silenced Draco with a glare before turning back to Harry. "As I told Draco earlier today, Janus himself may be dangerous." Kingsley sighed, crossing his arms. "What makes you think he will be Moreaux's next victim?"

"It's a vendetta of his. Janus is going after Phillipe even if it gets him killed. He cares about killing Moreaux more than…more than anything or anyone. You're wrong about him, though, Minister. He's a good man."

"That's just what I need, now," he said tensing the muscles in his neck and causing them to pop. "A damned vigilante with a thirst for blood," Kingsley growled. "How do you know that you're not wrong about him, Potter? What if he's only allowing you to see what he wants you to see?"

"He was, at first, but then…" Harry felt a flush creeping into his cheeks as he remembered what it had felt like when Janus began to trust him. "He's a friend. It's a…a feeling I have."

"You're willing to risk innocent lives because of a feeling that you have? Kingsley asked, as his large finger tapped on his forearm. "Not everyone's a friend or an enemy, Harry." Kingsley glanced at Draco before continuing. "The world is not simply black and white. You'd do well to keep that in mind from now on, Potter," Kingsley sternly warned as the lift began to slow, bringing the Atrium into sight. "What the…" Shacklebolt began as the lift stopped. "No!"

"Minister?" Harry asked as he stepped toward the doors.

"Both of you, stay in this lift! Don't set foot out of here until I tell you to do so. Do as I say!" Kingsley ordered as he closed the lift doors, leaving Harry and Draco in the confined space.

"What's wrong with him?" Draco asked.

"I don't know." Harry peered out into the Atrium, confused. "Maybe it's Janus! He might have shown up after all."

"And you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Draco snorted. "What will it take to make you see the truth about him? I knew that Janus was trouble, but you wouldn't listen to me, and now look. Even Shacklebolt is telling you that he's dangerous, and can't be…" Draco's words trailed off as he stepped forward to the lift doors, his eyes fixed on something that made them go wide.

Harry edged closer to the doors and craned his neck to see what Draco was seeing. When familiar locks of silver hair caught his attention, he gasped and found Draco's hand with his.

"Father," Draco whispered.

"For the love of Merlin, what the hell's going on here?" Kingsley angrily asked as he stormed to the Auror who was standing beside Lucius Malfoy. "Westbrook! I demand an answer!"

The Auror released his grip from Lucius' arm and saluted Kingsley. "Just doing what you ordered sir! Your order said to bring the prisoner here before the first hearing finished."

"I never wrote anything like that. I wanted Lucius kept away until I came to collect him, not to have him displayed before everyone to photograph!" Kingsley motioned for the other Aurors to push the people away from where they stood. "And why can't he speak?"

"Just doing what your letter clearly stated." Westbrook reached into his pocket and brought forth the purple Ministry parchment. "It's got your signature and everything on it, sir."

Kingsley took the small note, read it, and ripped it apart. "Listen to me, Westbrook," Kingsley whispered. "We've been set up. Take Lucius to the other lift and get out of here immediately. I want you to take him back to his room, and stand there beside him until I arrive. The rest of us will get these people out of the Atrium. Do it quietly, and do it now."

"Right, sir!" Westbrook saluted again as he pulled Lucius' manacles toward one of the lifts.

Kingsley began speaking to the other Aurors, and then addressed the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, due to a matter of security I am going to ask that everyone proceed directly to each grate that you came in from." Angry shouts came from the mob as the Aurors walked in front of Shacklebolt, forcing the people to walk the other way. "I am sorry, but it is for your own safety."

An ear-splitting hissing sound filled the room, causing all of the occupants to reach and cover their ears. The Atrium fountain suddenly began to gush and swirl, as if the water inside it were in a maelstrom. A hazy blue mist appeared above everyone, filling the room and extinguishing the lit torches that lined the walls.

"Lumos!" Kingsley shouted as the deafening hissing sound subsided, even though the blue mist hung above them and the water of the fountain churned. The other Aurors lit their wands and the room filled with foggy beams of light trying to cut through the blue mist.

A bright light flashed inside the blue mist as the Dark Mark appeared above. The witches and wizards who had begun to walk toward the grates screamed and ran through the darkness, colliding with whomever or whatever was in their paths.

"Please! There is no need to panic!" Kingsley shouted as he scrambled forward, but stopped in his steps as the voice of Voldemort came from the Dark Mark above them all.

Fools! How dare all of you think that the greatest dark wizard of all time is dead! Now, witness the wrath of darkness as vengeance will be mine!

"Damn him!" Kingsley growled to himself. "Aurors, fire into the Dark Mark, at my command!" He shouted as jets of red light blasted into the Dark Mark, causing it to explode into sparkles that rained helplessly down onto the floor.

"Avada Kedavra!" The words came from behind Kingsley as his Auror instincts kicked in, and he rolled away from the direction of the words. The blue mist faded away, as the torches along the walls re-lit the room, revealing the grisly image.

"Well, well, well, Minister. You're a step slow and a day late, old man," Phillipe Moreaux gestured as he stood over the dead body of Lucius Malfoy. At once, the Aurors pointed their wands toward Moreaux. "Not a good idea," Phillipe taunted as he wagged a finger at the Aurors. Moreaux slowly smirked, revealing yellow-stained teeth, before slowly allowing his eyes to trace his outstretched arm, following the path of his aimed wand. "It would be such a pity to lose another Malfoy and his Gryffindor hero in the same day. Could you live with that loss, Minster?"

"Everyone, lower your wands, now!" Kingsley shouted. "Alright, you've won this time, Moreaux, but what have you done with Auror Westbrook?"

Phillipe scratched at the coarse stubble on his face, pretending to grope for the answer. "Oh, him! Our dearly departed Lucius will have joined him by now on the other side. I'm afraid that death is a debt that you all must pay, eventually."

Kingsley stood rooted to the floor, anger flooding his every pore. "You can run. You can hide in the foulest of places. But no matter what, I will track you down and bring you to justice!"

"With your dirty hands?" Phillipe snorted as he placed his booted foot on Lucius' back. "You do that and I'll be sure to ask for Veritaserum at my trial. Now, the time has come for me to bid you adieu. I have…" he grinned and looked over Shacklebolt's shoulder, locking eyes first with Harry, then with Draco, "…work to do."

With those final words, Phillipe Moreaux and Lucius Malfoy's dead body disappeared.
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Darkness Within The Light