Preliminaries
The following morning, Harry found himself in the plush study of Lucius Malfoy studying the rows and rows of books that filled the shelves on every wall in the room. He'd been woken by a house elf at eight after a very fitful night's sleep and he felt terrible. He'd tossed and turned for most of the night, his mind churning over the various aspects of the case.
And, of course, he'd been thinking of Hermione.
He'd actually come close to forgetting how much she meant to him. Despite his attempts to wall himself off from the world, she had almost effortlessly penetrated his defences. She knows me too well, he realised. He recalled her little sermon; the anger she had displayed had been real, but so too had the compassion and love behind it.
I'm not giving up on you, Harry.
She had said this so simply and yet there was so much meaning behind the words. She never had given up on him and the question he now faced was whether or not he wanted to be saved. I'll save that one for later.
He'd needed a few strong cups of coffee to get himself going and once he had felt ready to face the day, he had asked Narcissa for a private room to be made available in order to deal with Dawlish when he arrived. Narcissa hadn't hesitated, immediately offering the use of this fine study despite the vehement protestations of Lucius. He was beginning to like Narcissa, he realised. Anyone who could twist the tail of Lucius Malfoy with such effortless grace was OK in his book.
To kill time as he waited, he absent-mindedly plucked a book from the shelf and glanced at the title. Purity and Power - A Study of Magical Bloodlines. He stifled a laugh. Trust Lucius - this book was the Who's Who? Of the Wizarding World and no doubt the elder Malfoy still believed such tosh about purity of blood. He shook his head as he flicked through the pages, noticing some familiar names and even coming across a section on the Potters. He spent a few minutes scanning his family tree, realising with a degree of sadness that he was the last in the line. As he neared the end of the book he discovered an entire chapter detailing the Weasley family and he took a few moments to study this too. The book was at least up to date, he realised, as he found the names of Arthur and Molly along with all of their children.
Including Ron.
Seeing his friend's name in black and white caught him unawares. The sadness he still felt whenever he thought about Ron suddenly reared up and Harry felt himself blinking furiously. Since leaving this world, he had done his best to put Ron from his mind but every so often he would receive a stark reminder of his friend. It could be a face in a crowd; a voice in a bar - it could be anything or nothing that triggered memories of happier times and he still had not come up with a successful method of countering this phenomenon. He missed Ron terribly; he had been more like a brother to him than a best mate. They had been through so much together; first at Hogwarts and then later when they both became trainee Aurors.
Harry shook his head. Now it was all gone; destroyed in a moment of fire and death. He and Ron had shared everything together - there had been no secrets between them and now he was gone.
He felt a sudden pang of guilt once again. There had been one secret between them; one he would take to his grave.
The lie.
He turned suddenly in response to a knock on the study door and - flustered - he snapped shut the book and replaced it on the shelf. He made his way to stand in front of the large mahogany desk that dominated the centre of the room and composed himself. He wanted Dawlish on the back foot from the start.
'Enter!' he shouted. A few moments later, the door opened and John Dawlish struggled into the room, his hands full of files, folders and despatch boxes. Harry hid a smile. He had specifically asked that no one help Dawlish when he arrived. He wanted the bastard as uncomfortable as possible for what was to come. He regarded the man who had testified against him at Ron's hearing; the man who had pointed the finger at the "great" Harry Potter and had accused him of recklessness and insubordination. He felt the anger rise in his throat.
'Dawlish,' he said in curt greeting. 'I would like to say what a pleasure it is to see you, but we both know that I would be lying. Why don't you take a seat? We can reminisce about old times, perhaps? Like when Dumbledore made you look like a fool when I was in fifth year? Or how you hung me out to dry last year?'
He saw a flash of anger cross the Auror's face as he struggled to deposit his bundle on to the desk. Excellent.
'Who do you think you are talking to, Potter? In case you have forgotten, I am still your superior officer. A law enforcement officer of my standing is not spoken to in such a manner.'
