Chapter 12

Trials and Organization

The weather report in the Daily Prophet said that there had been a widespread ground frost particularly across the northern and eastern areas. However in the far western part of the country, the weather was quite dry. That wasn't the case from where Draco stood. In Wiltshire, Southwest England, it had been raining in the mornings, warm in the afternoons and freezing cold at night. From his view at the window, the groundskeepers were busy in the gardens, trying to revive the magical plants and his mum's prize roses from the effects of the intermittent weather were wracking. The grass of the grounds was still green at least, and the peacocks were keeping to the shelter of the trees.

His father was still being interrogated on his memories of the war through a Pensieve, his confessions regarding his actions recorded for his trial, and Draco had no way of telling how it was going. His letters were being returned unopened, and his father hadn't sent him any letters at all. The anxiety and the waiting was driving Draco to drink. He'd even heard rumors that a few Dementors were being held in the lowest reaches of Azkaban, simply to administer the Kiss to all prisoners found guilty of crimes against humanity in compliance and support of Tom 'Voldemort' Riddle. Rumor was that the victims were then weighted down and dumped in the sea to drown, although the Prophet denied the fact, claiming it had been accidental. So far Draco knew of two people who had already been disposed of in this manner, and it made him sick to think about it.

Draco downed his drink and walked back to his desk. Forcing himself to think of other matters, he picked up Potter's reply to his dinner invitation, gritting his teeth at the arrogant response. Not that Draco was at all surprised, he'd expected to be turned down, but that wasn't going to stop him from succeeding at his plan. He exchanged it for the rough draft he was writing, another attempt at hoping to gain at least an agreement to have dinner with him. He needed Potter to come to the house so that he could try and sway him to let bygones be bygones. He even had his peace offering...an olive branch with diamond dusted leaves and silver olive bells, lying on the table to send with the letter. It was garish, but if it worked, it would be well worth the ten Galleons and sixteen Sickles he'd paid for it.

He picked up his quill and scratched out a sappy sounding bit and began to pace as he contemplated how he should reword it. He hated apologizing; his father had always told him that Malfoys never apologized to anyone, except a girlfriend or wife. But then his dad had been wrong about a lot of things.

He sat down and dipped his quill, and finished the letter's draft. He read it aloud and nodded. Sincere, succinct, unpretentious, even self-effacing... He should respond favorably to this. Finally satisfied, he wrote a final draft on his personal stationary, the one with a modest monogram in silver, and summoned a house-elf to send Apollo to him. He drew his wand and opened a window. When the owl flew in and landed on his desk, he tied the letter to his leg and held out the olive branch for Apollo to take in his beak. "Harry Potter, same place, and I hope to have a reply," Draco said affectionately to the beautiful owl.

The owl bobbed once, turned, and flew out of the open window.

For several days, Lucius had been hauled from his cell and dumped unceremoniously in a metal chair to show his memories about various Death Eater activities to the investigators in a Pensieve. For several nights, he'd lain in the dark of his cell, one arm over his eyes to ward off the pain that had throbbed in his temple. Lucius wished that hadn't been as involved as he had been. Ten of the Death Eaters had named Lucius as a witness or had tried to lay blame on him or others for their offences. Where once these wizards had been bragging about their exploits...now they were twisting the facts around and trying to claim innocence or having been forced into compliance. Each time, Lucius had been hauled from his cell to withdraw the memories as either a confession or as his testimony to be sent by Auror to the Wizengamot, viewed in the courtroom, and then returned to him at night. However, he knew that he wouldn't be leaving Azkaban until he was dragged to the Ministry of Magic for his own trial. Then what would happen to him was anyone's guess.

During his own confession, Lucius had decided to try a different approach than his peers. Remorse. Considering that his memories had been viewed and the events the interrogators had seen had been seen in every detail, lying hadn't seemed feasible. Telling the truth, emphasizing that he'd acted under coerced compliance, under duress and fear. Fear for both his own life and for the safety of his family had seemed his only option. He'd been acquitted from his previous years of service during the Dark Lord's first rise to power, claiming he'd been Imperiused...Imperiused and marked as a follower...just as his wife and son had been marked this time around. He had condemned his family because of his arrogance, prejudices, and blind ignorance during the first rising. Now, his primary argument in his own defense was enslavement...entrapment because of the Dark Mark.

