Soul Thief
Harry sat on his bed in his rundown apartment and considered his reasons for having just agreed to help Narcissa Malfoy. He had vowed never to return to the Magical World and could not believe that he was now preparing to do so in order to help Draco of all people. He had agreed to accompany Narcissa to a meeting with the Minister tonight - if his presence was required - and he was not looking forward to it. Once he was spotted at the Ministry, word of his return would break out and his name would be all over the newspapers like a rash the following day. He smiled ruefully; of all the reasons that he might have considered for returning to the magical world, the welfare of his former enemy was not one that he had even remotely thought of. Life was strange sometimes, he decided.
If he was honest with himself, there were a number of reasons for agreeing to help. Narcissa was correct; she had helped him that fateful night at Hogwarts when the destiny of their world had been at stake. Whatever her motives, there was no doubt that he would not have succeeded had Narcissa Malfoy not lied to Voldemort. For all his bluster, Harry knew that this simple fact could not be denied.
He was also saddened to read of the death of Cho Chang. Whilst his teenage infatuation with the Ravenclaw girl had been both fleeting and childish, he could not deny that he once had feelings for her and deeply regretted the manner in which she died. He was not used to feeling anything these days, such was the success with which he had suppressed his emotions, but he was objective enough to realise that news of her death had affected him. He found this strange.
He had also felt a degree of sympathy when Narcissa had spoken of her fear of losing Draco to the Dementors. And he did have to admit that her assertion that Draco was innocent was probably correct; Draco Malfoy was no more capable of brutal murder than he was of flying to the moon on a flobberworm. Accepting this as a truth, he also accepted that her second assertion - that there was a conspiracy at work - must also be true.
It was this that had made him decide to help, he realised. This and the faint possibility that Narcissa might be correct in her belief that what had happened to Draco was in some way related to what had happened to Ron. He didn't think it likely, but if someone was settling old scores then it might be possible that he and Ron had been targeted too. And then there was one final reason, he knew; a reason that he did not enjoy admitting to himself. It was time to go home; his self imposed exile was not what he needed.
He closed his eyes, remembering the moment when he knew he had to go.
'It's probably best if you just leave, Harry.'
These words had crushed him. Ginny's hysterics had been understandable and he knew in the abstract that her words were spoken in the heat of the moment and were not to be taken at face value. But the calm, understated request from Hermione for him to get out of her sight had been too much. He had been struggling with the guilt of Ron's death and had relived the moment over and over in his head. He should have obeyed orders and made sure neither of them attempted to enter the building and he still struggled to deal with this knowledge. But when he had turned to Hermione that day in the Ministry to seek forgiveness she had turned him away. This he could not deal with. Hermione was his rock; his salvation on so many occasions, but it seemed that he had finally exhausted even her seemingly limitless supply of compassion and love. For this he could not forgive himself; his role in Ron's death had changed his dearest friend for the worse and he could not bear to face her again with that knowledge.
So he had run. Had raced home, packed a bag and left for what he had thought at the time would be forever. He'd made his way to King's Cross and caught a train north. He'd had no destination in mind - just a desire to get as far away as possible from Hermione's pain and the accusations of the magical world. He also suspected that Ron had died instead of him and feared that others may yet pay the ultimate price for being close to him. After a few weeks of crossing the country, he had eventually found himself in Peterhead and had decided that the small fishing community suited his needs. As far as he could tell, there wasn't a witch or wizard within fifty miles and that was good enough for him.
He had tried to write to her; to explain in words that she might read and understand someday but he had been unable to convey the sorrow and regret he was feeling. Instead he had contented himself with a one word apology - a coward's way out, to be sure, but the only way out he could see. He had sent her his wand too, hoping that she would understand the message he was sending. The magical world would be better off without him. Indeed, Hermione would be better off without him.
He cast his mind back over the previous eleven months. In that time he had been almost totally alone, forging virtually no new friendships or associations. The only exception to this was the man who had offered him a degree of salvation when he first arrived in the town. He'd been having a quiet drink in one of the many pubs down by the harbour when he'd heard a man ask in a broad Scots accent if anyone was looking for work. Harry discovered later that Duncan MacKinnon had heard of the arrival of a morose, quiet young Englishman and had entered the pub with the specific intention of checking him out. It had been no accident when he had bought Harry a drink and - speaking in his lilting Gaelic tones - had offered Harry a job on his fishing trawler. Harry was ready to refuse the offer out of hand, but the Skipper had said something to change his mind. The hardened old seaman had told him over their drinks that the sea had no memory. It was as if he had known that Harry was running from his past and was offering him a chance to escape from it. This had been enough for Harry; he'd picked up his coat and followed the man to a place where he could lose himself.
