As We Survive - Part 1: The Evolution of Draco Malfoy - Chapter 7: Interrogation at the Ministry

Chapter 7: The Interrogation at the Ministry

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling and I do not own Harry Potter. Nearly all the characters in this story belong to Rowling, although there may be a few that pop in temporarily that belong to me. Thank you to everyone who took the time to send me a review. I really appreciate the time you have put into reading the story.

Draco stood on the Astronomy tower, looking out across the lake as the first rays of the sun appeared to his left, above the horizon. The numbness that had settled over him after the meeting two weeks earlier had settled into a black pit in his stomach. He had thrown himself into the work of rebuilding the school and helping Professor Slughorn with potions, but the daily sight of those who he had spent so many years tormenting and hating was slowly driving him deeper and deeper inward. Those who had stayed at the castle were friendly, kind, even gracious, though still suspicious and guarded. But Draco could not shake the memory of how the Great Hall had looked the morning after the battle. The rows of the dead and dying tormented his mind. The weight of his debt to Harry, Ron and Hermione sat on him with such force that at moments he felt as though it would crush him.

There were footsteps behind him, and he recognized them but did not turn around. The footsteps stopped just behind him to the right, leaving the person just out of sight, infuriating despite the fact that he knew the identity of the person. Draco leaned against the parapet and looked down, until the long drop to the ground sent quaking shivers up his legs and he turned around to face Blaise Zabini.

“Do you ever hate what it means to be a Slytherin?” He asked.

Blaise moved to lean against a pillar nearby, “No.” He answered. “There were times when I wish I was something else, but as long as there is corruption the world needs people like us.”

“What kind of people are we?” Draco asked, trying to suppress the weariness in his voice.

“People who can look at corruption and know its motive because they walk along its edge and looked into its face. People who can see corruption coming, and prepare for it because they understand it. Not out of fear, but out of knowledge.” A queer smile twisted his features, “Think of Snape, able to hide who he truly was and stare Voldemort in the face while he worked against him. Potter might have lost the war if it wasn’t for him.”

“Why Slytherin?” Draco asked, “Why not someone from another house? Don’t you ever get tired of everyone else hating us and assuming that we’re evil?”

“They don’t hate us so much anymore. And most have realized that a few dark wizards doesn’t necessitate that all Slytherins must be bastions of evil.” Blaise shrugged, “I’m not really fussed either way, as I’ve never expected myself to be a nice person or a particularly moral one. But I’ve also never believed that I had to be pronouncedly evil either. We don’t have to be nice to bestow an occasional kindness, or to do something heroic upon occasion. I think that there has to be someone who’s willing to be underhanded and harsh than the rest.”

“And what about when we go too far and we do what…what the Dark Lord did, and wind up actually being evil and cruel and unprincipled?”

“That’s why we need the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. I think that’s what the manky old hat has been trying to tell us for years. That we all need each other, otherwise we’ll all end up failing in one way or another.” Blaise said, and added, “They need someone whose minds aren’t clouded by too much chivalry to hex the kid who’s too young to see battle. To know that it has to be done so that he can grow up to help win the next war. To be skeptical enough that they don’t worship the hero, so that the hero knows that he isn’t worshipped blindly because blind worship is how heroes fail and fall. They need us, but we need them as well. Sometimes, I think, we even need the suspicion, because we need enough self-doubt to remind us that we are not always right and that our morals sometimes need to be revised.”

“Is that really what you think Zabini?” Draco said morosely.

Zabini countered his question with another “What do you think?”

Draco was surprised to see guarded curiosity in his friend’s face, and even more surprised by his own unguarded answer. “All I see is blackness and suffering and pain, I want to be different but I can’t seem to move forward.”

Blaise snorted derisively, “Use that Slytherin brain of yours, Malfoy, and think about what assets you have that can be useful to the world. I know you have plans for some of them, but perhaps you can figure the others out if you can get past yourself.”

“That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” Draco asked, mildly offended.

Blaise eyed him appraisingly, and said, “No. You were one of the most powerful students in our house, and you can’t find every single reason for that in your ridiculous vaults at Gringotts. You needed a good kick up the arse to turn you into a half-decent human being. It’s rather enjoyable to watch, really.”

“Shut it, Zabini.” Draco said half-heartedly and turned away from his friend.

There was silence between them for several long moments, and Blaise was just beginning to walk towards the door to leave the tower when Draco spoke again. “What’s your secret, Blaise?” He said, “Why are you in Slytherin and why have you suddenly changed so dramatically since the battle?”