Four times Lucius had been asked to remove the memories from the graveyard after the Dark Lord had regained his body. He'd been instructed to remove the memories from the battle at the Department of Mysteries, both the meetings and the planning sessions for review several times. Lucius had offered to let the investigators keep those memories, but each time they'd insisted he put them back.

It was like a horrible novel that he'd been forced to memorize every line, and now every single word, action, expression, and reaction were as clear to him as Draco's birth, forever etched upon his mind. Lucius hated the torture of having his memories returned to his head, but he knew that he had no choice. Several times, he'd broken down and cried. Several times, he'd retched on the floor. However, occasionally, he'd seen flashes of understanding and sympathy in the eyes of his investigators. And Lucius did feel some remorse. He regretted ever getting involved with the Dark Lord in the first place.

"No one left the Dark Lord," he'd said repeatedly over the last few days. "Anyone who tried was killed...violently...their family first, often in front of them. I couldn't refuse and watch the most horrid, unspeakable acts be brought against Narcissa and Draco. I complied; I did the minimum necessary to avoid having my family tortured or killed."

At least he hadn't committed murder; torture, yes, property damage and Muggle-baiting, absolutely, threatening and attacking students in the department of Mysteries...regrettably, yes. He'd given the Dark Lord access to his home, money whenever he'd demanded it, and procured artifacts and devices that he'd requested. He'd given Ginevra Weasley the diary that had led to the reopening of the Chamber of Secrets. But had he known what that book had wanted, he'd never have relented and given it to her. His son had been attending Hogwarts! Draco could've fallen prey to that Basilisk! Did he regret that action? Hell yes! His attacking Potter in 1994? He had been angry over the loss of his servant...nothing more. He'd acted without thinking, without first reasoning out the consequences. Very unlike him, and yes, something he regretted.

Every day of his trial, Draco had brought him clothes to wear, dark trousers and a turtleneck with simple robes of dark blue or the darkest forest green. Draco sat in the first row of benches behind him every day. Lucius only had a moment each day to scan the courtroom, but he'd easily and quickly determined that Narcissa was not present. His fourth day Harry Potter, Ginevra Weasley, and Hermione Granger appeared to testify, followed by Ronald Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and Dean Thomas the next. Lucius was stunned by the honest assessment the six young people gave, especially Hermione Granger. The poise with which she conducted herself had amazed him. She even met his gaze with a calm serenity and self-assuredness that bespoke of her maturity. She had really developed into a lovely young lady, a far cry from the bushy-haired buck-toothed little swot he remembered. Although, he did recall that in the Department of Mysteries, he'd been amazed by her tenacity and bravery.

By his fifth day, he realized that except for the day Narcissa had been subpoenaed to give witness, she was not going to support him. Lucius hid his disappointment and anger each day until he was back in his cell.

For July, it was fairly dry and warm, but the weather was unpredictably changeable at times. So far, it had been sunny and warm in the west of the country, but cool and cloudy in the east. This meant that the Tiree in Scotland had its sunniest July since records began in 1927, and Armagh in Northern Ireland had their driest July ever. Well, according to Muggle records that is, but the wizard papers noted that this phenomenon had happened before in 1834 and 1714. However in the Ministry of Magic, it was typically fourteen degrees Celsius in the atrium, twenty-two in the Department office where Hermione had her desk, and Cuthbert Mockridge in the Goblin Liaison office kept complaining about the humidity in his. It seemed that the Ministry was severely short staffed ever since the Death Eaters had taken over the Ministry during the war, especially in the Magical Maintenance Atmosphere Control office.

Three of the people working there as Controllers had been sent to Azkaban, never to return, which left only Controllers Reginald Cattermole, Bernie Pillsworth and Curtis Bletchley to handle all the current problems. Moreover, because of the havoc created by people sabotaging the charms used to maintain optimum atmospheric conditions during the Death Eater occupation and the effects of adverse spell interactions that sometimes happened, the environmental spells were still way out of balance. The Controllers were stretched thin; however, only Controller Pillsworth was working full days and even overtime hours on the problems. Mr. Cattermole still took two-hour lunches and left work at four to take care of his war-traumatized wife. Likewise, Controller Bletchley, who was still working, just wasn't the same wizard after his wife had been Kissed before the final battle. He was often seen curled up under his desk afraid to enter rooms reported to have frigidly cold temperatures or places where there was frost.

