CHAPTER 96: NIHIL SUPERNUM, PT 3

Traveling by Floo was not quite as unsettling as portkeys, but it would take some getting used to all the same. Harry spun and spun through green flames, until suddenly all motion halted and he almost fell over at the shock. Then he quickly stepped out of the fireplace, just in case.

The Headmaster's office was empty, save for the many sounds. Harry took out his – thankfully unlocked – Time-turner, and spun it once.

"Hello Harry." The old wizard was sitting at his desk, looking at a golden hourglass he held in his hands. "Before I speak, I must know: have you received my message yet?"

"Message? No, what message?"

"Time will make that clear." The Headmaster put the hourglass down onto the desk. "For now, there are a few things we must discuss. I have already used four turns of my Time-Turner today, and would prefer not to go further back for now. In twenty minutes, I must bring you back to Minerva, as though you never left. Have her seal your Time-Turner again and then leave the room instantly. After that, you must be seen. Make sure that people – ideally other students, who are not Occlumenses – know where you are every moment until you receive my message. Not your parents. We do not want to involve them, especially not your mother, as to stain Lily Potter's reputation is to stain yours."

"Would that really give me an alibi? I mean, the Ministry know that I have a Time-Turner, right?"

"They know that it is locked to the hours of nine to midnight, and that Time cannot be looped inside Azkaban. That means that my Patronus can only have reached the youngest version of you, no matter what I asked of it, and that only your youngest version could have been in Azkaban."

"Ah," Harry said, quickly calculating the implications. "That would work. Professor, what happened there?"

The old wizard shook his head. "I cannot tell you. Not yet. But after you receive the message, find a place away from the public eye. Leave invisibly, and come to my office. The password is Fizzing Whizzbee. You will be able to go back in time after nine as though you never left."

"All right..." Harry was really starting to get worried now. "You really can't say...?"

"You will know soon enough. But first, speaking of going invisible..." He opened a drawer, and took out a small package. "This is a high-quality Invisibility Cloak, designed to look and feel just like the one Hermione Granger remembers you having. I have obtained it from a friend who, I am certain, will not betray us. The additional enchantments, I performed myself."

Harry opened the package, and took out a cloak that looked exactly like his own. It tingled, and felt warm on his skin. He threw it around himself and disappeared, the cloak seeming to hug him. And while it was nothing like the real cloak, Harry had to admit that it was very well done. Someone who didn't know any better could well be tricked into believing that this was the third Deathly Hallow, handed down the generations from Ignotus Peverell.

"This is exactly what Hermione Granger remembers you having," the old wizard said. "And it might well fool lesser men. But if they ask you, you must not say that you ever showed it to me, for those who know me well must realize that I would recognize it for a fake instantly."

"That should not be hard," Harry said, not bothering to keep the sharpness out of his voice. "Since when I got my cloak, there was a note on it saying not to show it to the Headmaster, as he might try to take it from me. Does that sound familiar to you?"

The Headmaster just looked at his hands.

"I do apologize for the deception, Mr. Potter," he said at last. "I know that it was wrong to manipulate you. I have no justification to offer, other than what you have undoubtedly already derived yourself. You did not know me then, but I think you understand me well enough now."

And Harry did. He was annoyed by the stupid plot, but in the end, his current view of Dumbledore was based on entirely different observations. And in that, tricking a child who is doomed to be the hero eventually into trusting you didn't seem all that incongruent. Of course, he would still have to carefully reevaluate his perception of the man, taking all information into account when he got a quiet moment, but he didn't expect that this new data would change much. In fact, all things considered, he should probably have done that before – some of his views might have been based on the manipulations of Quirrell, who had every motivation to bias him against the leader of the anti-Voldemort-movement.

"Were you also the one who sent Hermione those notes?" he asked, keeping his voice carefully controlled.

