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Chapter 7: Tribulations and Trials

Author's Note: A special thank you to my new Beta Great Writer Sarah, who read, beta'd and returned this in less than 24 hours. You're the best!

The sun was just breaking over the mountains to the southeast as a very weary Harry and Hermione walked into the great hall, which had been converted to a field hospital. Gone were the tables and benches; in their places were rows upon rows of hospital beds with patients being tended to by a small army of Healers and Nurses. The early morning light streaming in through the windows gave the scene an eerie feeling of tranquility.

"H-Harrry," a faltering voice called out. He looked down to see Sergeant Barlongo, her face a mass of bruises. "Is it true, Harry? Is he gone?"

Harry nodded.

"Good," the sergeant said, and closed her eyes to rest.

Harry scanned the beds, seeing too many familiar faces.

"Harry's here!" a hoarse voice shouted. Then a single patient began to clap. He was joined by many others and soon the entire great hall was a cacophony of cheering, whistling and applauding.

Harry's face was hot; he was proud to the core of his being, not because of anything he did, but because of what all these brave souls had done. They had stood beside him, even when there was no hope of victory, and fought until they could not fight any more.

"Shouldn't they lie quietly?" Harry asked a nearby healer.

"Not at all, Mr. Potter, not at all - best medicine in the world right here!"

Calls of "speech, speech!" echoed through the hall, and Harry allowed himself to be led to the raised area where the teacher's tables would normally have been found. He stepped gingerly around the large cauldrons of potions brewing there.

The hall quieted as he faced the rows of wounded. He had no idea what to say, so he said so.

"I have no idea what to say, so this will likely be short."

Chuckles and spatters of applause.

"I do know that I'll never forget today. I will never forget how, on this day, you stood up to three hundred Death Eaters and three times that many dementors and, with the help of some very good friends, beat em'!"

Applause and cheers.

"I know I'll never forget today, and neither should any of you. Tell your friends, your family, tell the world that never again, never again will we allow our peace, our world to be threatened by any so-called dark lord. Tom Riddle was just a man, a bigot with power who should never have been allowed to become the threat that he did. We elect our leaders, right?"

A resounding "Right!" echoed through the hall.

"Then elect leaders who will serve our community, not just their own selfish interests!"

"Harry Potter for PM!" shouted one patient, to cheers of approval from all the others.

Harry smiled and waved for silence, "No, I am no politician, but whoever does run will be under the watchful eyes of the Order and the DA, right?"

"Right!"

"Let the ministry know we will not stand idly by and let things continue as they have. We will have proper representation, proper laws, and proper enforcement!"

At just that time the Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, entered the great hall, which became very quiet.

"Harry. If I may?" the minister asked.

Harry nodded and gave the minister the floor.

"First off, I have to say, well done all!"

There was a flash from a photographer's camera, which exploded when Scrimgeour leveled his wand at it.

"Sorry about that, Harry, everyone," he said wincing, "Comes with the territory I'm afraid; every word out of the MoM's mouth is newsworthy. Well, I for one refuse to use this as an opportunity for political capitol."

Harry's respect for the man skyrocketed at that point.

The Minister continued. "Good people died today, and thirty seven Hogwart's defenders are as good as dead, kissed by dementors. As of this moment Great Britain is no longer a dementor-friendly zone - those soul-sucking demons are to be treated as the pariahs they are. No good ever came from employing them and this administration will not perpetuate the disastrous policies of the previous one."

Applause from the hospital beds.

"Mister Potter said it best, never again! We will not tolerate the actions of terrorist cells with delusions of grandeur. The next wizard or witch who tries to take on the mantle of dark mage will do so at their own peril, their own /morta/l peril!"

Greater applause from the great hall.

"All those who fought today will be recognized forever as the Champions of Hogwarts, and will be asked to wear the Hogwarts crest on the lapels of their robes or clothes; so that all may know that we stood here today holding the line against evil while the rest of the wizarding world hid beneath their beds."

Applause.

"As positions open in this administration they will be filled with the most qualified people, but you champions will be given preferred status by virtue of your actions here today. And any organization that does business with the Ministry of Magic or Her Majesty's government must, by law, follow the same guidelines!"

