The People Who Look and Think Like You
“…and while I know that no action can undo the mistakes of my past,” Lucius rehearsed, “I throw myself upon the mercy of the court in the hopes that my most sincere apologies…”
Draco felt the blood rush to his face as he held his head upside down, reclined over the arms of the chair. He had heard his father practice this speech so many times, Draco was confident that he himself could have given the testimony in front of Wizengamot.
Not that he didn’t understand his father’s obsessive attitude towards his rehearsal. The war was over and Lord Voldemort had been dead for months, but the trials for war criminals were only just beginning. Under the authority of the new Ministry of Magic, anyone who could be tried was. Moreover, it wasn’t just proven Death Eaters. Civilians who has helped hide injured followers of Voldemort and provided other means of support were being tried as coconspirators, and a fair amount of students were being tried as spies with even the filmiest of evidence. Therefore, with the public belief that the Malfoy family had gotten away with their involvement in the first war, Wizardgamot would leap at the chance to convict every one of them when they got the chance this time; effectively snuffing out the entire family.
Across from Draco, his mother sat on the sofa, reading the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. She appeared calm, the most relaxed person in the manor, and with good reason. She was the only member of the family whose immediate future did not rest in the hands of the courts, all thanks to the benevolent efforts of ‘Saint Potter’. There was no doubt in Draco’s mind that the only reason his mother would not be subject to the mercy of Wizengamot was because Potter had come to the judge and regaled them with the touching story of how Narcissa Malfoy had risked her own life by lying to the Dark Lord by telling him Potter was dead.
All for the love of her family…
“The Dark Lord’s power reached out into the wizarding community in ways most can never even begin to understand,” Lucius continued further into his speech, now reaching the part where he played to the greatest sympathies of the war-scarred members of the courtroom. “So many have suffered under the regime of the Dark Lord and those who did not follow him willingly were made to pay, especially if the families could be branded as blood traitors. I did what I thought was necessary to protect those I love, but in then end, I was forced to learn that even those who obeyed the Dark Lord were granted little more mercy than those who fought against him…”
Draco would always find himself scoffing whenever he thought of Potter’s so-called valiant efforts. Potter showed exactly how much he cared for the welfare of the Malfoy family by saying nothing to spare Lucius and Draco from their impending fate in front of the judges. Potter cared so much for Narcissa’s family that he created the possibility that it would be taken away from her, leaving her all alone in Malfoy Manor. Potter had given Narcissa a life no different than when her family had been in the grips of Lord Voldemort.
“MERLIN-BE-DAMNED!” his mother suddenly screeched, halting her husband’s words. “How little pride does the Ministry believe we have?”
Draco snapped his head back up just in time to see his father rushing to his mother’s side. Narcissa’s eyes became large and wide as though she were trying to take in every printed word in an instant. Slowly, Draco pushed himself up out of the armchair and made his way over to his mother’s side. Soon enough, he was able to see exactly what had put her in such frenzy.
“I can’t remember the last time that the Wizengamot has faced such a cluster of trials,” prosecutor Edmond Alexander says as the waiter brings our lunch. “So many proven collaborators of Lord Voldemort, each with different crimes, each getting separate trials; there simply aren’t enough hours in the day!”
Alexander is not alone in his worries. With record numbers of trials occurring since the fall of Lord Voldemort, Ministry prosecutors are overworked with little hope of relief in the very near future. The highly publicized trials of proven Death Eaters, as the Daily Prophet has been informed, barely represent a fraction of the sheer number of cases on the impending docate of the Wizengamot.
But a recently created potion called Minuo may bring some of the more minor cases to a close. Greece-residing Dejan Ved, the creator of the potion, could not be reached for comment, but Arthur Weasley of the Ministry has released an official statement as to the potion’s effects.
“Minuo is a potion recently created by the Potion Master, Dejan Ved. In Ministry conducted testing, it appears to suppress the drinker’s natural magical abilities, chemically making them the rough equivalent of a Squib. A similar form of chemical probation is used in the Muggle justice system, highly effectively. From everything we’ve seen, the effects of the potion appear to be permanent and irreversible. By choosing this option, those accused will not stand trial. This would relieve the stress imposed on our legal system and spare themselves and their family’s the embarrassment of a very public court battle. In the end, the Ministry believes that the more people that choose this option, the easier it will become for all those involved.”
