The sight of the D.A. members, with their wands raised unfortunately heightened the reporters’ fever-pitch curiosity. They plunged the wounded members with questions until Parvati, the senior wounded member, stood up, the bandages she wore illuminated in the light of the numerous flashbulbs.
“You will leave, right now!” Parvati shouted angrily. “Or you will be removed by force.”
That threat might have actually worked, Harry thought, grimly. If they didn’t already know we were in no condition to “remove them.”
Totally unfazed a young reporter asked, “Are you the leader here, miss?” Automatically every reporter in the room started asking the same question or permutations of the same question, over and over again. Parvati, unfortunately, made the mistake of arguing with all of them at once.
“I’m not the leader here you daft brick!” Parvati snapped. “Harry is!”
One of the reporters, a young brown-skinned woman with black hair, finally seemed to notice Harry.
“Hey,” the reporter said with a rather diluted Middle Eastern accent on her voice. “Aren’t you Harry Potter?”
Oh, no, Harry thought. If I say yes, they’ll be all over me.
“Hey,” another reporter said in an American accent. “It is.” Then they all rushed forward asking questions. That was the least of their problems, however, as the confused and angry parents finally pushed through the reporters. When the parents of the wounded saw their children, they had the typical parental emotional response: they freaked.
First they rushed over and hugged them fiercely despite their children’s assurances they were all right. Then they noticed Harry.
“You,” A big, muscular, Indian man whom Harry’s assumed was the Patil twins’ father said angrily, glaring at him alongside his wife. “Now you will pay,” he said drawing his wand, his wife following.
The D.A. wasted no time; two Disarming charms flew in and hit them, knocking the wands from the Patils hands. Harry and everyone else in the room turned to see the Patils own daughters, the wands pointing in their shocked parents.
“Parvati, Padma!” Their father shouted. “I cannot believe this…” but Parvati cut him off as the remaining walking wounded drew their wands and stepped forward to join the twins.
“Harry is a great leader,” Parvati said defiantly. “You will not blame him! If you must blame anyone, blame You-Know-Who’s followers. We got these wounds fighting him to defend hundreds of innocents at a wedding.” Clearly truing desperately to make the case for the D.A.’s survival, Parvati walked over and grabbed Harry, saying. “Harry here, he… he…” Parvati stuttered, clearly emotionally affected by what happened to Ginny; “lost the love of his life when she, Ginny Weasley, led us into combat against them at that wedding. She was a wonderful and inspirational leader who was captured during that wedding. All we ask is the time to rescue her.” All Harry could do was stand there, mouth agape as she said these things.
All of this was, of course, gold to the reporters, who lapped it up like a dehydrated dog drinking water.
Not now Patil, Harry thought exasperated. You’re making things worse, though your hearts in the right place. Just as Harry decided to do the uncomfortable task of relieving her of duty in front of all these reporters, Hermione rescued him from the embarrassment and did it for him, still putting on the show for the reporters though.
“You Miss Patil,” Hermione said sternly, “talk too much.”
“But, Sir, I’m trying to save the D.A.,” Parvati said, confused.
“No one asked you too,” Hermione said. “No one said it was going to be forcibly dissolved as you apparently think.”
“But, Sir-,” but Hermione cut her off.
“That’s enough, Parvati,” Hermione said sternly. “You’re relieved. Go to the kitchen, sit down, and shut the hell up.”
“Yes, Sir,” Parvati said; and left the room.
The parents sat and glared at her and the rest of the D.A. until the Ministry officials pushed through along with six Healers from St.Mungo’s. The Healer in charge of the team, a thirtyish young woman with black hair introduced herself as Healer Lorena Damon.
“I’m here to look at your wounded,” was all she said.
“Very well,” Harry said, then called Parvati back out to be looked at by the Healers; they than moved aside to reveal Rufus Scrimgeour, the UK Minister of Magic, and his Head of Magical Law Enforcement, a stocky, bearded red-head by the name of Gawain Robards along with some Aurors and Magical Law Enforcement personnel.
“We need to talk,” was all he said. Harry sighed heavily. This had been a long time coming
“In the kitchen,” Harry said angrily, motioning for Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Luna to follow.
“Alone,” Scrimgeour said, trying to assert his authority.