And he had lost himself. Going out for weeks at a time had given Harry the opportunity to think and to come to terms with what he had become. He liked the work - physical and demanding though it was - and soon noticed that he was getting stronger with each passing day. His crewmates never pried; never asked him about his past and for that Harry was more grateful than he would ever care to admit. They had accepted him as part of their lives and he was touched by this for he knew that their very lives depended on each other when they were at sea. Despite this mutual trust, however, he had not allowed himself to get too close to these men.
Instead, he'd built a wall around himself; a wall that he had vowed to let no one breach. He knew that whenever he got close to people, he hurt them. Therefore, the solution was simple; remain alone.
So it was strange that Narcissa Malfoy had been the person to make the first breach in his defences. He'd successfully rejected all previous overtures and it was with no small degree of guilt that Harry remembered his reaction the first time he saw his name in a Muggle newspaper.
Hermione.
She wanted to see him; wanted him to come home - even to the extent of taking out adverts in the press. But he'd resisted the urge to comply. He'd come close to crying when he had discovered the personal ad in the classified section, but he had used this sudden display of weakness to strengthen his resolve. He'd turned his emotions inwards, suppressing them utterly. Then he'd simply stopped reading newspapers altogether. He would not weaken again.
But now it seemed he had finally cracked, he realised. He was returning to the magical world, albeit for the sake of his own curiosity and welfare. But this time things would be different, Harry vowed to himself. Stay aloof, don't get involved with anyone. Just do the job and go.
He wondered briefly if he would see Hermione again, but dismissed the thought. Whether he saw her or not was irrelevant. The Harry Potter she knew was dead. It would be better for both their sakes that she did not get to know the man he had now become.
Sighing, he grabbed his backpack and the Portkey Narcissa had left for him. Taking one last glance around his flat he satisfied himself that he had not left anything of value behind. It occurred to him that he might never return here, but he found that he was not bothered by this. Life went on, he knew, and sometimes all a man could do was go along with the flow. He was doing that now; he only hoped that the flow washed him to more pleasant surroundings than those he had been enduring of late.
***********
Kingsley Shacklebolt placed the inevitable folder he had been reading on his desk and mentally prepared himself for his next appointment. He had been deliberately postponing any meeting with Narcissa Malfoy because he was aware that he would not be able to offer her the hope that she desired to find. He had meticulously gone over all the paperwork pertaining to the Malfoy case and had satisfied himself that the case for the Prosecution was watertight. It was now up to the court to decide the fate of Draco Malfoy.
But he knew Narcissa would not blithely accept his conclusions. The forthcoming interview would not be pleasant; he only hoped that the woman would not lose her composure. Kingsley had faced many mortal enemies over the years, but was well aware that one thing he could not deal effectively with was an emotional woman. Sighing, he rose from his chair and approached his door. Opening it, he saw his personal secretary at her desk.
'Susan? Would you be so kind as to tell Mrs Malfoy that I will see her now?'
Susan Bones nodded and left the outer office. Kingsley waited by the door until his guest arrived. When Narcissa entered the room, he regarded her dispassionately.
She was still a handsome woman, he thought to himself. These past few days must have been a living hell for her, but she still looked calm and collected and her beauty - cold thought it was - was almost overpowering in the confines of his office. He stretched out his hand.
'Narcissa. Good to see you. How may I be of assistance?'
Narcissa took the proffered hand and allowed herself to be led into the inner office and guided into a comfortable chair by the Minister's desk. She watched as Kingsley closed the door and took his own seat.
'Can I get you something to drink?' he asked.
She shook her head, almost defiantly.
'So, what can I do for you?' he asked.
'I am obviously here regarding the trial of my son. There have been some developments in the case that you need to be apprised of. I am moving for an adjournment and thought to do you the courtesy of informing you in advance.'
Kingsley struggled to hide his surprise. He took a moment before replying.
'Narcissa, I'm sure you are aware that the Prosecution is content with the case they have built and that no delay is possible. The trial date has been set in accordance with our laws; no procedural rules have been broken. What are these new developments you speak of?'
'Before I answer, can you confirm that the Prosecution are resolved to press for the ultimate penalty? That my son will be Kissed if found guilty?' She looked calm as she asked this, but her voice threatened to break, giving the lie to her composure.
'I am afraid that is indeed the case, Narcissa. I wish it were otherwise, but my hands are tied.'
'How can you say that? You are Minister, are you not?'