"No. I thought it was the Defense Professor, but –" he helplessly raised his hands. "I really don't know anymore. But time is getting short." He glanced at the hourglass again. "Would you give me your cloak, to keep for you? They might well search all your possessions for it, and I can hide it more effectively. I swear that I will return it to you the instant you ask."

"I suppose." Harry took the cloak from his pouch and handed it to Dumbledore with a pang of sadness. But the Headmaster could have taken it from him any time, he did not need deception if he were dishonest. Harry fed the new, inferior cloak back into the pouch.

"Let us go," the ancient wizard spoke.

The two of them caught on fire and reappeared in the familiar office of the Deputy Headmistress. Professor McGonagall spun, surprised.

"You're back? Now? How –"

"I shall explain this to you shortly, Minerva. For now, could you please lock young Mr. Potter's Time-Turner again, as though it were never opened?"

She looked confused, but didn't protest as Harry dropped the shell into her hands. She placed the enchantments, and returned it.

"Thank you," he muttered to the both of them, and was out the office.

Friday April 16th, 1992, 4:18pm.

Harry strode through the corridors towards a place where he could be seen.

How would an innocent Harry act?

An innocent Harry who had just received that message, and had been left in Hogwarts by Dumbledore, would be confused, certainly. And tense, because Hermione might be dying unless Dumbledore could intercede. But he would not want to tell people about this, because if Dumbledore could stop Hermione, then it might never be found out that she had somehow got a wand...

Acting tense and nervous and non-informative, then. But where? He couldn't go to his parents if he wanted to keep them out of it, the library might be empty, and if he hung around in the Ravenclaw common room, then Padma might get involved, and he really needed to keep attention away from her too. If she was asked to testify, she might be given Veritaserum, which would be a disaster with all the things he had entrusted to her.

Hermione knows the most dangerous of those secrets too, the voice of Ravenclaw whispered. And she is certain to be given Veritaserum. But apparently Dumbledore had still been able to send a Patronus, so if she had spilled the secret, it must have been controlled...

He walked into the Great Hall, where a few children from mixed houses were sitting together at the Gryffindor table, playing a large game of Gobstones. Harry sat by them and watched the game. He was not going to have much trouble looking tense and nervous.

Someone asked him whether he was okay. He waved them off.

Someone asked him whether he wanted to join the game. He said he preferred watching.

Some time later they asked again. This time he actually did participate for two rounds, and got squirted with a foul liquid. He politely passed up further opportunities to play.

There were more people giving him strange looks. He was acting unlike he usually would, but there was little he could do about that. It wouldn't even make sense to take a book from his pouch and try to read, because he wouldn't normally do that in so loud an environment.

And then the blazing phoenix burst into existence, amid gasps from his fellow students.

"Harry," it said. "As you feared, Miss Granger has attacked Azkaban, and destroyed all its Dementors. She has survived, given testimony, and will likely be executed before the weekend is over. There will be no trial, as she is no part of a Noble House. Tell me, Mr. Potter. Were you involved in this?"

The silence in the Great Hall was complete as everyone stared at him, and cold clarity fell over Harry. Of course the government of magical Britain would not allow exceptions to its crazy rules just because the "crime" of breaking out in this case was a phoenix-driven attempt by a brave girl to destroy the darkest creatures in existence at the expected price of her life. That would be sane.

And of course he wasn't going to stand for that. As Dumbledore knew exactly how involved he was, he wouldn't be asking the question if there wasn't someone else listening. If Harry were involved, it would go before the Wizengamot. And while he had little good to expect from that particular body, he should be able to manipulate his and Hermione's way out from that.

You do realize, his Slytherin side said, that you are staking your own life on that hope. You have declared enmity on Lucius Malfoy only last week, and you'll be putting yourself straight into his power, without so much as a wand to defend yourself.

We will not let her be killed, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor spoke together. Not while there is a chance to save her.

Are we escalating again, because we do not want to lose? Slytherin asked. As Professor Quirrell said, losing, or at least pretending to lose, is for everything, even people.

In this case, winning is the more obvious choice, Ravenclaw said calmly.