Blaise paused, his back to the other man for several long moments, then he spun back and looked Draco straight in the eyes.  “I’m a half-blood.” He said, taking a menacing step forward and grabbing the front of Draco’s robes, “And if anyone finds out about it, without being specifically told my me, I will come for you. And I’ll make sure that I do it in a way that you will not expect and no one will be able to figure out.” Then he turned around and left the tower. 

Draco stared after his friend for a long time, his mind half blank with surprise, trying to discover why Blaise had told him. Then he slowly made his way down the long stairs and through the corridors towards the courtyard, where he was to meet Harry, Ron, and Hermione and head to the ministry of magic. It was not something that he was anticipating as an excellent experience. Even though he was not being tried for his time as a death eater, he would have to undergo a long inquiry before the Wizengamot and it was not something he expected to enjoy.

 

The group traveled to the ministry by a Portkey in the shape of a large, unattractive, and weathered sunbonnet decorated with old moss and vulture feathers. Not for the first time in his life, Draco thoroughly wished that Portkeys could be made of objects that were not woefully unattractive. They arrived somewhat ruffled and out of sorts from their sudden and undignified trip, and entered the ministry through the visitor’s entrance, which was now more heavily guarded than Draco had ever seen it. Many of the guards appeared to be rather elderly former Aurors who had been taken out of retirement, they were looking rather worse for wear and a bit watery around the eyes.

They were met at the entrance by a distinctly pathetic and dour Cornelius Fudge, who seemed a little beside himself with discomfort at the prospect of being in the same company as Harry Potter. He led them down to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where special offices had been set aside for their private use, then hurried away in an insultingly abrupt manner. Draco, who had never been alone with the other three, stood awkwardly by a table that was holding refreshments. Harry and Ron took seats near Hermione on the opposite side of the room, and an awkward silence pervaded until Aurors came to lead Draco down to the Wizengamot. He followed them feeling relieved, as he realized that he would rather face the entire Wizengamot than have to sit in a room trying to make polite conversation with the three people who had been his enemies for seven years.

 The relief was short-lived, however, when he entered the courtroom. Despite his relief at finding the room devoid of dementors, it was cold and dark and smelled strangely of death. He was taken to the seat in the center of the room, and found himself overwhelmed by the number of people present. He was not ready, he realized, to relive the past two years in a room of people who were mostly strangers or vague acquaintances. As he sat down, he felt a cold chill invade his thoughts remembering the stories he had heard from his father of what had taken place in this room. He shuddered, and was relieved to realize that this would be different, there were no chains on the chair and though there was a solemnity and severity to the atmosphere, the eyes that were fixed on him were not as hostile as he had anticipated.

The deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt cut through his thoughts and he turned his gaze upward at the people sitting in the high rows of seats in front of and above him. “This is the inquisition to determine the activities and allies of the self-titled Lord Voldemort, beginning the summer of 1996 and ending 2 May 1998. This is the testimony of one Mr. Draco Malfoy of Malfoy Manor, student of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and heir to the Malfoy Family estate. Mr. Malfoy, I must inform you that everything that you say here will be weighed against the evidence previously compiled concerning your activities during the recently concluded Wizarding War of Britain. It will also be checked against the facts and testimony of those others who have witnessed your actions and loyalties over the past two years. Please be advised that should the evidence in your favor be found weaker than or conflicting with the evidence against you, the previously determined course of action may be readjusted to ensure that justice is observed.”

Draco gulped, understanding the warning in the Minister’s words: Be completely candid, or we may reconsider allowing you to remain outside of Azkaban. And if we don’t like what we hear, we may still have you incarcerated.

An elderly woman, with a severe demeanor, who vaguely and inexplicably reminded him of Neville, spoke next. “Mr. Malfoy, I adjure you upon all that you hold to be valuable and important to answer every question that is addressed to you in a fully articulate and honest fashion, leaving out no detail that may be important as we determine what direction justice should be addressed as this committee seeks to mete out justice for the wounds, injuries, and injustices that were perpetrated under the reign of terror that was forced on the Wizarding world in the past year. Do you swear before this meeting of the Wizengamot that, in as much as you can determine, every word you speak today will be true and honest as it is the best of your ability to determine?”

“I do swear, before this meeting of the Wizengamot, that every word I speak today in the presence of this company will be true and honest as far as it is my ability to determine.” Draco said, his throat suddenly dry and his voice brittle. He saw the woman’s lips twitch slightly at his response, and wondered what he had said that entertained her so much.