Kingsley frowned. 'Of course I am Minister, but you know it is not as simple as that. A condition of the pardon you, your husband and Draco received in return for helping Harry was that any future transgressions would be punished to the fullest extent of the law. You know this. You are also aware that the Malfoys have many enemies within our society. Not everyone has been able to forgive and forget. And let us not forget that the Chang family is very influential in the Wizengamot. It was unlikely that they would be content with a mere custodial sentence after their daughter was so brutally slain. You know all of these things, Narcissa. The law must take its course. If found guilty, Draco will be Kissed. I am truly sorry to say this; but I have no room for manoeuvre in this.'
'You could use the Ministerial prerogative. The previous two occupants of this office were not slow to do so when they felt it necessary. You could commute the sentence to imprisonment.'
Kingsley sighed. 'Narcissa, the previous two occupants of this office nearly brought ruin to us all when they exercised their prerogative. They nearly lost us the war with their antics. As a result, I try to use it as little as possible, as you well know. You also know that I am trying to force through several laws relating to the equality for magical creatures and the removal of some of the oldest discriminatory laws that remain on our statute books. If I interfere in this case, I will lose what little support I have amongst some of the older families. I cannot jeopardise this legislation for the fate of one convicted murderer, however horrific that fate is. You must understand this, Narcissa.'
'I do understand, Minister, perhaps better than you realise. My married name may be Malfoy, but I am a Black before anything else. I understand all too well the hypocrisy of politics. How men are willing to inflict a terrible fate on an innocent man for the sake of the "greater good". Believe me, I understand,' she added contemptuously.
Kingsley looked flustered for a moment, but soon recovered his composure. 'So what are the new developments that you think I should be made aware of?' he asked.
'I have appointed a special investigator on Draco's behalf.'
Kingsley looked up sharply at these words. 'A Soul Thief? You have appointed a Soul Thief?' His incredulity was obvious.
'I prefer not to use that term, Minister; but yes, I have appointed a Soul Thief, as you so coarsely put it. You are no doubt aware that in the event of the Kiss being sought, the Defendant has the right to such an appointment? And you will also be aware that the appointed individual has seven days to conduct his own investigation? Well, I am invoking this law; I demand that the trial be adjourned. My son has appointed his own investigator.'
Kingsley regarded her for a long moment. 'I am aware of the law in this matter, Narcissa, but I must confess my surprise at your own knowledge - there hasn't been a Soul Thief appointed for over one hundred and fifty years. Most people have heard the term but do not realise exactly what it means; nor are they aware that this particular law remains on the books. There are lawyers who are not aware of this law.'
'I am not "most people",' Narcissa calmly replied. 'I am a Black. We study such matters.'
Kingsley regarded her with some respect as he considered his next words. 'You are aware that the investigator must be an active, accredited Law Enforcement Officer of good standing?' he asked. 'Forgive me for speaking bluntly, but I did not think that any potential candidates would be willing to work for the Malfoys given your recent history. Some things money cannot buy, as I am sure you are aware.'
'As it happens Minister, the investigator I have appointed did not mention payment when I approached him. And I think you will find that he meets all the required criteria,' she added.
'Might I be apprised of the name of your Soul Thief?' asked Kingsley. 'You are aware that the court will have to ratify his appointment?'
'I am well aware of the law; he will be ratified, I have no doubt. It is Harry Potter who has agreed to act on Draco's behalf.'
Narcissa would have needed a heart of stone not to enjoy the reaction to her words. Kingsley nearly fell out of his chair at hearing the name, and his eyes practically bugged out of his head. It was amusing to see the normally unflappable Minister taken aback for once. He soon recovered his composure enough to speak, however.
'Harry? Harry Potter? How in God's name did you manage that?' He narrowed his eyes for a moment. 'You have found him, haven't you? This isn't merely some delaying tactic to get the trial put back, is it? Harry hasn't been heard of for nearly a year.'
'I would not dare to try such a bluff when so much is at stake. Harry has agreed to help; I can summon him here in a few moments if you so desire, but he would prefer it if you did not do so. He does not want to be seen at the Ministry any sooner than is necessary. If you can accept his request, you will see him tomorrow at the trial. I have instructed my lawyers to request an immediate adjournment. I have every confidence that it will be granted.'
'If Harry Potter is your Soul Thief then there will be no problems.' Kingsley shook his head in disbelief and then, despite himself, he smiled. He wondered how he had been so adroitly outmanoeuvred in his own office. Narcissa had being playing him all along, he realised. He noticed that she too was smiling.