'"Of your standing?"' scoffed Harry. 'What you know about law enforcement I could write down on the back of a Chocolate Frog card, Dawlish. With a crayon. I don't have the time to massage your ego, so be a good boy; shut the fuck up, sit the fuck down and answer my fucking questions.'
'I'll break you for that, you little shit. When I...
'Shut up, Dawlish. You know the rules here; you have to give me your full co-operation. Or do you want me to tell Kingsley that you are obstructing justice?'
Dawlish glared at him, but took his seat in stubborn silence, knowing Harry had the authority. Harry noticed his truculence and - sighing - he reached into his pocket and removed the note he had received from Kingsley. Wordlessly, he handed it over and watched as Dawlish began to read. It was not long before the Aurors' countenance reddened even further.
'You don't like these orders, do you?' asked Harry, quietly.
'No, Potter. I don't.'
Harry nodded. 'Dawlish, when I was at the Auror academy, I wasn't told that I had to like my orders; just that I had to obey them. So you are going to obey these orders you piece of shit and you are going to start by telling me how the fuck you knew Cho Chang was dead in Draco Malfoy's flat. You arrived less than a minute after he had discovered her body. How?'
Dawlish looked flustered for a moment. 'We had an anonymous tip off,' he answered in a clipped voice. His anger was obvious.
'Another anonymous tip off? Just like the day Ron Weasley got blown up? My, you are a lucky boy, Dawlish, to have all these good hearted citizens reporting crime anonymously. It warms the heart, it really does,' Harry said sarcastically. Then his face hardened and when he spoke next, his voice was like ice. 'Who took the call? What exactly did the source say and how the hell do you explain how someone anonymous came to know what was going inside Draco Malfoy's flat?'
Dawlish shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 'It wasn't a call - it was a note. It arrived by post owl so we have no way of knowing who sent it.' He sighed. 'We think it might have been one of the neighbours, but we haven't run that down yet. He - we think it is a he - said that he heard screams and tried to find out what was going on. He says that he saw the whole thing through the window. To be honest, we haven't given it much thought - the tip off proved correct, didn't it?' he asked angrily.
Harry jotted down some notes. 'And the murder weapon?' he asked, without looking up.
'A kitchen knife. We found it at the scene; it had Malfoy's prints all over it,' Dawlish said smugly.
Harry rolled his eyes. 'Well it would, wouldn't it? It is Malfoy's kitchen knife, after all. If his prints were not on it then I would be suspicious. Did you speak to the neighbours?'
'No, we didn't think it necessary. There are some Muggles in the building too so we thought - that is Robards thought - that they could prove an unwelcome complication. The case was clear cut - we literally caught him red-handed. He was covered in her blood.'
'Robards was involved?' asked Harry, surprised at the information. It was a long time since Gawain Robards took a personal interest in a specific case. The head of the Auror Office tended to remain in the background; overseeing but not getting his hands dirty.
'Of course he was involved! A case this serious? You bet he was involved. This is a murder investigation involving a Malfoy and a Chang; not some petty case of purse snatching. He's left me to run it but he is keeping an eye on things.'
Harry made a note of this. He would need to speak to Robards too he realised. The list of tasks just kept on growing.
'What of the victim? Did anyone see them together that night?' he asked, getting back to business.
'No.'
Harry sighed. 'So what we have here is a murdered girl found in a man's bed with no motive; no named witnesses and the main suspect denying all knowledge? Pretty thin, Dawlish; even for you. I'm surprised the prosecution are so confident.'
Dawlish flushed at the rebuke. 'Draco Malfoy has denied nothing. He says he cannot remember. As to motive? Why, it's obvious that this is a crime of passion. Perhaps Malfoy was not getting his way with her and lost it? Only he can tell us and he isn't saying a word.'
'And you do not find it strange that he cannot remember? It would help his defence if he did simply deny it, but he hasn't done that. The memory loss doesn't trouble you?'
'Not at all; he's faking it. We swept both him and the room for traces of curses and found nothing. There was absolutely no evidence of a third party. His door had been locked from the inside - the key was still in the lock. I ran a trace for Apparition and came up blank. It's a closed case as far as I am concerned. The forensic evidence is more than sufficient for a conviction.'