Harry glanced around at his schoolmates, who were all staring. Most of them had reviled Hermione after they heard of the trial, collective memories changing afterwards about how the kindest girl in Ravenclaw had really been a violent madwoman all along. Seconds had passed by. Harry had to speak up now, and in a way that would get them thinking about their own biases, and might help Hermione later.

"Did I break into Azkaban," he answered, his voice liquid crystal, "when the Wizengamot sent an innocent there to be eaten by Dementors, and give her the means to protect herself? Yes, I did.

"Did I teach her a spell to control Dementors, which can only be used by those who truly care about others? Yes, I did.

"Did I intend for her to use that spell to destroy Dementors, to bring an end to the ceaseless suffering the government of magical Britain inflicts on its prisoners, a use that was almost certain to kill her? No, I must confess that I did not. But then, she was always a better person than I was."

The phoenix Patronus moved sideways and dissolved into the air.

The other children continued to stare wordlessly at Harry.

"Let this be a lesson to you," he spoke, addressing them in ice-cold tones. "There is no need to believe stupid things just because everyone else is saying them."

And with that, he turned on his heel and left the Great Hall.

Friday April 16th, 1992, 4:55pm.

Amelia Bones stared at the Patronus speechlessly, after it had delivered its message.

Albus Dumbledore just sighed wearily. "Much as I expected."

"He does not sound like a child at all," she found herself saying.

"He is the hero." Albus shrugged helplessly. "Amelia, since I don't think I am needed here, do you mind lending me a broomstick, and clearing with your Aurors that I may depart? In an hour, the International Confederation will vote on the question whether countries should be permitted to take Muggleborns from their parents at birth. It will raise questions about Timer-Turners if I give further testimony here when most of the Wizengamot will know that I am there at the time."

"Of course," she replied. "Just give me a moment."

She opened the door into the Aurors' Headquarters, where the six non-sleeping guards of Azkaban were looking over the screens. The tension in the air was almost tangible as she walked in.

"Bahry!" she barked. "Arrange a broomstick, and accompany Mr. Dumbledore here to the edge. I have already checked him, and will clear it with the others." It would be foolish to tell the Aurors to let the old wizard get away, as someone might be able to impersonate him, but the Azkaban Auror was sworn into the wards, so his company would not be easy to fake.

If Bahry was surprised, he didn't show it. He just jumped up and led the way towards the storage cabinet.

"Madam Bones..." Auror Xiaoguang, whom everyone called Mike, was giving her a pleading look. "Would you tell us what you found?"

She just shoved the transcript to him. "Read it for yourself."

He did so, hiding only a very slight hesitation.

His eyes widened.

"She had an artifact to protect her from the Dementors?" His tone was a mixture of wonder and relief. He'd never been good at spying and undercover missions, she recalled. Perhaps she should arrange some extra lessons on controlling body language for him, although considering the fate he had obviously barely escaped, she might excuse this lapse in his outward appearance. Looking around, she saw other shoulders sagging, and the tension in the room noticeably weakened.

Auror Xiaoguang continued to read, a frown on his face. Finally, he passed the transcript back to her.

"Will she receive the Dementor's Kiss?" he asked, a note of pain in his voice. "The poor child only did what she thought was right."

"She might not," Amelia answered. "As Granger suspected, the scion of Potter has accommodated this outbreak. He has confessed as much. The Wizengamot will decide on this case, now. Speaking of which..." She turned to her Patronus. "Auror Astour. Please send a delegation of Aurors to Hogwarts, to apprehend Harry Potter on charges of conspiracy to mass-jailbreak and destruction of national weapons."

Friday April 16th, 1992, 5:05pm.

Up the spiraling stairs, into the Headmaster's Office. The gargoyles had been perfectly responsive to his whispered password, despite the invisibility. Harry knocked, and entered. Professor Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk.