“Anything you have to say can be said in front of them,” Harry said.
“Well, alright then,” Scrimgeour said irritated. Harry ordered the D.A. members who weren’t being treated to stand guard at the door. Robards gave the same orders to his personnel with the additional orders of “if they try anything, take them into custody.”
“So, Harry,” Scrimgeour said in the most amicable voice he said at the kitchen table. “You got disaffected with how we’re handling the war so you decided to take matters into your own hands is that right?”
“Well, basically, yeah,” Harry said sharply, not wanting to launch into a complete diatribe about the D.A. Especially for this man, who had done nothing in the past year of any consequence. He had thrown innocent people into prison and attempted several times to convince Harry to propagandize for the Ministry to make it look like they were winning a war they were losing.
“So when the wedding was attacked, how did you defend it successfully with only Stunning spells?” Scrimgeour asked curiously.
Harry sighed; he had dreaded this since he formed the D.A. This encounter was inevitable from the day they arrived at the Burrow. “We were forced to kill, we used Reductor curses.”
At this point Gawain stood up, clearly shocked and enraged. “So you admit your crimes!” He rushed over to the door and threw it open. “Place them under arrest, now!” The Ministry security officials, ten men and women who had sworn to obey their department head, drew their wands, preparing to fire Stunning spells. Needless to say, the D.A. officials did the same thing, and for a moment it looked like another bloodbath was about to ensue.
“Belay that order!” Scrimgeour shouted. They stopped, unsure who to obey.
Please, Harry prayed silently. Let them obey Scrimgeour. I don’t want two bloodbaths in one night.
“Stay where you are if you value your careers!” A few tense moments later, they chose to obey the Minister of Magic. They sheathed their wands as Harry ordered the D.A. members to do the same.
“Minister!,” Robards said, rounding on them both, shocked. “I cannot believe you’re actually considering letting them go free! They’ve flouted the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, openly used their powers around Muggles, and committed murder, my duty is clear! Your duty is clear!” When Scrimgeour looked unconvinced he said desperately, “We can’t allow twenty dangerous teenagers to run free when they’ve killed!” Clearly starting to lose control and rant, he shouted, “They’re no better than Death Eaters, they’ve killed! They need to be punished by our laws and-“ but Scrimgeour cut him off.
“Calm down, Gawain!” Scrimgeour shouted. “The Decree has provisions for using magic in self-defense and the defense of others,” the Minister said. “The Muggles were immediate family members of Muggle-borns wizards, they were already aware of our existence. As for the killings, they killed the sworn enemies of the entire human race. They’re more a help than a hinderance.” He then turned to Harry, “ I won’t lie to you, Harry. We came prepared for the possibility of arresting you all on what we read in Percy’s letter, but I no longer consider it necessary. You can remain in existence, with free reign to do whatever you have to do to win.”
He doesn’t mean any of this does he, Harry thought. Then he looked at Scrimgeour’s eyes and saw he was telling the truth. If he’s giving us this much power, Harry thought. The war must be going pretty badly worldwide. Now would be a good time to tell him about Draco.
“We caught a prisoner during the battle,” Harry said.
“That would explain the Veritaserum on the table,” Robards said. Harry noticed that the cauldron of Veritaserum indeed remained on the table, he had completely forgotten about it.
“Oh, Harry,” Scrimgeour said, sounding concerned. “Veritaserum interrogations are very tricky and for all you know you may have botched it.”
“For your information,” Harry said indignantly. “I had Hermione run the interrogation and I trust her implicitly in these matters.”
“Well, then I’ll talk to her about it,” He looked between Hermione and Luna and asked, “Which one of you is Hermione?”
Hermione stepped forward saying, “I am, sir.”
“How did you run this interrogation?” Scrimgeour asked.
“I shot him with a Stunning spell, poured the correct dosage down his throat, and then revived him,” Hermione began. “I asked him basic biographical questions as the drug took full effect. I then proceeded to ask critical questions about how the Death Eaters found out about the wedding, what they’re objectives were and so forth.”
“Interesting,” Scrimgeour said, sounding actually impressed. “And did you record this information?”
“Right here,” Hermione said, handing him the parchment she used to record everything Draco said.
“Very good, Miss-.” Scrimgeour waited for a last name.
