Project 137.43.M.D.

X. | COGITATIONIS POENAM NEMO PATITUR

X.
COGITATIONIS POENAM NEMO PATITUR
(nobody endures punishment for thought)

"So he's exactly the same prick he was back then?"

"He's worse."

Hermione had her face buried in her hands, her elbows propped up on the top of the ancient dining table that took up most of the Burrow's kitchen. Across from her sat Harry and Ginny, who had been exchanging worried looks ever since she had entered their home via the Floo Network.

Harry sighed, uncorked another bottle of Butterbeer and placed it in front of Hermione. It was so late that the children were long since blissfully asleep in their beds and, disturbingly, it was already her third drink. Nevertheless, she gratefully reached for the bottleneck and took a large gulp of the soothing cold beverage.

"But you're not scared of him, are you?" Ginny asked in alarm, frowning deeply. "Do you think he'd... go to extremes if you stepped on his toes?"

That seemed to be her biggest concern regarding the blond former Death Eater.

Hermione shook her head. About that, she was pretty sure.

"Not at all. He's nothing like he was in sixth year — or after." She paused, took another sip of her Butterbeer and tore her hair, which, after the exhausting day with Malfoy, was completely ruffled and no longer in the carefully pinned-up bun. "If I had to describe him, I'd say he's acting just like he did in fifth year. The only difference is that he's an adult now. So even more conceited and self-righteous, if that's even possible. Gods, that blasted Substitute!"

Although she was still staring stubbornly at the label on her beer bottle, she noticed the nods of agreement on the other side of the table. Ginny and Harry obviously shared her opinion.

"It wasn't the most brilliant idea to cram a promising Quidditch career into his Memory Modification," Harry grumbled. "When I first read the protocol, I could hardly believe my eyes. I should have planted the false memories of an unsatisfying life as an owlery attendant or pub cleaner in his head, not this dream they made up for him."

Ginny chuckled softly, but Hermione merely grimaced.

Yeah, that probably would have done the trick. A Malfoy who had been brought back down to earth after his supposed graduation from Hogwarts would have been much easier to handle. But Harry had had no control over the extent, let alone the content, of Malfoy's new memories. The creation of a Substitute was not the responsibility of the Auror Office, but that of the Obliviator Headquarters — and it was thoroughly supervised by the Wizengamot. The Aurors and Mentors who had to work with the ex-offender afterwards had no say in the matter.

Then again, the Offender Rehabilitation Act stipulated that the Substitute had to be based on the offender's likes and dislikes. There had to be a certain logical coherence with their former life. So, from a completely neutral point of view, a Quidditch career would have been perfectly conceivable for Malfoy if he hadn't been convicted, after all, he had been a very good Seeker in his school days. Still, it was annoying, to say the least, that it was now actually part of the Substitute.

"He bought a racing broom, for fuck's sake," Hermione huffed. "I'm already dreading the day he wants to fly it for the first time to prove to himself that he's still got it. At least he can play Quidditch. That'll help keep the whole charade going."

"When do you have to see him again?" Ginny asked.

Hermione rubbed her face as she mentally went through their upcoming appointments.

"Not tomorrow, thank Merlin. It's my weekend off and I really need it." That alone was an admission she'd never made before. "I think his first check-up at St Mungo's is on Monday. If I'm smart about it and he doesn't make any strange requests, I should be able to take him back to his flat directly afterwards."