Hermione rose early in the mornings and worked well into the evening each day, six days a week. Ernest hadn't been kidding when he'd said that the department was disorganized, and being understaffed was only one of the problems. In the last day of the battle, Voldemort had given his followers orders to eliminate all Ministry personnel with Muggle heritage and blood traitors. The so-called trials of the Muggle-born Registration Commission alone had depleted half of the employees and almost two-thirds of the secretarial pool, and since the previous administrations had been so corrupt and misguided, few of the students leaving Hogwarts in 1997 had wanted to join the Ministry. In fact, six of the overworked secretaries had learned to keep their heads down and avoided eye contact to evade getting any additional requests, so it had taken a few days before they started speaking to Hermione.

She had finally managed to reorganize Ernest's filing cabinets and was working on the department's filing cabinets with Nandini Krishnan, between her duties of sorting and answering memos, filling out request forms for Ernest to sign, filling out field hour requests turned in by members or the department for Ernest to approve, and collating incident reports. And it wasn't only the files! The reports and requisitions were incoherent, illogical, and there were so many redundant phrases... and the grammar and punctuation errors!

On her third day, Nandini had introduced Hermione to the Department filing cabinets. Hermione had eyed the wall of filing cabinets with some trepidation.

"Here we have our quarter-monthly...that means weekly, but we're not allowed to call it that... and monthly forms and across there our quarterly...every three months...the ones that go upstairs, and end of year files. Anything over a hundred years old goes in the department archive cabinets in the back room and anything over five hundred years is filed in the basement archives."

"Yep, thanks to our last two, and current Ministers of Magic...quarter-monthly, are kept in these green ones. And grey are monthly, putty are quarterly, and black are yearly," she answered with a nod, her finger pointing at the sections of the cabinets. "Shall we continue?"

Hermione shoved another file, now marked as Centaur Liaison office on the cover, in the proper drawer and closed the drawer a bit too roughly.

"Problem?" Nandini asked.

"Just the usual," Hermione said with a groan, picking up the next on the pile. "Another form report that didn't even identify which office it originated from or what the request form was for until I got a third way through it. These forms are so wordy and repetitious and so many are handwritten."

"That was Roger Shinnery's idea to simplify quarter-monthly reports," Nandini replied, scanning a file.

"What department is he in so I can thank him?" Hermione asked, trying to read the messy handwriting on the report.

Nandini's hands fell to her lap, still clutching the file she'd been reading. "He's... dead. Yaxley came in here, and... Mr. Shinnery shoved me into the utility closet when the attacks started..." She brushed away a tear. "He was a good man and a good boss, but these reports had to be made weekly, and we didn't have enough information to write out a full report each week, so he created this form. It saved time."

Hermione scooted over and handed the distraught girl a handkerchief.

Nandini wiped her eyes and then dropped her hand to her lap again, twisting the cloth in her fingers. "I know it's been a year, but I really liked him."

"Were you under investigation from Umbridge?" Hermione asked, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder.

The petite Indian girl shook her head. "Did you know that he hid eight Muggle-borns in his wine cellar during the war? Two families and a woman accused... of being a magic thief."

Her admission surprised Hermione. "No!"

"He had it dug for him by a Muggle years ago so the Ministry wouldn't know about it. There was a trap door in the pantry under the stairs. He reinforced his floor with Maldranite from a dragon lair and everything to hide them." She turned and looked at the office now occupied by Felix Grossman. "He had pictures, linnographs, I think he called them, from the movie Fantastic. He invited me to his home and showed it to me once."

Hermione tilted her head and bit her lip.

"From Disneyland. The musical cartoon Fantastic," Nandini tried to clarify, looking at Hermione as if she should know what she was talking about.

"Fantasia! He had animation cels?" Hermione gasped, amazed.

Nandini nodded. "In his office. They are still there. Wanna see them?" She rose and led Hermione to the office.