More applause.

"Those whom Sergeant's Barlongo or Weatherford have certified may report to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at your earliest convenience to begin your careers as aurors. Welcome aboard, erks!"

Applause punctuated by laughter.

A lone voice called up from the back row. "What about Jonesey and Cattral?"

The Minister's face fell.

"They didn't make it son. I'm sorry. But rest assured, their fine work in training you lot to be the fighting machines you are was duly recorded in the office of the DMLE as well!"

The hall grew quiet again.

"The freedoms we enjoy today have been bought at a terrible price. We will never forget that!"

No applause, but murmurs of assent throughout the great hall.

"I've taken up too much of your time. As your commander in chief I leave you with one order - get well soon . . ."

The leonid man winked at Harry and continued. "'Cause we're gonna' have one hell of a party as soon as you do!"

Cheers all around.

As he was preparing to leave the hall the Minister pulled Harry aside. "When you get a chance, we need to talk. All right son?"

"Sure thing - dad."

Scrimgeour looked shocked for just a moment, and then chuckled, "Cheeky git", clapped Harry on the shoulder and limped away.

Harry called to one of the healers and asked, "Who is in the worst shape here?"

He was escorted to a bed where a young auror lay. He had been made as comfortable as possible and given a sleeping potion, then left with a single nurse in attendance; not for any lack of care or concern for the young man, but his injuries were so extensive there seemed little that could be done.

"He's resting quietly," the healer said. "That's all we can hope for." The healer rubbed his eyes and continued. "We can mend or replace every broken bone in his body, but there is just too much soft tissue damage. His internal organs have been essentially liquefied and he only has half of one working lung to keep on with. It's amazing he's hung on as long as he has."

"What's his name?"

"Pierce, Randall Pierce - he's a 'probie,' just out of auror training," He brightened as he said, "As are you I hear, congratulations Mr. Potter."

"Harry, just Harry please," he said as he concentrated on Auror Pierce's wounds. Holding the Ravenclaw stone allowed Harry to 'see' the internal injuries and the healer was right; his insides looked like so much goo.

Randy Pierce was out on his boat as usual, looking through its glass underside at the sandy bottom, trying to spot some good lobstering spots. He saw what looked like a jumble of flat rocks stacked helter-skelter on the sea-bed at a depth of about 6 meters. He dropped the anchor and slipped on his fins before donning his mask. He simply stepped off the back of the boat and pointed his head down kicking with long efficient strokes to have a look at the promising site. He'd just equalized the pressure in his ears for the second time when he heard a soft, feminine voice.

"Randy."

He looked around and saw a beautiful young woman with chestnut brown hair wreathing her face.

"Hello, Randy"

"Hello," he answered before he realized he shouldn't be able to talk underwater. "I am dreaming aren't I?"

"Yes, you are, and I need you to tell someone something as soon as you wake up, alright?"

"Um, sure?"

"Good answer," the young girl laughed.

Randy noticed that the young woman had become a twelve year old girl with frizzy hair and a slight overbite.

She looked far too serious for one as young as she said, "Friendship and bravery, alright Mr. Pierce? Just tell him friendship and bravery."

Harry lifted the stone from the young auror's chest and used its properties to look again at what had been massive thoracic trauma.

"What d'you think, healer?"

As the healer waved his wand and peered through his crystal he was flabbergasted. "He's gonna make it. Sweet Merlin on a bike, he's gonna pull through!"

"Take me to the next worse case."

As the healer began to walk away Harry felt a cold hand grab his wrist. He turned quickly; ready to hex someone when he saw Auror Pierce staring into his eyes.

"Friendship and bravery," he said very clearly. "Friendship and bravery."

Harry was taken aback at the statement - he remembered hearing it so many years before.

"Where did you hear that?" he asked, but the auror had already gone back to his healing sleep.

No one noticed the dark shape of the dementor as it sank into the floor, returning to the kitchens through the vent just beneath the young auror's bed.