“There are so many witches and wizards on the docate that could go on to lead productive lives in society,” Alexander explains, “I’m not certain Azkaban is the answer for a lot of them, and this potion will take away their means to reoffend.
“The option of the potion will be restricted to spies and Death Eaters who are not charged with use of one of the Unforgivable Curses,” Alexander confides. “This may not seem like much, but the decision comes as a welcome relief to me and many of my colleagues.”
The Ministry has opened the Minuo Administration Board, of which Mr. Weasley has been appointed temporary chair of, to distribute the potion, although it has no estimates for now many people will accept the offer. Owl notification will be sent to those who are eligible.
For as silent as the manor had been, the vocallity of the Malfoy family now more than made up for it.
“Damn that Weasley!” Lucius took off first, seeming to take a great amount of restraint to not kick at the sofa his wife was seated on. “Of course that Muggle-loving blood traitor would be behind a decision like this!”
“What was the Ministry thinking when they agreed to this?” Narcissa asked, a painfully sharp shriek in her voice. “Why would they think anyone who once followed the Dark Lord would even consider…this?”
The paper taken from Narcissa’s hands, Draco watched as his mother resorted to taking out her still-seemingly restrained feelings by scratching at the material of the sofa. Her nails dug deeply into the punished upholstery, leaving marks as though it were a motionless animal gored by a wildcat.
“Well, good riddence to anyone who does!” Lucius snapped as he snatched the paper from his wife, folding it in half. “Anyone who would willingly surrender their abilities just to avoid a slap on the wrist from the Wizengamot doesn’t deserve to call themselves a wizard!”
“Wipe out the weak-hearted!” Narcissa pushed herself to her feet. She didn’t even seem to care when her husband kicked at an umbrella stand, leaving a very visible dent in the plaster of the wall. Nor did she even bat an eye when the stand bounced back and the metal smashed against his shin, causing him to swear in an excessively loud, un-Lucius-like manner.
Back and forth, almost like a tennis match, Draco watched his mother and father argue. Although he wasn’t quite sure it could be called arguing or even debating because they were agreeing with everything the other said. It was more like a pleasant conversation that they just happened to scream at each other: anger just for the sake of being angry.
Draco’s father paced across the room, almost like a trapped animal, and his mother shook violently even as she stood still. Now that Draco thought about it, his family had been living much like trapped animals for these past few months. All these bottled feelings of frustration were finally starting to seep out. Even though the exchanged words were loud and escalating in intensity, the both of them still seemed restrained in their expression. But it seemed like it would only be a matter of time before they came bursting forth like water from a broken levy.
Draco went back to his armchair, taking on the role of the spectator, and allowed his parents to carry on with whatever they were doing.
“And what of the people who do choose this?” Narcissa spat out the last word of her sentence. “Within weeks, the streets will be littered with these former wizards who simply keeled over from cold or starvation.”
“Then just let them!” Lucius shouted, opening the sitting room door just so he could slam it shut. “I only hope this Minniota-potion, or whatever it’s called, will spread to their good-for-nothing offspring too! The last thing our world needs is any little brats raised with such weak-willed ideals! The epidemic of diluting blood is bad enough, but to introduce these whelps into…”
His father’s words continued to pour out to all those who listened, but Draco decided he wasn’t going to be among them. This was all part of the collective speech he had heard echoing through his family home for as long as he could remember. He didn’t need to sit and listen to it slurred out once again to know what his father’s opinions would be…
“Draco,” his mother called out to him as he left. “Draco, where are you going?”
“Nowhere,” he answered, not bothering to shut the door behind him.
What he had heard from his family just now was all the clarification he needed.
Later that night, after the house had grown dead silent once again, Draco sat up late in his bedroom. With no house elves and no servants, and certainly no in the Malfoy family who would take the time to clean, even withthe use of magic, the manor had fallen into a dingy state of chaos.
In the center of it all, Draco sat reclined against the headboard of his bed, atop the unmade and wrinkled sheets, rereading a letter he had gotten weeks ago, but that he had not even informed his parents of its existence.