"And so it was done," the old wizard sighed. "Forgive me for not telling you earlier, Mr. Potter. I merely wished for the choice to be yours, not mine. As you had answered exactly as I expected you to do, if I had spoken too early, then I might have inadvertently forced your hand."

Harry nodded. "That makes sense. But then why did you have me be seen? If you knew I was going to confess anyway, why get me an alibi for today's presence?"

"Neither you, nor Miss Granger, can I protect," the old wizard spoke wearily. "That responsibility, I fear, shall be fully yours. But there are three less valuable things in the balance, and those I have been seeking to safe-guard."

"Which three?"

"Myself. Minerva. And your cloak."

"Ah."

"It should be easy to protect Minerva, I think. Her role was minor, and few would suspect her. I know you do not lie easily, Harry, but would you deny it if anyone directly asked you for her involvement?"

"If necessary," Harry conceded. It would be dangerous to lie to the courts, as he might get caught out in that later. Would he be able to just not say anything? "I certainly do not want to drag her into this mess. Or you either."

The old wizard nodded slowly. "It shall be harder to steer suspicion away from me. It is obvious to everyone who would care to investigate that you must have had help breaking into Azkaban, and I am a natural suspect, save for that most who know me would consider me too wise for such a foolhardy undertaking. Today, I have gone to Azkaban uninvited, at your prompting, as Miss Granger sent her Patronus only to you, and there are more than a hundred witnesses who saw that I was told of what she was about to do before it was known to the DMLE. What is more, I was in Azkaban when the cloak which Miss Granger remembered leaving in her cell mysteriously disappeared. If there is any reason to believe you were there, then they will conclude that I brought you, and my part in the disaster will be all to obvious." He fixed Harry with a piercing look. "If you can save yourself by sacrificing me, Harry, you must do so. I am not the king on the chessboard. But if it would not save you, or if there is any other way out, I ask you to be careful. Although we do not always see eye to eye, I hope you acknowledge that I may be crucial to hold off Voldemort, whether you live or not."

Harry tore his gaze away. He felt very guilty all of a sudden. He didn't deserve such a sacrifice, and he wasn't even sure if the old wizard was right in his analysis of Harry's necessity. Certainly Harry couldn't see how Dumbledore would have any chance against Professor Quirrell Turned Evil, but given the latter's mysterious plot, it might well be that Harry could only make it worse...

"Why did you ask me to confess?" he asked, his voice breaking. "You would not sacrifice yourself for Hermione Granger, why allow me to do so?"

"Because the choice ought to be yours," the old wizard said quietly. "And perhaps I would, now. She was always valuable. Now, serving as your conscience, with a phoenix upon her shoulder and the power to destroy Dementors, Hermione Granger is certainly worth more than a hundred thousand Galleons."

"About that... Did Professor McGonagall mention that Hermione's parents might pay –"

"The point is moot. Her crime is now far greater than mere attempted murder, and is not owed to Lucius Malfoy, but to the country. And your own noble name might be revoked for charges of treason, which the destruction of national weapons is filed under."

Harry nodded, thinking. "It was probably a mistake to take the cloak from her cell. It is easy to explain why I involved you today – that was in actual fact Professor McGonagall's idea – but I don't really have an explanation for that one."

"The original Cloak of Invisibility is an ancient and mysterious artifact, Harry," the Headmaster said gravely. "It is truly a device of legends. There are no people in living memory who are known to have studied its properties; none but me, and that is a close-guarded secret. I believe neither James nor his father from whom he inherited it have ever given it to another for study. Which means that the tale that Ignotus's Cloak will always find its way back to its owner may be promoted as the obvious explanation, if you do not say anything that will contradict it. This is a long-existing story, which those who seek the Deathly Hallows know well. I have mentioned it today, in the hope that it will be interpreted as a powerful retrieval charm that predates the wards of Azkaban."

"Ah," Harry said. "But if the cloak is ever found, then it's easy to test that it does not do that..."