Harry was silent for a long moment as he sat and stared stonily at the man who purported to be his superior. Unfortunately, Dawlish was correct; the physical evidence was overwhelming and more than outweighed the arguments he had put forth.
'Well thank you, Dawlish.' He noticed the confused look on the man's face and continued. 'Before I spoke to you I had my doubts that I would be able to secure Draco's freedom. Now that I have established just how shoddy this whole investigation has been conducted, I find myself a bit more hopeful of a successful outcome. That will be all,' he said, looking down at the papers on his desk. 'You can fuck off now.'
Dawlish leapt to his feet and levelled a finger at Harry. 'Now you listen here, you little runt,' he began angrily 'I don't care if you are…'
He stopped talking; stopped because Harry Potter had lifted his head from the papers on the desk and gazed straight into his eyes. Harry's face was expressionless but his eyes told a deeper truth. What Dawlish saw in those eyes frightened him to the bone. He glanced at his finger and then back at Harry, who continued to regard him in much the same way a lion might regard a wounded zebra. Dawlish lowered his finger and turned away in a great sweeping gesture before storming out of the room.
Harry smiled at his retreating back before returning his attention to the paperwork.
***********
Kingsley Shacklebolt sat back in his chair and took a moment to enjoy a sip of his coffee. He was feeling extremely tired owing to the lack of sleep that had resulted from the sudden return of Harry Potter to the magical world. He had been up most of the night dealing with the press and the Aurors as he tried to put the pieces in place in order to meet Harry's demands. Kingsley smiled ruefully to himself. Harry never was one for doing things by halves and his grand entrance yesterday was an event that would live long in the memory. It was yet another tale to add to the ever growing legend of the "Chosen One."
He was worried about him though. Whilst he could not claim to have been close to Harry in the same way that Arthur Weasley was - or Remus Lupin had been - he nonetheless had always had a high regard for him and had felt that same regard reciprocated. Kingsley had always kept a close eye on him, for a number of reasons. During the war, Dumbledore had stressed time and again that Harry was the key to victory and the old man had been proven right in the end. That victory had led to his own appointment as Minister and although it was only an interim appointment at first, his competence and discretion had led to him succeeding to the job on a permanent basis.
One of the benefits of his power was that he had been able to keep tabs on the development of Harry Potter, both personal and professional. When Harry had approached him expressing a desire to join the Auror ranks, he had been only too glad to help. Indeed, he had stressed to Harry that his door would always be open for advice and consultations and Harry had made full use of the offer. The two men had enjoyed many talks and Kingsley had been delighted to have been able to pass on his own knowledge and experience to the younger man. They had developed a close relationship and he had continually been struck by just how ordinary Harry was.
This was not a back-handed complement. Harry had achieved so much; was revered in the magical world and yet remained humble and unchanged by the fame and adulation. Kingsley had discovered for himself just what a remarkable person Harry was. He had also discovered one of the reasons for this; his two closest friends. Kingsley had observed the relationship between Harry, Ron and Hermione and had been much struck by the interactions of the trio. If he was honest with himself, he had actually been a little jealous of their closeness; they had been through so much together and at times he could see them almost communicating on a telepathic level. It was a sight to behold.
And then it had all changed; the trio had been rent asunder and with the removal of this vital prop, Harry Potter had fallen to pieces. He thought back to their brief meeting yesterday; it had been like seeing a different person standing in the skin of Harry Potter. The bitterness; the hurt and above all, the hardness of the man had come as a shock; this Harry was a far cry from the pleasant young Auror that had once enjoyed the simple things in life. It occurred to Kingsley that whilst Harry had overcome one terrible demon in his short life, it was the demons in his own mind that could prove to be his final undoing. What Lord Voldemort had failed to achieve was now being accomplished by the same hand that had destroyed the Dark Lord forever. Harry Potter was being destroyed from within.
And Harry's only hope of redemption was Hermione Granger, he knew; only Hermione had a chance of getting through to him.
