49

Lucius Malfoy was not cooperating. It had been two weeks since his capture and, in that space of time; they had not been able to glean one piece of information from him. There had been no confession, no attempt to bargain with them and no mention of what he had done to the Potter girl. For once, the man remained silent.

"Where were you on the night of the twenty third of August two years ago?" the Auror asked for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Must we go through this again?" Malfoy drawled in a bored voice. "It is becoming rather tiresome."

"It will continue, Mr Malfoy, until you tell us what happened." The Auror would not let this man break him.

"And I have repeatedly told you that I will not offer you any information whatsoever until I am satisfied that she is safe." Despite having been locked up for two weeks in Azkaban, the man still held onto his arrogant and aloof manner.

"I assure you Mr Malfoy, she is perfectly safe." The Auror shook his head despairingly.

"I'm inclined to think otherwise. From what I have gleaned, it appears that the Minister and society in general are treating her most ill." He had managed to come by newspapers during his stay on this desolate rock and what he had read hadn't been good. Where they used to praise she and her brother for their bravery, they now sullied her name and called her a whore.

"Do you want to see her?" the Auror asked with an exaggerated sigh, finally giving in. He noted at the way the man's features picked up at the mention of such an opportunity. The Auror withdrew a square stone basin from beneath his chair. It looked vaguely like a pensieve, with runes carved around the sides and a swirling, iridescent mist within. With a wave of his wand, the mist withdrew to reveal an image of Kathryn's face. She was smiling and, having not yet lost track of time as one was so prone to do whilst interred in Azkaban, he knew that it was her birthday. He watched as she sat cross-legged on her bed and found the parcel that he had instructed to have sent. He smiled as he watched her reaction; she was happy and, unbeknownst to her, this anniversary of her birth would set into motion another chain of events that would place her in a very influential position indeed.

This pattern continued over the next few days. He would get to see her for a few minutes and know that she was alright. Then he would give them small pieces of information that were, for the most part, trivial; but they seemed to please the Aurors so he continued. This little window into her world, however, gave him a glimpse of events that the Ministry would have preferred to keep quiet. He watched helplessly as she was placed under house arrest in his own Manor and the Dementors descended upon her. He sat stoically and watched as they ripped every trace of happiness from her mind. Doubled over on the floor of the entrance hall, she tried in vain to transform into her Animagus wolf form; knowing that the Dementors had no effect on animals. She flitted between human and wolf appearance; unable to sustain herself long enough to remain transformed.

He betrayed no emotion as he watched her slowly deteriorate and his information steadily became useless facts that they already knew. The final straw came when, after the mist had parted, he saw his bedroom. Not a single thing moved and there was a sombre air about the place. There was a figure lying in the large bed; exactly in the centre, it did not move. As the enchantment allowed him to see closer, he felt a thrill of horror as the indistinguishable shape in the bed turned into that of the one person whose image he clung to in the dark hours of the night. She was lying motionless; her hair fanned out on the pillow as if she were some character in a fairy tale. Only the problem was that her face was ashen and her breathing was barely discernible. All the colour had drained from her cheeks and she looked, disturbingly, as if she was lying in state. All too suddenly the image vanished. He had noticed that the Aurors were showing him less and less, in exchange for more information.

"So, Mr Malfoy," the Auror questioning him began as the image vanished, "is there anything more you would like to tell us?" this was his chance.

"I would like to tell you," he drew himself up, making sure that every ounce of his disdain for this man and the Ministry was evident in his voice, "that you, and your Minister, are incompetent fools and I will refuse to cooperate until I am allowed to go to her." His tone offered no compromise and the Auror found this very unsettling.

"I'm afraid that is not possible," he tried to soften the blow but Malfoy would not be swayed.

"Can't you see what you are doing?" he spat angrily. "You are killing her for the sake of your reputation. I do not think the Minister would like to have the death of a war hero on his hands, would he?" his voice was laced with malice and the Auror before him was glad that the man did not have his wand. Had he enjoyed such an advantage, the Auror was sure that Malfoy would have hexed him into oblivion.

"I think that is enough for today." The Auror stood and gave his wand a wave. Malfoy felt the Dementors swooping down once more.

"You will kill her!" he yelled, not knowing what else to do. "You will kill the one thing I have left to live for! And then what? You will answer to her brother and Godfather!" he kept on shouting as he was dragged away to his cell. He did not know what impact his words had had.

As soon as he was gone, the Auror hurriedly travelled back to London where he had an urgent meeting with the Minister; showing him what Malfoy had seen. In turn, Fudge went to Dumbledore who spent several minutes gazing at the images of his former student.

"What do you think, Dumbledore?" Fudge asked earnestly. "Is it for real? Is she dead?" he clutched desperately at his bowler hat.

"She is not dead, Cornelius," Dumbledore told the Minister in a solemn voice, "but I fear that she soon will be." He was very afraid for the life of this girl that, for her entire life, he had protected as if she were his own daughter.

"The Dementors are under orders not to." Fudge stammered. The death of one of the Potters by his hand would be the end of his career.

"Their effect is enough. It appears, to me at least, that she has lost the will to live." His tone was grave and Fudge did not fail to grasp the severity of the situation. "I would go as far to say that she is dying of a broken heart." Fudge did not know what to do. He could not cave to the man's every demand, yet he could not leave her to die. "Let him go to her." Dumbledore said, as if reading his mind.

"What?"

"If she is so important to him, let him go. But also give her the benefit of the doubt. She has endured far too much to be able to cope with more slander and public attack." These words were not a request; they were an order. With a nod and a slight bow, Fudge stepped into the fireplace and disappeared in a whirl of green flame.