Harry took the Founder's Jewel to the worst of the casualties and was able to affect a cure, or at least significant improvement in every case. He asked about the dementor-kissed and was led to a large classroom where about three dozen men and women sat, lay or walked about aimlessly. Some of them had terrible wounds from spellfire but seemed not to feel any pain.

"Poor sods," said the young healer bearing a name tag that read 'Jones.' His voice, heavy with sadness, continued. "Truly better off dead."

Hermione opened the door and called softly "Harry?"

"I don't think we need to whisper here, Hermione. I don't think any of these guys care if we make any noise."

Hermione looked at the vacant expressions of the people in the room and a single tear rolled down her face.

"I had a granddad. He was fun, and funny, and oh so smart, and one day he went away."

Harry looked up from the last of the injured soul-robbed casualties "He died. I'm sorry."

"No, he didn't die. He had a stroke, which left him in a state like - like . . ."

Harry stood and gathered Hermione into his arms.

"It's not fair," she sobbed. "They didn't deserve this, oh god Harry, don't let me become like this, please, I'd prefer living in a bathroom for fifty years as a ghost to this . . ."

Harry thought for a moment. "Myrtle?"

"Yes?"

Harry looked confused for a moment. "No, I mean I'd like to find Myrtle. It was her idea to possess the inferi. If I could, I'd pin a medal on that sweet little specter. She really came through for us today."

Hermione smiled and wiped the tears from her face, "She'll be glad to hear that . . . Ron?"

Harry turned and saw Ron Weasley shuffle toward them. He stopped in front of them and stared past them at a window.

"Ron?" he whispered.

The boy that had been Ron Weasley looked at Harry, groaned, and then loudly fouled his pants.

The healer came over and performed a cleaning spell on Ron and his clothing before the smell became too overpowering.

"I'm afraid that's about all they can do," the healer said by way of apology. "It's a full time job just keeping this lot provided for; y'know, feeding and cleaning and the like."

"Isn't there anything we can do for them?" Hermione asked.

"I'm afraid not Miss, just keep em' fed and cleaned until they just . . . stop."

"How long before that happens?" Harry asked.

"Depends, sometimes they just last a few days, sometimes a lot longer. There's a story 'bout a KPoA, y'know, 'Kissed Prisoner of Azkaban,' anyway the story goes he kept goin' for almost thirty years before he just, well, realized he was dead and just laid down."

"If they got their souls back . . ." Hermione began.

"Never happens" the healer interrupted. The soul's in a dementor, and near as we can tell they feed on souls. They absorb the soul or 'life force' or consciousness or whatever you want to call it and that's that."

"Surely these people can be rehabilitated?" Harry argued. "They're not brain damaged, just brain drained, right?"

"Technically, that's true" the healer conceded, "but the real curse of the 'kiss' is that it also steals a person's will to live."

Another voice called from the door. "Then I'll become their will, Healer Jones."

Harry spun toward the door and said, "Ginny?"

Ginevra Weasley entered, her head shaven, she wore what looked like black and white striped pajamas under a thin grey cloak. Her scalp was still red from Dean's spellfire, but it didn't look as though it would scar.

"Yes Mr. Potter, but please excuse me. I'm required to report to Healer Jones."

"So they went for it, did they?"

"Yes Healer, I will be responsible for the Kissed who were not marked by the Dark Lord."

"And your magic?" the healer asked.

"My magic has been bound to the purpose of caring for the Kissed."

"And the death eaters who have been kissed?" Harry asked.

Ginevra winced "Your Israelites have already transported them to Azkaban, where they will be looked after in the usual manner."

Harry was thoughtful, "Seems to me there should be no difference between any of those who have been dementor kissed. The Death Eaters are going to suffer but will have no memories of why they are being punished. Seems pretty pointless to me."

The youngest Weasley squeezed tears from her eyes and whispered "Harry, please convince the Wizengamot. I tried to tell them but my voice counts for less than nothing now. But you, you killed the Dark Lord, they'll listen to you."

She took her brother's arm and led him to a chair where she began to speak very softly, as if to a baby. "Hello Ron. Can you say Ron? It's Ginny, Ron. We're going to make you better." She continued in that vein as Harry led Hermione from the room.