'I will take your word on it; I will wait until tomorrow before speaking to Harry. In the meantime, I will brief the judge.' He paused for a moment. 'You do realise the sensation that you are about to unleash?' he asked archly.
Narcissa's smile broadened; she was now certain that she had bought some time for her son. 'Sensation, Minister?' she asked. 'Why, it hadn't even crossed my mind that there would be any fuss.'
***********
Draco Malfoy tried his best to remain calm as he sat in the Defendant's seat in the Ministry courtroom, awaiting the arrival of the presiding judge. To say that the last few days had been an ordeal was something of an understatement. He could not remember feeling so alone and afraid at any point in his life; not even when trying to kill Dumbledore in sixth year or during the battle for Hogwarts in seventh. What was happening to him now was so far beyond his comprehension that he felt his bowels turn to water whenever he thought about his predicament. Unfortunately, he had been unable to think of little else.
What was causing him the most anxiety was his complete failure to recall anything of the events of that fateful night. His mind was a complete blank from lunchtime the previous day and it was a deeply unsettling experience. He was actually afraid to discover the truth of these missing hours in case the truth proved to be something too horrible to contemplate.
Maybe I did murder Cho Chang.
He was sure that he was not capable of such an act but was apprehensive of discovering the truth. Despite this, he knew that only by remembering did he have any hope of escape from a fate worse than death. His lawyer had informed him that he would receive the Dementors Kiss if found guilty. He had also been told that the trial would be a quick one - possibly even only a day long. He could be Kissed within the next forty eight hours. He had almost collapsed at hearing the news and had vowed to take his own life should such an event come to pass. Unfortunately, he was under twenty four hour supervision; killing himself might not prove to be so easy.
He glanced across to the public gallery and regarded his parents. He had been extremely disturbed at the lack of visits from them - especially his mother - but he had received a reassuring note from her last night. She had stated that the matter was in hand and that he was not to worry. He had no idea what she had up her sleeve, but he wouldn't put anything past her. She always had been more intelligent than his father, and as he glanced at her now, he saw her give a reassuring nod. His attention was diverted, however, by the sudden words of the clerk of the court.
'All rise!'
Draco felt his heart in his mouth as he scraped back his chair and watched the trial judge enter the courtroom. The clerk droned on
'Crown versus Draco Malfoy; Judge Matthias Swing presiding.' The court remained standing until - with slow deliberation - Judge Swing took his seat.
Draco sat down with the others and was surprised when he noticed that his lawyer remained standing. The judge regarded the advocate with a steely glare, reminiscent of Minerva McGonagall.
'Yes, Mr Blackhouse? You have something to say to the court?'
'Indeed, Your Honour, A matter of the gravest importance.'
'Pray, continue, Mr Blackhouse,' said the judge. It seemed to Draco that the two men were acting out a scene from a play. It was as if they both knew their lines in advance.
'As you will be aware, Your Honour, the crown is seeking the maximum penalty if my client is found guilty. In view of this, my client has made use of his right to appoint an investigator to examine the facts of the case. Both you and my learned friends of the Prosecution will be aware that in cases where the Kiss is sought, the defendant has the right to an adjournment of seven days in order to conduct a full, personal investigation. My client is exercising that right; an investigator has been appointed and I seek the court's approval to adjourn.'
Draco noticed that Blackhouse ignored the baleful looks he was receiving from the Prosecution. It was obvious that he knew he was on firm legal ground. For his own part, it was all he could do to stop the surprise from showing on his face. He turned to his mother, knowing that she was behind this welcome development.
But who had she appointed? he thought to himself. His attention was suddenly brought back to the matter at hand.
'You are aware of the criteria that any investigator must meet?' asked the judge.
'I am well aware, sir. I have every confidence that the court will ratify the appointment.'
'And might we meet this investigator, Mr Blackhouse?' asked the judge archly.
'Of course.' Blackhouse turned to the gallery, clearly savouring the moment, thought Draco.
'Call Special Investigator Harry Potter to the Bench!'
The reaction to these words was astonishing. Within seconds the court was in uproar; every person in the public gallery on their feet and looking at the door, shouting and screaming. For his part, Draco sat in stunned silence, barely believing the words he had just heard and oblivious to the sound of the judge's gavel as he hammered it on his desk in a vain attempt to restore order. He only turned when he heard the great double doors of the courtroom swing open and saw Harry Potter emerge into the bedlam.
He turned to his mother who alone remained in her seat in the public gallery. She nodded to him.
How in Merlin's name had she managed this?