After the war, Kingsley had not been surprised to discover that Harry had started a relationship with Ginny Weasley and Hermione was going out with Ron. It had been the perfect happy ending; the heroes and heroine finally getting the opportunity to enjoy life without the shadow of the Dark Lord. But over the years as he had gotten to know them better, he had come to the conclusion that things were slightly awry; that the happy ending was not quite what it seemed. One had only to look at the relationship between Harry Potter and Hermione Granger to know that somewhere along the line, the cup had slipped. When he had been in their company - even with Ron and Ginny present - he had noticed the connection between the two friends. A connection that was more than mere friendship.
If anyone could save Harry from himself, it was Hermione.
He glanced up at a soft rap on his door and smiled as Susan stuck her head into his office.
'Sorry to bother you, but John Dawlish is asking - no demanding - to see you. Will I tell him you are busy? Remember, you have Cornelius Fudge arriving in ten minutes.'
Sighing, Kingsley sat forward in his seat. He still wondered why Robards had promoted Dawlish. Whilst it was true that the younger man had superb magical skills, he seemed to have a penchant for shooting himself in the foot. And he had worked for the Voldemort regime too. Not a supporter, to be sure, but he had worked for it.
It was the biggest problem he'd had to face when first appointed Minister. There had been scores of Ministry employees who - whilst not supporters of Voldemort - had nonetheless carried out the orders of that brief administration. Many had of course claimed to be acting under the Imperius curse - others said that they acted out of fear - and it was virtually impossible to separate the wolves from the sheep. He had been forced to announce a general amnesty for them all, although he did keep a close eye on some of them. Some of the others he had placed in positions of such insignificance that it would be impossible for them to ever repeat the actions of five years ago.
If the decision had been his rather than Gawain Robards', John Dawlish would be guarding the stationery cupboard right now, not leading the investigation into crime of the decade. But he could not interfere in official investigations; that way led to despotism and he was aware of the slippery slope that could lead one to abuse one's power.
'Send him in Susan. Let's see what has annoyed him now,' he said with resignation.
Susan nodded and disappeared and a few moments later, Dawlish strode into the office, his face a mask of fury.
'Thank you for seeing me, Minister,' he began. 'I wish to make a complaint.'
'A complaint? What's wrong?' This time, he left unsaid. 'Why haven't gone to speak to Gawain?'
'Because my complaint is about Harry Potter; he is abusing your authority. The man has just insulted me; has questioned my competence and has implied that my conduct of the investigation is less than satisfactory. He is using your written authority to act with impunity. I demand he be reprimanded!'
Kingsley flared at these words. 'Demand? Demand? You do not come into my office and make demands, Dawlish. You forget to whom you speak!' He noticed Dawlish redden even further and calmed himself. 'You know that we must give Harry every co-operation within our power?'
'I do, but…'
'And are you satisfied with your own conduct in the investigation?'
'Of course, but…'
'Then there is nothing to worry about.' Kingsley sighed, knowing he had to treat the complaint with some respect. The man was a fool, but he was a senior Auror. 'I will speak to Harry this morning about his conduct. Satisfied?'
'Yes, Minister. Thank you,' said Dawlish meekly. He noticed Kingsley return his attention back the papers on his desk and took that as his dismissal. Kingsley watched him leave and sat back thoughtfully. Lifting a quill and some parchment, he wrote a short note. After a few moments, he stepped into the outer office.
'Susan? Could you arrange to send this to Harry Potter please?'
***********
'So, did you learn anything, Harry?' asked Narcissa, struggling to keep her voice even. She knew it was early days, but was also acutely aware that they did not have much time to clear Draco's name.
Harry took a sip of his coffee before replying. 'Not much, but a few things that may be useful. If I were you, I would ask Mr Blackhouse to review some of the procedures Dawlish followed in his investigation. There are a few loose ends that were not followed up. I have prepared a report,' he added, handing her a brief summation of his preliminary findings.