"Indeed. It must not be found in your possession, for this reason and others. The Stone and the Cloak were never as coveted as the Wand, but there are still dozens of those who search for the Deathly Hallows who would happily slit your throat to obtain it. The Cloak is extremely valuable, priceless even. That is why I took the risk of having you take it away. If the Ministry found it, they would not lightly return it to you, especially now that it has been revealed that the Cloak allows you to resist Dementors – which will undoubtedly rekindle the faith in some of the more arcane tales of its powers. Even as it is, with people suspecting that you may possess it, you might not have peace for the rest of your life, as others would seek to take it from you."

"Why? I mean, I agree it's pretty useful, but if they didn't know that it would resist Dementors, why would people want it so much?"

"Even just to complete the set – supposedly, to unite the three Hallows is to Master Death, although I believe that that part of the tales is just a myth, for the Three Brothers did unite the Hallows, and yet they died. There are many other properties ascribed to it as well. Most of them are false, as I verified, but from what your father told me about his father's experiences, I am quite certain – although I could not test it myself, and would not show the Cloak to anyone else – that it blocks the Killing Curse."

"That is not as important to me as to most people, seeing as I have other ways to avoid it."

"True," the old wizard conceded. "But you are its master, as I never was, and you might come to understand it better. The connection to Dementors would never have occurred to me."

Only because you do not think of Dementors as being connected to death. "So do you have a suggestion for how I'm going to pretend not to be its owner?"

The old man shrugged helplessly. "You have almost five hours to come up with a good story, and then act the part. I will help you with any questions you may have.."

Somewhere in Harry's head, Slytherin snickered. It appears that the Headmaster has finally learned not to think of us as a child.

You merely need to save yourself and Hermione Granger from getting the Dementor's Kiss, without straying from anything she said, suggesting that you own the device which obviously helped her, incriminating anyone else, or being caught in a lie that would cause future problems, Hufflepuff added. No pressure.

This seems nowhere near as hard as breaking Bellatrix Black out of Azkaban, Ravenclaw said. Stop complaining.

"Mr. Lupin knew of my father's cloak," Harry pointed out. "Do you know whether he is an Occlumens? If they call on him, he would certainly recognize that the one you gave me isn't it. Plus," he added with a frown, "he knows I wasn't in Hogwarts the entire day."

"Mr. Lupin is a werewolf, Harry," the Headmaster said calmly. "And while that is no stain on his character, most of our kind do not think of them as people. It will not occur to anyone that he was a friend of James. And since your father's other friends are either dead or in Azkaban..." He trailed off. "I shall ask Remus to not be seen for a few days regardless. But as he has no fixed residence, and it is very unlikely anyone will make the connection, I do not think you need to fear anything from that side."

"All right," Harry said. "But it might still be a little too much of a coincidence that I have acquired an imitation of the True Cloak, and just happen to be involved in a crime with the real thing."

"No," the ancient wizard shook his head. "Many artifacts are made in imitation of historical examples. Your cloak follows a description I read when I was a teenager. As good invisibility cloaks go, it is not at all unusual. I would not so readily have agreed to make Miss Granger remember a cloak that appeared special to her otherwise."

This is almost going to be easy, Gryffindor remarked optimistically.

Don't say stupid stuff, Slytherin suggested.

"Thank you," Harry said quietly. "I guess I'd better go now, and think about things. Will the password be valid for the rest of the day if I have further questions?"

"It will. Oh, but Harry –"

Harry had already stood up, and turned around. The old wizard looked pained.

"I hate to even contemplate this, but I must... If you do not survive the proceedings, who do you wish to name as your heir?"

Harry swallowed. But Dumbledore was right: he did need to think about it.

"Hermione, if she lives. Padma if not."

And with that, he donned the new invisibility cloak and left.

Hermione Granger sat silently on the stone bench in the near-darkness of her cell. There was no Patronus light to keep her company anymore.

But there were also no Dementors.