Mr. Grossman looked up when Nandini knocked gently on his doorframe. "Ladies. To what do I owe the privilege, Miss Granger, Miss Krishnan?"

"Nandini told me that you have some Disney cels on the wall..." Hermione's voice trailed off as she took in his walls. They were covered with pictures: lithographs, oils, watercolors, photographs, and drawings of Centaurs. "This is amazing!" she exclaimed as she took a closer look. She paused in front of a series of still photographs of female centaurs and young ones.

"Those were taken by a Muggle who wondered into a forest. We had to confiscate them and alter his memory," Mr. Grossman said offhandedly, but she could tell he was proud of the collection. "I have a stone more in the files."

It was stifling hot in his office, and her blouse was already sticking to her. "You have an Impervious Charm on the art, don't you?" Hermione asked as she turned around and drew her wand. "Meteolojinx recanto. Serenitas," she said with some swishing of her wand. "That should clear away the dampness. Moderanter clarum. That should control the temperature a bit and make atmosphere conditions more comfortable... Hopefully, that should do it." The humidity reduced considerably.

Mr. Grossman's mouth fell open as he looked around the room. "I have tried using the Meteolojinx recanto for months, but I...how did you?"

Hermione shrugged. "I have been reading about the weather charms at home. Harry has a few books... Oh, I'm so sorry, we're intruding on you."

Mr. Grossman shook his head. "Not a problem. Tell Ernest that I'll have my quarter-monthly report form in by tomorrow."

Hermione nodded, a grimace on her face. "Would you mind terribly putting the name of your office and the type of report it is on the front cover? I'm having a tough time organizing all the files since I have to search through them to decipher where it originated and what it's for. It would help me tremendously if you'd do that on the requests and incident reports, too, please."

He laughed. "For this," he said with a sweep of his hand, "I'd do anything you ask."

"Thank you," she replied and turned to Nandini. "Well, back to work."

Nandini followed her out but stopped between the secretarial desks. "Maybe we should have you visit all the offices. You, know, to see if they will do the same?"

Hermione smiled as she surveyed the Division office space. "Why not, it wouldn't hurt to ask."

Nandini followed Hermione to each office as she approached each liaison office head to ask them to label each report and request more clearly on the cover page and then returned to their task. Harry stopped by just as Hermione finished a large pile of misfiled incident reports.

"Hermione, are you ready to go?"

"Just about, Harry," she replied, stretching. She turned to thank Nandini for her help and chuckled softly at the awed expression on her co-worker's face. "He doesn't bite."

Nandini turned three shades of pink. "That's...he's...here in... ohmygod! It's... you!"

Harry reached out and grasped the hand Nandini was using to point at him. "It's nice to meet you..." he started to say and then glanced quickly at Hermione, obvious that he didn't know the witch's name.

"Nandini, this is Harry Potter," Hermione said formally with a smirk. "Harry, Nandini Krishnan. I'll go get my cloak." When she came back, Harry and Nandini were sitting at her desk. "I'm ready if you are."

Harry said good-bye to Nandini as he picked up his cloak and followed Hermione to the lifts. It was blistering hot in the corridor as they waited. "Blimey, when are they going to get the temperature right around here?"

Hermione was already waving her wand. "Meteolojinx recanto. Serenitas. Moderanter clarum. That will hold for a bit. You'd think Peeves had moved in and is messing with the thermostat."

"Hermione, wizards, no thermostat," he said as if reminding her. "So, where to?"

She sighed as she searched in her pocket for the list she'd written down. "I need to make a quick stop before going home. I suppose... No, it can wait."

"Hermione?" he asked slowly, looking at her from under his fringe.

"It's nothing," she sighed, trying to find the list of things she needed to get from the pharmacy.

Harry bent to down a little to try and look her in the face. "Which translated from girl means...: I want...?"

"I haven't heard back from Regruk," she said with a heavy sigh, checking her other pocket.

He put his hand on her wrist as the lift doors opened. He guided Hermione in with him as she pulled out a piece of memo parchment. "Found it."

"Your school list?" Harry asked, and Hermione turned away, a look of disappointment on her face. "What? You haven't gotten your list yet?"

"No, I have it... that's not it..." She turned so that her face was almost pressed against his cheek. "Can't afford to buy my things until I get my loan," she mumbled softly. "And I don't get paid until the middle of next month, since I'm new."

