The First Year

Worth a Thousand Words

Harry idly picked at the edge of a ragged fingernail, letting his thoughts drift. Shacklebolt was droning on, listing the charges levied against Lucius Malfoy. Courtroom Ten was packed to the rafters with reporters and spectators. He closed his burning eyes, badly wanting to press his cold fingertips to them, but highly aware anything he did would be picked apart and analyzed by not only the Wizengamot, but the press as well. Harry was tired. He was tired of rehashing the events of the previous year. Tired of feeling as if he needed to justify his decision to speak in defense of the Malfoys, although he understood why people might want to question his mental fitness. He was tired of everything he said getting filleted and diced until nothing resembling sense remained.

'Mr. Potter?' a youngish witch in the back of the Wizengamot called.

'Yes?' Harry replied warily. Starting with me today, eh? His eyes narrowed slightly. That's fine. Don't let them trip you up... They're just Bludgers... Bludgers in plum velvet robes.

'Assuming we hand down a sentence to Lucius Malfoy similar to the one we gave to his son, how would you address critics who believe your testimony was skewed in favor of Draco Malfoy and caused a known and acknowledged Death Eater to not only avoid Azkaban, but receive a much lighter sentence than he ought?' She sat back, staring at him expectantly.

Harry returned her gaze, his mind spinning. What would Hermione say...? he thought. Then a whisper of a long-ago conversation brushed through his mind. It's logic, he heard Hermione trill in his head. A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic... Harry laced his fingers together. That's it... Use logic. He cleared his throat. 'Honestly, if I was ordered to stay inside for a year, I might not mind so much,' he said, with a hint of self-deprecation. 'Maybe it's not so bad now, but what happens in five years? Or twenty? When he's watched constantly and every move he makes is reported to the Aurors and Magical Law Enforcement? And practically has to ask permission to walk out the front door of his house? What happens when he wants to take his child to King's Cross for the train to Hogwarts? And has to account for everything he does, or practically says. He's not allowed to come and go as he pleases...' Harry speared the young witch with what he hoped as a look that was even a fraction as severe as one McGonagall would have given her. Sirius wasn't in Azkaban in the end, he mused. Was just as much imprisoned then as he was before... 'Azkaban is just walls. What you've given Draco Malfoy is a prison of tiny daily humiliations that are only going to get worse the older he gets. You've infantilized him,' he said scornfully. 'And someone like him,' he added, gesturing toward Lucius with his chin, 'losing his status and privilege, and possibly his right to carry a wand. You might as well as sentence him to live the rest of his life as a Muggle. If you do all of that, he'll be no better, legally, than the creatures he's helped suppress for years.' Harry shrugged and squarely met the witch's eyes. 'Humiliation.'

She seemed taken aback. 'I... I see...'

'I'm sure you do,' Harry muttered. Actually, I'm sure you don't.

'And on that note,' Shacklebolt rumbled. 'Mr. Malfoy, what happened to your wand?'

'The Dark Lord took it,' Lucius drawled. 'And Potter somehow destroyed it.'

'Did you manage to acquire another one?' asked a wizard.

'No. The Dark Lord did not see fit to grant me another wand after mine was ruined. I've spent over a year unable to use magic, practically as useless as a Muggle because of it.' His upper lip curled in acute distaste.

'So you did absolutely nothing from the end of July nineteen ninety-seven until the end of the war?' asked an elderly witch skeptically.

'Aside from allowing my house to serve as a staging ground for the Dark Lord's machinations, no.'