“Very well, Mr. Malfoy the Wizengamot has compiled a list of questions based on a timeline that has been created by investigations and interrogations that have taken place over the past month. Please answer all questions, and provide any additional details that will be necessary to this committee as we determine the best course of action to take concerning those who were formerly known as Death Eaters and Snatchers and are now facing charges as enemies of the Ministry of Magic and the muggle government of these fair isles.”

Draco nodded, and felt grateful when he was handed a glass of water by a nearby auror. He felt drained already, and worn out at the prospect of reliving the two most horrendous years of his life in front of a panel of people that were not even personal acquaintances. Not that he was really one to share intimate personal information with those he considered his friends, either, but that just made this harder. The only thing that kept him from running from the room, was the knowledge that the only way to move forward and put the past several years behind him, was to be absolutely honest.

“For our first question, Mr. Malfoy,” Percy Weasely spoke now, and Draco was surprised to hear a kind weariness in his voice, then with a sickening sensation remembered the conversation he had overheard that night, nearly a month ago, in the Gryffindor Common Room. “Would you be so good as to recite for us, as accurately as possible, the events that occurred the summer of 1996, regarding the involvement of your family with the self-titled Lord Voldemort?”

Draco took a deep breath and began, shutting off his emotions to protect himself from vulnerability as he spoke. It was essential to keep his emotions hidden from the people who stared at him with clinical and judgmental severity.

“The summer of 1996, was the summer that my father was imprisoned in Azkaban for his involvement in the attack at the Department of Mysteries.” He said, “Voldemort had not intended make his return public, and he saw the results of the attack to be unsatisfactory. He chose to use my family’s home as his base of operations; declaring it to be honor, an opportunity for my mother and I to make recompense to him for my father’s failure. The reality was much more grim, Voldemort used every opportunity to remind us of our precarious situation, and required from us liberties that were insulting and painful. He also conscripted me to join the Death Eaters, promising an honorable commission, which would reinstate my family’s place at the top tier of his inner circle of followers. He did not tell me what the mission would be at the time, but he did assign me occlumency lessons with my aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“When you say that you were ‘Conscripted’ can you explain that a little further.” Kingsley asked. “That is an interesting choice of words.”

“I was to replace my father, as a Death Eather as he was no longer available to serve the Dark Lord… Lord Voldemort that is.” Draco said, his voice even and controlled.

“Was this by choice?” Percy Weasley asked, and there was a strangely pained look lurking in his eyes behind his glasses.

“My choice was not pertinent to the decision for me to join. The entire inner circle of Voldemort’s followers spent the majority of their time at the Manor that summer, with my mother and I in attendance as hosts. It had nothing to do with what I chose, it was simply what was required.” Draco felt slightly confused and embarrassed by the question, humiliation threatened to overwhelm him when he saw the looks of pity and revulsion on the faces of the people in the courtroom.

“You said that you were assigned occlumency lessons with your aunt, do you know the reasons behind this? And were you successful at learning occlumency?” Asked an elderly wizard in a back row.

Draco felt as though his blood drained into his feet as he remembered the hours of lessons with his aunt, but he schooled his face to be as impassive as possible. “I did not find out the reason until later, but it was well-known amongst the Death Eaters that Headmaster Dumbledore was a skilled legilimens, and it was believed that I would be more successful if I was able to practice occlumency in his presence. I was very successful in learning the art of occlumency.” Draco said.

“And what did your lessons in occlumency involve?” A rather simpering witch asked from the back.

“I do not believe that Draco’s lessons in occlumency have any bearing on the current inquiry, considering that the Death Eater in question died during the Battle of Hogwarts.” Kingsley cut in, much to Draco’s relief. “The purpose of this investigation is to find out pertinent facts about the wrongs that were done by Lord Voldemort and his followers last year that proper justice may be sought against those Death Eaters still alive and so that we may discover any unknown murders and know identity of perpetrators of crimes that have yet to be solved. Bellatrix Lestrange is no longer alive and therefore the specific details of those events are not of interest to this meeting of the Wizengamot. Carry on, Mr. Malfoy.”

The unpleasant burning sensation that had filled Draco at the question faded, and after taking a long draught of water from his cup, he continued. “I received my first assignment, I was given the commission to kill Professor Albus Dumbledore. It was terrifying, but my Aunt repeatedly told me that I had been given a great honor. Other Death Eaters were more…honest, they were convinced that I was pathetic and would fail. There was an almost constant threat on my mother and my inheritance. The special protection on our family vault was, I believe, the only thing that kept my mother and I alive and in good health during that time. We were necessary for financial reasons.”