She had no idea what would happen next. Would they just leave her in this cell? Kill her? Get new Dementors? She knew she should be afraid, but instead, she just felt calm. Peaceful. She had made her decision and gone through with it, and that was all she could do. She had survived, which she had not expected, and which might not turn out to be a blessing. But whatever would happen, would happen, and she would meet it when it did.

And that left the question of today's mystery...

"Are you here to stay?" she asked in the darkness. The warm weight in her lap shifted comfortably. "Caw."

"Forever?"

"Caw!"

"Staying with me won't be a very exciting life for a phoenix, you know. I'll probably be in a cell like this for the rest of my life." She considered for a moment. "However long that may be."

"Caw."

"What's your name?"

"Caw?"

"Oh, I should make one up? Are you a boy phoenix or a girl phoenix?"

"Caw?"

Of course, she thought. Phoenix are undying. Perhaps they are also unborn. And if they have no beginning or end, there would be no reason to reproduce, so why would the species have gender?

"I think I'll think of you as girl," she decided. The English language just didn't have convenient gender-neutral pronouns. "And I'll call you... Xare."

The story of Harry Potter's statement had run over the school with the rapidity of fiendfyre, so it was no surprise to Minerva when Flitwick's Patronus informed her that three Aurors had entered the grounds.

When she came into the Entrance Hall, three crimson-robed figures came in through the door. Students were peeking in from the Great Hall, and from other corridors.

And there, suddenly, was Harry Potter, pulling an Invisibility Cloak off himself as though he had been waiting for them there. The foremost Auror did not hesitate, but approached him immediately.

"Harry Potter," she said. "You are under arrest on charges of aiding and abetting: jailbreak, destruction of national weapons, and treason. You will be taken into custody to be interrogated under three drops of Veritaserum."

The boy stood quietly, as he was patted down and his wand, pouch and cloak taken from him. And then the four of them left, the Aurors' wands all trained on Harry, as though he were a dangerous criminal about to pull some amazing wandless magic, rather than an eleven-year old child.

Minerva gritted her teeth. She had known that it was coming, but it still hurt.

The situation was highly serious, she knew. Prisonbreak. Treason. Even if both children had obviously only done the right thing, the simple fact was that they had broken the law, and that these laws came with very high punishments. Even just breaking into Azkaban, which Harry had confessed doing, would normally land him a four-month sentence. And Hermione's act had freed the minds of hundreds of severe criminals, many of them Death Eaters, in a prison that could not easily be defended without its Dementors. As heroic and inspiring as it had been, the simple fact that half of Voldemort's closest servants might have been enabled to escape would weigh heavily on the Wizengamot's minds. Add to that Hermione's vilification as an attempted-murderess...

Perhaps that part of the problem was fixable, at least. Harry had told her that Draco wouldn't talk to him, but...

She summoned her Patronus. "Go to Severus Snape," she asked. "And tell him: please ask Draco to come see me after dinner."

It was immediately clear that something unusual had happened, when Lesath Lestrange sneaked into the Great Hall in the quiet, unobtrusive way he had learned to use years ago. People were running from table to table. Despite the low number of students – most were still home for the holidays – there was an excited babble all around. A few children had tear-streaked faces, but they looked more happy than upset. Only the teachers at the Head Table had serious looks, wearing frowns as they bent over to talk to each other.

Lesath scanned the Slytherin table, and found the person he was looking for. He sat down next to Silvia Dorskey, a sixth-year prefect who hadn't exactly been friendly but at least was always civil to him.

"What's going on?" He whispered to her.

She looked surprised. "I would have expected you to know by now."

"Why? What happened?" he pressed.

"Potter was arrested an hour ago. We all saw it! They accused him of conspiracy for jailbreak and treason and something else, I forget. And people were already saying that he had broken into Azkaban, given Granger a wand, and that she used that to kill all Dementors there. And then of course some people panicked, but the children with Auror-relatives are saying that nobody escaped, just that all Dementors are gone." She looked thoughtful. "That's all I know from reliable sources, anyway. Would you like to hear some of the wilder rumors? Hey, you've gone all white."

