Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.

Author's Note: My biggest and most grateful THANK YOU to Bunnyhops for beta-ing this story and providing her invaluable feedback. You're a star! Although I know many readers on this site are from the US, I have chosen to stay true to British English spellings to the best of my ability. This is Part One in the series, Part Two to be released in the next month or so.

EARLIER

He wasn't sure how she had riddled it out. He'd been so careful not to let anything slip. Of course, he wasn't entirely surprised. She was brilliant. Too brilliant for her own good. But her clever investigation now gave him cause to be even more anxious - scared, even, if he would allow himself that admission. She came out from the shadows, intercepting him in the third-floor corridor. The moon illuminated them in cool, pale hues. He imagined that for how beautiful it made her look, he must look equally ghastly.

"Draco, please," her voice was hardly more than a whisper. Tears pricked at her eyes but refused to spill over. He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent his own and tried to swallow the rock that settled in his throat. It had been a very long time since he'd seen her cry. Somehow that detail added to the staidness of his situation.

"Go back to your dormitory and stay there. Don't leave. Whatever you hear, whatever you see, just stay up there. It won't be safe," the words tasted bitter as they cut across his tongue. Her silence was too much, and despite his best efforts he still could not stop the plea. "Please, Granger."

She shook her head and held out a hand. Her fingertips grazed the lapel of his jacket, so lightly he couldn't feel her touch, but it managed to burn him just the same. Heat flooded his cheeks.

"Harry isn't back yet. I don't know what's happened. Come with me, you don't have to do this. We'll go to the forest, or to Hagrid's... anywhere," she was reaching now, they both knew it. "Anywhere." She repeated. "I'll help you."

The silence that stretched between them was thick and heavy; suffocating. He didn't know what to do with it. They weren't lovers, weren't even friends, really, and he would freely admit, at this moment, that he didn't know much about being either. What they had was a very tentative understanding that sometimes masqueraded as trust, forged from an unspoken agreement to stop insulting each other now that real-world problems outweighed petty schoolyard barbs. There was also nagging at the back of his mind, an unsettling feeling that reminded him he didn't want her hurt. It wouldn't be right. He didn't know what to do with that, either. Since he'd probably be dead by morning perhaps he would give himself something, just this once.

"Hermione," There. He'd said it. "Go to bed."

Impulsively, he reached a hand out to touch one of her amber curls. Soft, so soft. He would hold onto that softness as the rest of his world turned hard and cold.

His touch was quick, gone before she could process it and before he could succumb to anything more. She blinked, and the tears dashed across her cheeks. Her chin wobbled. She wasn't crying for him, he knew. If anything, she was crying for Potter, for Dumbledore, for herself… for all the innocent people about to get hurt. Granger was like that. He'd tried. He'd warned her, at least.

The echo of his footsteps could not drown out the sound of her sniffle. He didn't know what possessed him to speak to her again, but he stopped some paces from where he'd left her.

"Be good." He said. He steeled himself as best he could, and then he walked away.

LATER

They saved his trial for last. He tried not to think that it was an intentional ploy to make him wait in Azkaban for as long as possible, but in such a dark, fearsome place it was impossible not to be pessimistic. They had separated him from his parents when they were brought into custody. Somewhere in the vast labyrinth of cells, they were on their own. He didn't worry much for his father, who he was quite sure would be found guilty - as he himself expected to be - but he couldn't stomach the thought of his mother suffering through this unforgiving prison. She would be scared for him as well, which made him feel infinitely worse.

He didn't eat what little they gave him, and he could not be persuaded to drink the murky, rust-toned water. He was wasting away, he knew but did not care. The days stretched by and the hunger pangs dissolved into a general blanket of pain that settled over him. A few more days still and he felt nothing at all.

At night he traced the stars and constellations that were visible through the bars of his window. He would fall asleep thinking of those celestial gods and their mythical lore but dreams always gave way to night terrors that left him shaking in a cold sweat. The eyes of the dying would fixate on him in their final moments.

You did this, they said wordlessly. Your fault, your fault, your fault…

The horror would end as Draco was enduring the Cruciatus curse, the memory of his own torture back to torment him once more. He couldn't be sure if it was his screams that would wake him in the night or not. Other inmates cried out too often to be certain. Eventually, he stopped sleeping.

The day of his trial dawned cold and clear. He hadn't known when his trial would be, and the guards didn't offer any information as they ordered him up and out of his cell. Someone performed a Scourgify - likely for their benefit rather than his - and he was put in shackles before being apparated into the ministry dungeons for holding.

Draco could hear arguing ask they placed him on a pedestal and raised him into the courtroom chamber. He squinted and recoiled against the bright lamp light, only to find spikes threatening against his back. He stood up a little straighter then and opened his eyes to face his accusers.