"Healer Jones?"

The young healer looked up from his clipboard.

"What was that about in there?" Harry asked.

"Oh, yeah" Jones replied, "I was working on her burns - we had to shave her head to treat her scalp properly, you know."

Harry nodded.

"While we were working on her injuries, I was commenting to the attending nurse that it was a shame that we were going to have to commit nurses to care for the Kissed when they were so desperately needed elsewhere, and our patient up and asks 'Why not me?'"

"'Why not you what?'

"'Why not let me take care of the Kissed. It can't be that much different from child minding and I've done that.'

"So I used a Quik-Quill to take dictation, which I sent off to the Wizengamot proposing to allow Ginerva Weasley to be committed to community service with the Kissed rather than have her languishing in a cell in Azkaban. Apparently they went for it - she's in the uniform of a 'trustie', and she's already working with the Kissed."

"That was fast. No trial?"

"Not when the accused suggests his - or in this case her - own sentence, and that sentence if deemed acceptable by the High Court."

"What about Draco Malfoy?"

The healer shrugged. "Don't know the gentleman."

"He's no gentleman, but I have to say something at his trial. He gave us the break that defeated the dementors. Without him we'd all be like this lot in here, but without anyone to care for us."

"If you're going to do it you'd best go now. The trials are going on even as we speak."

He spied a familiar pointed hat from across the great hall and shouted, "Headmistress McGonagall!"

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"May I use your Floo to get to the Ministry building?"

"Of course. Do you remember the way?"

"Yes ma'am. Thank you, Professor."

He turned to call for Hermione and saw her asleep in a chair where she had sat just a moment before to 'rest her feet a bit.'

He touched his forehead to hers and said softly, "Get some rest. I'll find you when I get back."

He ran to the gargoyles, both of which slid out of his way without incident.

"Thanks," he said as he ascended the spiral stair.

"Yur welcome," a gravely voice replied.

Harry grabbed a handful of powder and flung it into the fireplace. He called to the flames "Ministry of Magic" and stepped through.

He spun out of the fireplace in the lobby of the ministry building and ran to the security desk to present his wand.

"Please go in, Mr. Potter. As a qualified auror you have unlimited access."

Harry nodded and ran to the lift.

"Floor please?" came the pleasant female voice.

"Wherever the death eater trials are being held," he said shortly.

"Tenth floor then."

The lift was agonizingly slow to descend but eventually clanked to a halt.

Harry ran down the now familiar corridor and burst through the double doors.

The scene below was also familiar: the chair, the chains, the full gallery of purple robed judges. The prisoner in the chair was barely conscious, his chin lolling on his chest, the half singed platinum blond hair unmistakable.

Harry nearly spat the name. "Malfoy!"

Those nearest Harry looked up in shock as the once again hero of the wizarding world stood at the top of the stair. One by one they stood and began to applaud. Harry descended the steps leading to the prisoner's chair. As other members of the Wizengamot noticed the young wizard, they also stood to applaud. Draco raised his head and focused on the object of everyone's adoration, his one good eye squinting in the harsh light. He didn't really recognize Harry until he was nearly standing next to him.

In a clear voice Harry called out, "Members of the Wizengamot, who represents this man?"

A short, plump, haggard looking gentleman waddled up to the witness chair and said, "Cyrano Cuthridge, Mr. Potter. Public Defender."

"Doesn't the Malfoy family have a law firm on retainer?"

"I'm afraid that law firm has been disbarred."

"Can the defendant have a change of venue to allow his council to prepare a proper defense?"

"I am his council, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Malfoy has already submitted his plea: /nolo contendo/, no contest."

"May I speak for the accused, Mr. Cuthridge?"

"Well, this is highly irregular . . . but please proceed Mr. Potter."

"Potter," Draco croaked, "don't do this, just let it be."

"I can't, Draco." Harry smirked. "That'd be too easy."

"Before you pass judgment on this man, may I speak on his behalf?"

The Supreme Mugwump and Chief Wizard of the Wizengamot gestured, palm up, for Harry to continue.