“Granger, sir,” Hermione said.
“You are aware of the fact that Veritaserum isn’t fool-proof if ones strong enough, he or she, can lie even through Veritaserum?”
“Yes, that’s true,” Hermione said.
“What’s the prisoner’s name?” Roberta asked.
Hermione looked to Harry for permission, and when he nodded, she sighed and said, “Draco Malfoy.”
Both Scrimgeour and Robard’s faces dropped in shock.
“You mean,” Scrimgeour said darkly. “The Draco Malfoy? The one who was a secret Death Eater his entire time at Hogwarts and the one whom You-Know-Who originally ordered to kill Dumbledore?”
“The very same,” Hermione ordered.
“Can we see him?” Scrimgeour asked.
Just then, a young man, a Healer by the looks of him, strode in. “All the D.A. wounded are fine, Minister.” He said in an Irish accent. They were all flesh wounds, they can stay here and everything.”
“Can they work?” Harry asked.
“Oh, yes they can,” Harry asked.
“Good,” Harry said, getting up. He walked to the door and ordered Lavender, Terry, Justin, and Michael to escort them, the Minister, and the department head to view the prisoner. Which of course got the reporters riled up further, judging by the fact they tried to follow until the D.A. fired Stunning spells above their heads, causing them to thankfully back down.
The door to Draco’s cell consisted of solid metal and had a viewing slot in the top, and a feeding tray in the bottom. They looked in to see a small bed in one corner, a table in the center, and a reasonably well-stocked bookshelf. Draco was pacing around and rambling to no one in particular, as was normal when Veritaserum allowed to dissipate naturally in the body.
“We want him transferred to our custody immediately,” Robards said. Scrimgeour nodded clearly agreeing with his Head of MLE for the first time that morning, as it was now 0100 hours on June 22, 1997.
“No,” Hermione said immediately. “I want to interrogate him for every scrap of useful information. I want to reconstruct every Death Eater related activity he was a part of between the summer of 1996 and today, and I can’t very well do it if he’s in Azkaban now can I.”
“We can do that ourselves,” Gawain said. “Release him immediately.”
“But he’s my prisoner,” Hermione said, staring down the two men.
Scrimgeour sighed. “Fine. You can hold him indefinitely, but on the condition you share intelligence with the Ministry,
“Of course,” Hermione said.
“Now, I recommend you and your people get off Weasley property,” Harry said. “We’ll handle the press corps.”
Scrimgeour looked at him, and said. “Yes, we’ll leave, but we’ll be watching.” They walked back in, with the D.A. personnel gathered up his men and women and left.
As soon as they were gone, the reporters started hounding him again. But Harry yelled for quiet. The reporters mercifully stopped talking and listened.
“We will be holding a press conference tomorrow at noon,” Harry said. “In the meantime, every single one of you will go away and stay away until 11:30. Anyone caught on Weasley property before that time will be arrested. Now go!” Harry walked away back into the kitchen followed by his friends and the reporters who made one last plea for answers before leaving in a huff which they eventually did so the D.A. could pitch their tents and go to bed. Not before, however, Harry officially appointed Luna Lovegood “official press liason” because of her family’s “journalistic” background. however she would be required to read a press statement prepared by one of them, probably Hermione. They slept uneasily, their sleep punctuated by nightmares about the battle. Harry for example, dreamt about the faces of the people he killed, over and over again. Then the realization hit him, he had killed. He had taken lives and nothing would ever change that. He could only hope that all the killing was worth it.
Meanwhile hundreds of miles away, Ginny was dragged to a cell, thrown bodily inside, and had the door locked. She leaned against the stone wall and grabbed her head. God, this really hurts, Ginny thought. Then she remembered everything she said, and felt immense shame. After two hours of torture they had poured Veritaserum down her throat, and when the interrogation began, she spilled all. She had disgorged an entire list of every D.A. member, and told them about there equipment, and everything, all under Veritaserum.
Great, I’ve betrayed my friends, and they’re probably going to die, because of me, Ginny thought. At least they gave me the antidote. She hated the idea of rambling around and talking to herself, being more weak and useless than she already was.
“Ginny?” A young woman’s voice rang out from the darkness, startling her. “Ginny, is that you?” Ginny recognized that voice, it was the voice of Hannah Abbot?”