"Yes, I... I..." he stammered. "Thank you!" He scrabbled back from the bench and fled to the bathrooms right off the Great Hall, feeling his wand shaking in his hand almost beyond his control.

The darkness can be broken.

That's what Potter had said, and Lesath had thought that he believed it, but he hadn't really. But now he saw that his Lord was right.

The darkness can be broken.

The Granger girl, one of his master's other servants – or maybe friends – had done what he himself had failed to do. She had freed father from the Dementors' grip, and even if that wasn't quite like real freedom, it was enough. Potter had been arrested for it. Was this what his master had had in mind, when he had given Lesath the task of passing on the True Patronus Charm?

He looked down at the wand in his hand. It shook, as he trembled a little, but the tip was gleaming, ever so faintly, with a silver light.

Dementors could be destroyed. Mother and father both lived, and didn't have to suffer anymore. Master Potter had painted a vision of a beautiful world, and he was on track to make it come true. The first step had been made. It might or might not be up to Lesath to do the rest. But if Dementors could be destroyed, anything was possible.

The darkness really can be broken!

"Expecto Patronum!"

The light burst out of him, turning the bathroom to silver and then white as it grew, impossibly bright, brighter even than Potter's Patronus had been. He could imagine feeling the Dementors, those pits of horror and misery, at the edges of his spell and then fading away as the Patronus tore them apart.

Stop! He told himself. Stop, or people will see it! You must not betray Lord Potter by showing that you can do this!

The light softened then, and further, until he could make out the shape of a human, looking a lot like a young boy. And then, with a movement of his wand, the Patronus disappeared. But he would recast it later, where no one could see him. And if his Lord were not to return, then he would teach others, as he was commanded, and after that he would make sure that no Dementor would remain on the face of the earth.

He stumbled over to one of the sinks, far weaker than he had felt before. That spell had taken a lot out of him, but it was worth it. He washed his face, which was streaked with tears, and quietly pocketed his wand, as though nothing had happened.

They came for him, then, the Gryffindors and also some from the other Houses. But he didn't care. His father had endured Azkaban for over ten years; he could handle ten minutes of pain. Besides, no matter what they did to him, it couldn't take away the bright Patronus fire that he now held close to his heart.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?" Draco kept his face carefully neutral. He had heard, of course, about the arrest, and he had a pretty good feeling what this would be about, but not what she wanted of him.

"Yes, I did. Would you please sit?"

He did so. The woman did look rather stressed, he thought. And there was a Pensieve on her desk. Curious.

"Mr. Malfoy, I shall come straight to the point. You have testified under Veritaserum that you tried to help Hermione Granger before. Would you be willing to do so again?"

Draco blinked. "You would have me help the witch who tried to kill me?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "No, of course not. But I know from my classes that you are intelligent, and from what others tell me, you are just. If Hermione Granger was not the person who tried to kill you, would you be willing to help her then?"

Draco felt his heart beating loudly. "Who else is responsible, do you think?"

A strange look crossed her face, but it disappeared before he could properly interpret it. "What I think on that subject is not important now. There is no proof either way. But what we can prove," and here she turned a hopeful gaze on him, "what I hope we can prove, is that it was not Hermione. I don't think the Aurors really considered all possibilities when investigating the case – they simply assumed guilt. So that is what I was hoping to convince you to do: consider the possibility that it was not her, and if we can prove it together, then speak up. Only if we can – you would not have to defend her without being convinced that she was never your enemy."

Draco considered this. "I certainly would prefer that the person who actually did it is punished rather than an innocent pawn." His voice gave nothing away as he added: "Did Dumbledore ask you to do this?"

"No." She shook her head. "Professor Dumbledore is currently at the International Confederation of Wizards. This is entirely my own doing."

She was probably telling the truth, he thought. And if this could help them find any evidence that it had really been Dumbledore...

"What would you have me do?"

She gestured to the Pensieve. "To start, would you be willing to share your complete memories of the duel?"