"You see before you one of the worst examples of pureblood supremacists it has ever been my displeasure to know. He has gleefully assaulted me, my friends and anyone who didn't spout the same racist, purist tripe that he did. He took the Dark Mark while still a student at my school and made it possible for that school to be invaded by Voldemort's Death Eaters last year."

"Please Potter, stop helping me!" the blond boy rasped.

"In the past two months he had repeatedly sexually assaulted another friend of mine, who was forced, under great duress, to accept the Dark Mark as well."

"Why don't you just kick me through the veil now and be done with it Potter?" Draco hissed.

"Just one thing, though, and this is very important. If Draco hadn't passed on vital information to the defenders of Hogwarts, we would have been overrun by dementors, and instead of sitting in judgment of this man, you would be having your own last stand against those soul-sucking bastards!"

"Jeezus Potter, you just had to do it didn't you?" Draco coughed up blood, and Harry was by his side the healing stone in his hand.

"Draco, you're all busted up inside. Why are you here when you should be in a hospital bed?"

"Because aurors figured I'd just be a waste of resources. I'm going to be put through the veil in a few minutes so it won't matter."

Harry stood, eyes blazing and demanded "Members of the Wizengamot, who brought this man here in this condition?"

Shuffling of papers ensued, and the clerk announced, "Aurors Dawlish and Hart."

"Is it the policy of the Wizengamot to place a man on trial who could very well die before the proceedings conclude?"

"No Mr. Potter, it is not." The Wizengamot's Chief Judge narrowed his gaze at a spot reserved for MDLE witnesses.

"May we please place Mr. Malfoy in medical custody until such time that he may be found fit to stand trial?"

The Judge struck the dais with his staff and intoned, "So mote it be, Mr. Malfoy will be remanded to St. Mungo's criminal ward until he is cleared fit to stand trial by a competent medical authority. Court is recessed for a period of two hours. Mr. Dawlish, Mr. Hart, I will see you in my chambers immediately."

Two aurors approached the witness chair. "We'll take him from here, Mr. Potter."

"Half a tick, please" Harry said as he moved the healing stone over the worst of Draco's injuries. "You wouldn't want him to die on you before you could get him to St. Mungo's, would you?"

Both aurors nodded their thanks. They were evidently more professional or perhaps a bit more compassionate than the two that had brought the burned and bleeding Malfoy in.

Harry turned to see Dawlish and Hart leaving the judges' chamber looking thoroughly cowed, followed closely by the Wizengamot's Chief Justice.

"Sir, um, your honor?" Harry called out in a half whisper, half shout.

The judge recognized Harry and strolled over to take his hand, "Very good to meet you at last Mr. Potter. Although I have seen you here and about, we've never been introduced. I'm Alfred Vance - I believe you've met my granddaughter, Emmeline?"

"Yes sir, member of the Order. Is she, um, is she okay, sir?"

"Oh yes, she was on the battlements with some of the aurors. They all tell me you acquitted yourself very well, young man, very well indeed."

"Thank you sir." Then, changing the subject slightly, Harry asked, "What will become of Draco Malfoy?"

"My personal opinion or my legal opinion?"

"Both, either, whichever you're willing to share sir."

The old barrister looked thoughtful, "Nothing good I'm afraid. He's a marked Death Eater and you know what that means?"

Harry nodded.

"He has blood on his hands, and is legally culpable for the death of the former Wizengamot Chief, you understand?" Seeing Harry nod, he continued. "Add to that the accusations of other Death Eaters today, and Mr. Malfoy is in a very bad light. Essentially he had one foot in the veil before you gave us our impromptu recess. Now, he will either face a lifetime in Azkaban or a very short life as I understand the young woman he's been sexually abusing this summer has a father and six brothers?"

"Five living, sir, and one who was kissed," Harry explained.

"So that's six male family members who can, at any time, legally call out Mr. Malfoy to settle the issue of rape."

"By dueling, sir?" Harry asked.

"No, Harry. Public flogging followed by castration," the judge clarified.

_____ooo000_____

Author's note: "Erk" is a Briticism for rookie.