Dear Draco Malfoy,
As you may already know, the Ministry of Magic will soon begin the trials of Death Eaters and other conspirers of Voldemort. The sheer number of pending cases has been nothing short of overwhelming for all those involved, and there seems to be little hope of any relief in the near future.
Due to the unpreparedness of the Wizengamot for handling such a cluster of trials, a second option is being offered to those indited with considerably lesser offences. You, Draco Malfoy, currently stand accused of conspiring with Lord Voldemort and membership as a Death Eaters. However, you have no record of performing an Unforgivable Curse during these services nor obstruction of Ministry or resistance effort. Your sentence would be mild, a few years in Azkaban at most, yet your trail would take up no less time than those convicted of more heiness crimes.
This is why the Ministry has selected you, among a few dozen others, to participate in a pilot program the Ministry is experimenting with. Recently, a potion has been created called Minuo. The potion is still in the testing phases, but from all that has been observed, the potion chemically removes a witch or wizards natural magical abilities, making them the rough equivalent of a Squib. While this may sound like a somewhat drastic option, by choosing the Minuo Potion over your day in court, all charges will be dropped, full immunity will be given against any future involved charges, and it could very well be seen as a wonderful opportunity; a chance at a new life where no one will know where you came from or the shadows of your past.
By not choosing this option, though, you will stand trial, and it is more than likely you will be found guilty. These trials have been highly publicized events, and the Wizengamot will not be likely to be lax on anyone associated with the pain and suffering that Lord Voldemort has caused to Muggle and wizardkind alike. Dementors, close quarters, and nothing short of pure misery day-in and day-out for what could potentially be years. While the effects of Minuo appear, by all accounts, permanent, it has the potential to spare dozens of people from immeasurable amounts of pain and suffering; pain that won’t stop when the cell doors are finally opened.
Your first court appearance is scheduled for the 17th of November. If you have not contacted the Administration Board by that date, we will know that you have decided to take your chances with the Wizardgamot.
Whatever you choose, I wish you the best of luck.
Arthur Weasley, Chair of the Administration Board
Draco read the last passage of the letter again, and again, and again once more. It was a fairly generic-sounding letter, one of several dozen letters sent out to several dozen witches and wizards, a few small details specific to Draco’s situation.
When the letter had first arrived, delivered right to his bedroom window and over the heads of his parents, Draco hadn’t been sure what to make of it. At first, he had thought it was some kind of practical joke, especially when no other letters came for him. So either it was a joke by someone who wasn’t that committed to begin with, or the Ministry wasn’t truly caring about what they thought about whatever it was they believed his best interests to be.
Now that there had been an article about it in the Daily Prophet, though, there was hardly any doubting the authenticity of the letter.
However, even before he was certain the Minuo Potion was real, Draco had found himself considering the concept of it. Draco picked his wand up off the end table and began to twirl it in his fingers. It had been such an essential tool to him for so long, it had nearly become an extension of his own arm. When it had been stolen by Potter, he felt almost like an amputee, especially in the sense that even when it was gone, he could still feel it in his grip; almost like a phantom limb.
Now he knew he was going to lose it once again. Only this time, it would be up to him how he lost it: to the life of a Squib, or to a cell in Azkaban.
But his father and his mother both, in spite of it all, had been stressing the importance of pure blood and the pride attached to the Malfoy family name. How it was all still something worth maintaining and fighting to keep, no matter what the new Ministry said.
As though he were supposed to pretend he didn’t hear his father staying up for days at a time simply because he couldn’t face his demons in his sleep”or the shouts and screams that resulted whenever Lucius did try to sleep.
Draco read over the last paragraph of the letter one more time; the one describing all the horrors that waited for him in Azkaban, for what could possibly be more years than he wanted to consider. Of course, he didn’t need this letter to tell him. When his father had been release, he had witness his frail, ragged form, so unlike the powerful, regal father he had know growing up. Replaced was the shaking, frightened man who would jump at the slightest of movement and could not even look his own family in the eye.
A man Draco had then promised himself he would never become.
Thoughtfully, Draco folded the letter into thirds and placed in the side drawer. Then he laid back onto his pillows, resting on top of the covers, in an attempt to sleep. Reminding himself that he still had the ability to sleep.