Draco continued the story, detailing his failed attempts on Dumbledore’s life, how they endangered the lives of fellow students. Explaining his plan to enter the school, and giving clear evidence of Greyback’s activities throughout the year, as the werewolf had been living in his family home for much of the time that his father had been in Azkaban. He explained how the werewolf had preyed on homeless muggles as a tribute to Lord Voldemort, and had become enamored with the taste of human flesh to the point of craving it even when the moon was not full.

Reliving the details of his own crimes in the day after the battle had been horrible, feeling the pain that he had inflicted on others had been torture, but somehow this was even more traumatizing. Recounting his own sins, and the sins of those whom he had been so deeply involved with, was more deeply painful than he had expected. Even though he was able to separate himself from his emotions, he still felt the ripping tearing pain of the memories, the grating shame and guilt digging at him somewhere far below the smooth surface of his mind.

What was worse was that he did not know if the pain and humiliation were more because of how wrong those things were, or because he would have preferred to keep everything hidden. Blaise’s inference that he was a weak coward grated on him, because somewhere deep inside he knew that there was truth to it. He was not sure if he had chosen this path because he wanted to be free from the guilt, or if it was because deep down he knew that this was the only way to restore his family’s favor before the eyes of the rest of the world; either reason was ultimately selfish. The double motive was tearing at his soul in ways that he could not fully understand and he longed to be hidden from these prying eyes, to be rid of the questioners, to be alone.

After the first hour of questioning, he began to hear himself speaking more and more hoarsely, and heard his own voice answering automatically from a long way away. As he internally tried to assess his own motives and thoughts in a distant recess of his mind, he was not even sure of what he was saying or what questions were being asked, he spoke automatically, truthfully, but everything in the courtroom seemed very far away. And then he heard himself saying something in answer to a question, and his consciousness rushed back into the room once more.

“Do you know anything about the presence of the Muggle Studies Professor, a woman by the name of Charity Burbage?” The questioner was Augusta Longbottom, and Draco stared at her a moment, desperately trying to remember what he had said in his narrative that had drawn the question out.

He took a deep breath, warding himself against the emotional onslaught brought about by the memory, “During the summer after I fled Hogwarts, Professor Charity Burbage was kidnapped on Voldemort’s orders, following the publication of an article concerning her beliefs on the importance of muggle born witches and wizards. She was held in our home for a time, under the authority of Lord Voldemort, and tortured by the Death Eaters. At some point during the summer, I was called to attend a meeting in my own home, among the most privileged of the Death Eaters. At that meeting, I witnessed the final torture and murder of Professor Burbage.”

“We have not found Professor Burbage’s body,” A younger man spoke from the middle of seats.

“ You won’t, Voldemort ordered that she be consumed by the snake, Nagini.” Draco said, swallowing thickly against the bile that rose in his throat, as he fought to avoid the eyes of the people in the room. The gasps of horror were nearly enough to cause him to loose the self-control he was exerting over himself as the memory churned inside of him. The rest of his account of the events of the previous year did not go any more smoothly; in fact they proceeded to get worse and worse. He faced questions that he had vaguely anticipated, but he found that they were much worse to experience in reality than in thought.

“Why did you decide not to step in when your fellow students were being tortured and injured?”

“How often were you personally involved in the torture of other students?”

“Why did you do nothing more to help Miss Granger when she was being tortured?”

The questions piled up in his mind, but those were the three questions that haunted him the most. Because he had known, at that point, even if it was only in that deep inside part, that everything that was happening was deeply wrong. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did. He knew that his own feeble efforts to avoid being involved in torture and cruelty were largely selfish, born out of a desire to keep his soul clean more than out of a desire to protect the innocent. He knew that there were choices that he could have made that would have protected Potter and his friends, even if he could not know for certain what they were. He knew that as skilled as his aunt was, they could have done something to help Granger. But he had been driven by his own cowardice and self-absorption at the time, too caught up in his own trauma to care about the trauma that others had endured.

When he finally stumbled out of the court, having finished giving his account of the final battle, he was shaking and weak from the effort it took to control his emotions. When he was ushered into the room where they were keeping Harry, Ron, Hermione and himself, he sank gratefully into the nearest chair, ignoring the curious looks the others were giving him. As Harry left with the Aurors, a plate with sandwiches and fruit was shoved under his nose. He looked up gratefully and met the cold, appraising gaze of Hermione Granger. He mumbled a brief “Thank you” and began to eat as she nodded briskly to him, turned on her heel and returned to Ronald Weasley’s side.