"Oh, okay," he said, stroking her back. He helped her with her cloak, then pulled on his just before the doors opened onto the atrium. Freezing cold, air-conditioned air rushed in, making everyone in the lift grip their cloaks tight about their throats. Harry grasped Hermione's elbow and led her to the Floos. "C'mon, the fire will warm us up." He grabbed Floo Powder and said, "Diagon Alley," before Hermione could utter a word. They emerged into the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione coughing from inhaling soot. "Let's go get your books."

Hermione froze on the spot. "I can't yet! I told you I can't afford them!"

"I can," he stated as he waved to Tom.

"But..."

"You're my best mate, and I know you. You're itching to read all of your books. So, let's go get them," he said, drawing her away from the Floo as the flames activated again. "You'll pay me back later. So, what's first?"

She looked around to the front door, but Harry pulled her toward the back. "I should just go to Muggle London to get toiletries..."

"After. Bookshop or Quidditch shop?" he asked as he smirked at her. Harry opened the archway and hooked arms with her.

"Robes. Then stationary, and then I really need necessities," she stated, giving in.

He shrugged and led her to Madam Malkin's. He waited patiently as Hermione was fitted for her dark blue skirt and frockcoat. "I love these buttons," the seamstress gushed. "A closed red tome, fessways gules clasped and garnished with gold, the clasps lying downward...so scholarly."

Harry looked closer at the buttons as the witch measured Hermione for the slacks. "It's a book," he said and stood back. "Figures."

"You'll need white shirts, the black jumpers with the school colors on the cuffs and neckline...we have those, and the red and gold baklava," the witch stated, "and the purple-lined black cloak... and black stockings..."

"I was in Gryffindor," Hermione stated and the woman smiled. "I have red and gold scarves and hat."

"Cardinal, not crimson, dear." She pulled out a small note pad. "Come back on... Tuesday for your fitting. I'll have everything ready for you then."

Harry signed the payment voucher to have the funds drawn from his account. They went to Eeylops Owl Emporium and Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. In the quill shop, Hermione tried to tell Harry that three quills would suffice when he picked up a box of twelve nice, black goose quills. "For how much you write? I know you went through a quill a week at school." He grabbed a bottle of Black Satin pigment ink.

"Harry this is too much!" she argued, opting for a lesser grade. She felt uncomfortable asking for anything beyond only the barest of basics. Her father had always told her never to borrow money from a friend.

"This is the stuff you used at school," he stated, "so I know it's your favorite. I'm willing to lend you as much as you need, so stop complaining. You're not going to break me." He ordered three reams of parchment, signed the payment voucher, and asked for the items to be delivered. "Next, books, right?" Harry asked when they left the shop, pointing at Flourish & Blotts.

Hermione nodded as he led her to the bookshop. Inside, Hermione drew out her list of recommended reading as the shopkeeper walked up to them. Harry took the list from her hand and handed it to the shopkeeper. "She may have any of these on her list that you carry and any other books that she wants. I'll be back to sign the voucher."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Potter," the shopkeeper said, smiling.

Hermione sighed, resigned to the fact that she was going to owe Harry big time.

"I'll be in the Quidditch shop," he said, and Hermione shrugged. "Should I buy you a broom?"

"No!" she snapped, and he chuckled.

"Honestly, buy whatever books you need, and I'll be back. I expect a stack when I return."

Hermione turned to the bookshelves on magical law in the far left corner of the shop.

After what seemed an hour, the shopkeeper appeared by her side. "I have all but five on your list, Miss Granger. You planning on studying law?"

"Thank you, Mr. Arlington. Yes, I'm enrolled in law school in Cambridgeshire." She was about to go find Harry and stopped. "Mr. Arlington, do you by chance have any books on the old laws?"

"Yes, miss," he said and led her to the end of the shelf and around to the next aisle. He turned around and stopped, nearly making her bump into him. "Miss Granger, if I might be so bold..." He looked over her shoulder, and Hermione turned to see what had caught his attention. When she turned back, his nose was only an inch from hers. "Are you still fighting against the ML?"

She jerked back in surprise. "The ML?"