Kingsley Shacklebolt peered back at him from over the rim of the tall desk. For the first time since his arrest, Draco's palms began to sweat.

"Draco Abraxas Malfoy, your trial has concluded and the jury of this court will now read their verdict." Shacklebolt's voice boomed deep and rich across the room. "Madame Juror, if you will please read the verdict to the court."

So, that was that, then. He hadn't been allowed to be present for his own trial. It was over already, without having heard a word of it himself or being permitted any final statements. Truthfully, though, he couldn't be sure he wanted to make any. Had he been given any defence? He didn't know.

A mousy woman in drab ministry robes stood and cleared her throat. He closed his eyes once more.

"On count one, murder in the first degree of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the accused is found to be not guilty."

His eyes snapped open.

"On count two, sedition against the ministry, the accused is found to be not guilty."

His breath caught in the middle of a sharp exhale, and he choked.

"On count three, knowing and intentional use of the illegal Unforgivable Cruciatus curse, the accused is found to be not guilty."

The choke became a sob.

"Madame Juror, is your verdict unanimous?"

"It is, sir."

"Thank you, please be seated." Shacklebolt turned to Draco again.

"Mister Malfoy, the members of this court, having seen sufficient evidence and testimony, have found you not guilty on all counts. You are to be released immediately to begin a 24-month probationary period during which time your magic will be restricted and monitored. You will be assigned a location where you will be expected to remain for the duration of your probation. You will check in with your probationary officer every first and third Monday of the month and you will attend mandatory psychiatric counselling. At the end of this probationary period your case will be reviewed, and if found acceptable, your magic shall be unrestricted. Do you understand the conditions of your release as presented to you?"

"Y-yes," his voice cracked, dry and brittle from lack of use, and unsteady for sheer shock at his unexpected verdict.

"Mister Malfoy, I will say one more thing," Kingsley steepled his fingertips and leaned forward. "You are leaving here today a free man at the earnest and emphatic statements of your peers. This is in spite of the rather negative descriptions of your character. Make no mistake that this court could have made quite a different case without them. Do not waste that gift, Mister Malfoy. It is up to you to live the life they believe you capable of. I wish you luck."

They lowered him, numb and shaking, back down the chamber. Movement caught his eye as they operated the cranks and levies. Before he could disappear out of sight, he saw Granger pushing her way through the throng in a hurry. She blasted through the doors, and then they both disappeared. He shook so badly as they tried to remove his shackles that it took a great deal longer to complete the task than it should have. There was an official-looking woman who thrust a bundle of belongings at him, along with a thick manila folder.

"Your probation assignment, housing information, and monthly allowance," she said briskly before turning to leave. He flipped the folder open to the first page and caught the name of a town, clearly French, in bold.

"My parents?" He started. The woman hummed impatiently.

"Your PO will answer all your questions. He's waiting outside to escort you out."

She left, and he was alone to change his clothes. He wobbled on newborn legs, weak from imprisonment, malnutrition, and his pumping adrenaline. With some effort, he managed to dress and comb his hair with his fingers.

A man stood outside the door. His PO, he assumed. His face was old and hard but not unkind. He extended his hand for Draco to shake. He did. It was warm. He introduced himself as Rodger Binks, retired Auror turned parole officer. He didn't speak to Draco like the felon he deserved to be, and for that, Draco thought he might be able to like him.

Steps away from the atrium fireplaces he was stopped by a cry too familiar. As it got louder and more desperate, he turned.

Granger was running towards them, wild hair flying, flushed faced and out of breath. She was a different person than the girl he saw not so long ago on his mother's parlour floor. This woman was vibrant. She was wearing neat grey trousers and a burgundy blouse that made her eyes look like fire, but those eyes were nervous again.

"What are you doing here, Granger?" It was too reminiscent of last time and it made him uncomfortable.

"Malfoy - " she shook herself and started again. "It's going to be alright. You're going to be fine."

He started to put Kingsley's words together in his mind and realized with some shock what they meant.

"It was you, wasn't it?" he asked, incredulous. She looked shy. "Why?"

"Me and some others. It was the right thing to do."

"Think you'll ever get tired of it?"

"Of what?"

"Doing the right thing."

Her lips curved into a warm smirk, and he decided it looked good on her.

"You had better hope not."

"But why are you here?" The atrium was deserted for all but the three of them. Binks didn't stray but had the decency to look very interested in his fingernails.

"I wanted to say goodbye," she moved to reach towards him but thought better of it. "And good luck."

Binks had him firmly by the bicep and was inching him towards the grate. He turned to follow.

"Draco!" His name seemed to burst from her with temerity that surprised them both. He met her eyes one final time.

"Be good." She smiled then, nervous but wide, and lifted her hand in a delicate wave.

A moment later, he was being pulled into green flames and stepping out towards his new beginning.