He watched as Narcissa quickly scanned his work and waited for her response. He was coming to respect the quick intelligence of his hostess and realised that it could prove very useful to him. She understood far better than he did the way the magical world operated and her insight into certain political matters could be crucial. He noticed that she was shaking her head.
'They missed out so much. As you point out; they have no credible witnesses, nor a definite motive. How can they be so complacent?'
'As Dawlish said, the physical evidence is overwhelming. Cho was found in his bed and he was covered in her blood. Also, there is not sufficient evidence to prove that there was a third party in the room. That makes for a pretty clear cut case and will be enough to convince any jury.'
'Judge, Harry; convince any judge,' Narcissa gently chided. She noticed the look of confusion on his face. 'A wizard trial is not the same as a Muggle trial. I take it you have not had much experience of our courts since becoming an Auror?'
'No; my position is so junior that I have never been required to appear in court.'
Narcissa nodded. 'What you must understand is that the jury are all members of the Wizengamot and many of them will have already decided upon their verdict before the trial has even started. The man you have to convince is the judge; he directs the jury most of the time.'
Harry considered this. 'So what do we know of Judge Swing?'
'Swing by name, Swing by nature,' replied Narcissa. 'He's tough, Harry. He's a political judge and has come a long way. He's a trimmer; he's snaked his way to the top by leaping on whatever convenient bandwagon happened to suit him. He's a jumped up little prig and he enjoys power. He was one of the men involved in sending Sirius to Azkaban without a trial,' she added.
'Oh, really?' Harry sat back in his chair and considered this. 'Bastard,' he whispered softly. He filed this information away, knowing that it could be useful. 'In that case, we will need more than Dawlish's incompetence to clear Draco.'
Narcissa's lips thinned. 'What do we know of this Dawlish? Could he be involved?'
'It has occurred to me, but no, I don't think so.' He saw the look of doubt on her face and so elaborated. 'He's a conceited little fool, but an honest one. He wouldn't have the imagination to come up with something like this. That's not to say that he isn't being played by someone else though. Don't worry; I will be keeping an eye on him.'
Narcissa nodded at these words. 'So what now? Any leads yet?'
Harry debated briefly whether to tell her about the elf he was looking for before deciding that the question was absurd. One person he most certainly could trust was Narcissa Malfoy. She would walk through hell to keep her son safe and Harry wondered if Draco fully appreciated just how lucky he was. He thought back to his school days when he had insulted this woman in Draco's presence. Draco's reaction to the insult answered Harry's own question. Of course he appreciated how lucky he was. He wasn't a fool.
He spent the next few minutes relating what he had discovered and the steps he had taken to uncover more information.
'And you can trust Miss Granger?' asked Narcissa when he had finished.
Harry flared at the question and Narcissa - noticing his sudden anger - held out her hands to placate him. 'I'm sorry, Harry. I can tell by your reaction that you do. Forgive me; I know the two of you have been through so much together.'
Harry accepted the apology and calmed down. 'Yes, I trust her. More than anyone alive. I would…' he stopped abruptly as a large owl flew in the large bay window and landed on his lap. Who was writing to me here?
He tore open the envelope and recognised the writing immediately. Kingsley.
'It would seem that the Minister wants to see me,' Harry said with a smile. He knew what this would be about.
'What? Now?' asked Narcissa.
'Yeah; I was going to the Ministry this morning anyway. I'll pop in and see him when I'm there.' He glanced at his watch. Shit. He had a lot to do today and not enough time. And he still had to decide what to do about Hermione.
Narcissa noticed his frustration. 'Is there anything I can help you with, Harry?'
'Not really.' He made to rise. 'Oh! Wait a minute; there is! I wanted to visit Draco's flat today. Do you have a key?'
Narcissa looked puzzled. 'Key? Why would I have a key? I never needed a key to visit my son - his flat was sealed magically. The door is opened with a password.'
Harry's eyeballs clicked at this comment and he noticed by the expression on her face that Narcissa had come to the same realisation - he had written it in his report, after all. Dawlish had emphasised the fact himself.
The key was still in the lock.