“Hannah?” Ginny said, not daring to believe it. “Is it really you?”
A young woman with blond hair stepped into the moonlight seeping through a barred window in the cell wall. Ginny saw that it was indeed Hannah Abbott. However, she looked like she had been through hell the past few weeks; her hair was tiny and unkempt, her clothes were torn and ripped, and she looked as if she hadn’t bathed or been in much sunlight in weeks.
Than again, Ginny thought. She probably hasn’t.
“So, how’ve you been?” Hannah asked, trying to sound cheerful, and not doing a very good job.
“Do you have to ask, Hannah?” Ginny responded harshly.
“Sorry,” Hannah said. “That was a little insensitive,” However, a moment later, she asked, “How did you end up here?”
“That question I’ll answer, Ginny responded. She promptly began a speech about the D.A. that lasted for forty-five minutes. When she got to the whole sending letters part, Hannah interrupted to say she go the letter Hermione sent.
“But I wasn’t sure about coming,” she said. “Then those Death Eater bastards attacked my house. They broke down the front door, and went for my Dad. He told me to run as he held them off, and I did. I got as far as the back of the house before more broke down the back door. One of them launched a Stunning spell at me. My wand was out so I blocked it with a Shield Charm and countered with one of my own. It made impact and he went down. Then they all fired at once, knocking me out. I was revived here.”
Then her eyes widened, “Ginny, do you know? Is my father alive or dead?”
Ginny sighed. She knew when she first saw her she’d have to answer this question. So, gathering her breath, she said. “I saw the Daily Prophet headline myself. Your father is dead.”
Tears welled up in Hannah’s eyes almost immediately. Her lips trembling, she said, “Oh, my God, he’s dead. I mean I suspected it, of course. But to finally hear it, I mean God…” She couldn’t hold it in anymore and broke down crying into her shoulder. After a minute Ginny hugged Hannah to her, and said, “Now I’ll keep telling you my story, and you,” she hesitated, unsure of what to tell her, “You just keep doing what you’re doing, if you want, Just keep crying into my shoulder and I’ll hold you.”
“Okay,” she said. So she kept holding Hannah as she cried and Ginny told the rest of her story. When she was done Hannah asked, “Did Ernie survive the battle?”
He was part of Neville’s unit,” Ginny said. “You’d have to ask him if he survived the battle. But I heard Neville ordering him to cover me during the battle, so I’d say he was alive last time I saw him.”
“Oh, thank God,” Hannah said, squeezing her closer. “Thank God.” A moment later, she said, her eyes wide with something else, shock, said “Ginny what did you say Hermione’s grandmother’s name was?”
“Jane,” Ginny said. “Jane Granger. Why?”
“There was an old Muggle woman who came in before I was. She’s asleep in the corner of the cell. She said her name was Jane Granger. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to risk waking her.”
“Hannah,” Ginny said severely. “If she’s Hermione’s grandmother I really need to know.”
“I’ll have to wake her up, though,” Hannah said. “But she’s very old, and we should wait until tomorrow.”
“Hannah, this is urgent,” Ginny said, severely. “This is urgent. Wake her, now.” She expected a curt, “yes, sir,” but Hannah’s hadn’t formally rejoined Dumbledore’s Army, so she wouldn’t hold her to it.
“Jane,” Hannah said. “Jane wake up, we have a new cellmate.” They heard the sound of a body shifting in the darkness, and the voice of the old woman rang out. “Hannah,” the woman said. “What is it?”
“We have a new cellmate, Jane.”
“Really, Hannah,” she said, sounding annoyed.
“She’s an acquaintance of mine from Hogwarts, Jane; remember the school I told you about?”
“Yes, yes, but did you have to wake me?” She said grumpily.
“She’s your granddaughter’s best friend,” Hannah remarked
“You know Hermione?” The woman said to Ginny.
“I’ve known her for six years,” Ginny said. “I’ve seen photos of you, but I want to be sure who I’m talking to really is Jane Granger.”
“Very well,” she said, getting up and walking into the moonlight. The woman was sixtyish years old, and had silver hair with hints of the original brown in it. Ginny recognized her as Jane Granger.
“Welcome to Montgomery Castle,” she said.
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