Marriage Law, he mouthed.

She nodded, her brows drawn together in confusion.

He pointed to a stack of books. "These are history books, but they explain a lot. And I have some old books that I think you should read." He handed her From Discourse on the Origins of Equality, For the Betterment of the Wizardkind: A History of Social Welfare, and a thick book titled, Escaping the Inquisition: The Trials of the Witch Hunts. He handed her two more large tomes from a top shelf titled, Liberty, Law and Intolerance: the Manifesto of Superiority, and The Malleus Maleficarum of Modern Times by Sir Walter Nigel Wentlock, printed in 1080. But the last book really shocked her. Modern Relationship Advice from the Ancient Wisdom of Arranged Marriages by Sir Frederick Wallace Brumfeild, esquire.

"Brumfield, the wizard who wrote..."

"His father actually," Mr. Arlington stated. "It's a book defending magical bonding-troths and betrothal charms as the only means to procure one's spouse. Sound familiar? Healer Stanford Brumfield grew up in India, I think." He handed her four more books. "These are about periods from the Wizarding Reformation through the Dark Ages of the Inquisition and the Wizarding Renaissance. Most of what's written here is no longer taught in Hogwarts. However, you will find them enlightening." He looked over his shoulder and back to her. "I'm not supposed to sell these. They were on the restricted book list a few months back. I was supposed to burn them."

Hermione covered her mouth to smolder the gasp of shock. "Book burning? In today's modern age?"

He smirked at her. "Do you really think we are all that enlightened? I thought you knew what was going on."

"I do," she admitted quietly.

"I knew you would come in here sooner or later; you always do. So I marked them as destroyed, but..." He took the four books back and they vanished under his smock. "Read them. I'll have them sent with your purchases, but hide them well."

Harry was waiting by the counter, flipping through a Charms book. "Where to next?" he asked when they were leaving the shop.

"My campus book shop, but I have to go there tomorrow at lunch. They close at four," she said. "So, the pharmacy?"

He hadn't minded going with Hermione first to the Muggle drug store for toiletries. They spent an hour shopping in Muggle London, including H&M, stopping to have dinner at Burger King. The next day, he went with her to the campus bookshop, and the day after, he dragged her from the office to go shopping in Camden Lock on the premise of getting something for Ginny, but Hermione ended up with six bags. He'd even given Hermione a reusable Portkey charm that would take her home from wherever she was.

Contrary to what Harry had said about her reading all her school books, Hermione sat every night after dinner poring over the books Mr. Arlington had sent her. Beside the six books Mr. Arlington had shown her in the shop, there were four more books: one on the laws of the wizarding Reformation in the seventeenth century, another on the history of the social and economic changes of the Middle Ages from the wizarding perspective, and a very interesting, very thick book of the trials, tribulations, and social changes in the wizarding world brought about because of the Spanish Inquisitions. All three books mentioned various laws passed in reaction to these events, and the reactions those laws had on wizarding society. The fourth book was a satirical book by a political humorist, William A. Coupe, that listed out many of the old laws, still on the books today, that were so comical at times, Hermione would actually laugh out loud, making Harry or Ginny ask her what was so funny.

But all ten books finally gave Hermione a clearer picture of how wizard-kind reacted to world events and the social, economic, and ethical changes that took place in the world around them. As much as the wizarding world liked to think they were segregated from Muggles and Muggle influence, it was obvious to Hermione that wasn't really the case at all.

She closed the book by William Coupe, still chuckling softly.

"What's so funny?" Harry asked, sitting down beside her.

Hermione handed him the book. "Harry, I really think you'll get a laugh out of this, only it's not really all that funny when you think about it."

"Why?" he asked his face skewed in confusion, handing the book back.

"Because these laws still exist and are still enforced in our world. Many of these laws are truly ridiculous or scary if you think about them; like being arrested for owning a Snitch feather, or someone being arrested for housing a class three or above creature in your bedroom for example? Sound remotely familiar? And the consequences imposed for breaking them are preposterous! Even you may fall prey to them," she said, pushing the book back into his hands. "Please, just read it."

He looked at the book, his brow creased as he frowned slightly. "Just what I need, more reading."

"At least it's funny," she said, picking up one of her school books.