***********
Hermione Granger sighed as she placed a completed memo into her 'out' tray and reached over to remove the next folder from the pile on her desk. This was the one aspect of her job that she could do without; the paperwork. She loved her job - or at least those parts of it that took her into direct contact with the various magical creatures that she had to deal with. Unfortunately, these meetings tended to generate a lot of paperwork and at the moment she had to deal with most of it herself.
She glanced up as she heard raised voices from the other side of office door and frowned, wondering who it could be. She looked at her watch, noticing that it was not yet eleven in the morning; it was too early for her lunch date with Ginny. She suddenly jumped in alarm as her office door burst open loudly and Ginny Weasley rushed in, a flustered look on her face.
'Ginny?' she asked, rising to her feet. 'What's going on?'
'He's back!' exclaimed Ginny breathlessly. 'Harry's back!'
It seemed to Hermione that her heart stopped in her chest when she heard these words and she looked at her friend, astonishment written all over her face. She couldn't speak; the suddenness of events had knocked her for six and she found it difficult to breathe. She tried to collect herself.
'Is this for real?' she finally managed to ask, her voice coming out almost as a squeak.
'You don't think I would joke about something like this, do you?' replied Ginny. 'Of course it's for real; here, take a look at this,' she added, offering a folded copy of the Daily Prophet that she carried in her hand.
Hermione regarded the newspaper with an almost natural disdain. She had not bought the Prophet for years and had been delighted when the Quibbler had begun to outsell its main rival. A large reason for this was because she, Harry and Ron had refused to speak to the Prophet after the war. She still could not forget some of the articles that had been written about Harry all those years ago. As a result, she viewed the Prophet with deep scepticism, flatly refusing to believe anything it said. For one thing, it had carried many false sighting reports of Harry in the past eleven months - this was probably just another one of those. Ginny seemed to sense her reserve.
'It's a special edition,' explained Ginny. 'They rushed it out in less than an hour this morning - it's just hit the streets. The Malfoy case has been postponed!' She was practically jumping up and down as she said this, such was her excitement.
Hermione really was confused now. What did the Malfoy case have to do with Harry?
'Why?' she asked.
Ginny smiled. 'Just read the damn paper, Hermione; though you had better take a seat before you do.'
Hermione finally took the proffered newspaper and almost disdainfully unfolded it before looking at the front page. When she saw the picture splashed across the newspaper, she collapsed into her chair. It was a photo of Harry as he entered the Ministry courtroom. With trembling hands, she began to read the article.
Potter Sensation at Malfoy Trial! Boy-Who-Lived Appointed Soul Thief!
By Rita Skeeter, Chief Reporter
The hugely anticipated trial of Draco Malfoy took an unbelievable turn this morning as it was adjourned for seven days amid riotous scenes at the Ministry. Exercising his ancient legal right to appoint a Soul Thief, Draco Malfoy threw the court into chaos by confirming Harry Potter as his personal investigator into this incredible case. Potter - who has not been seen in the Magical World since being condemned for his part in the death of Ronald Weasley - refused to make any comment other than to be sworn in as chief investigator. His whereabouts for the past eleven months remain unknown as no information was forthcoming from either Potter or the Malfoy camp.
The magical community will be aware that Potter left under a cloud…
Hermione shook her head, still trying to come to terms with the sudden news. Her brain could not process what was happening; after months of hearing nothing her mind was now struggling with information overload.
'What exactly is a "Soul Thief"?' she asked, her voice hoarse.
Ginny smiled, pleased for once to have knowledge that her friend lacked. 'It's an old slang expression from way back. It's a nickname for the investigator appointed by the defence in cases where the Kiss is sought. The idea is that his job is to steal a soul back from the Dementors. I didn't know the law still existed. It's very romantic when you think about it,' she added wistfully.
Hermione considered this information for a moment before disregarding it as irrelevant. She looked back to the newspaper and scrutinised the photograph. The courtroom was a scene of chaos but Harry seemed oblivious to the hubbub as he casually made his way to the bench. He had filled out a bit by the look of him and his hair was longer than when she had last seen him but there was no doubt it was Harry. She drew the picture up to her face to get a closer look. She focused her attention on his eyes, looking for some clue that he was indeed back.
Nothing. She could see through his glasses that his eyes remained dead; they had the same look as on the day he had looked so crushed after Ron's hearing. She looked up at Ginny again, fighting back the tears that now threatened to burst forth. How had they found him?
'He's really back,' she whispered, barely daring to believe it. 'Where is he now?'
'At the Ministry; meeting with Kingsley. Do you want to go over?'
Hermione nodded, not trusting her voice to reply.