A/N: My first fan fic! Exciting, no? Always had a soft spot for Draco.
Also… lotsa favorites, almost no reviews. [insert sad statement asking for reviews here] Hope you like it! It's loads of fun to write.
Updated for typo correction 27/1.
Focus. That was all he needed. He needed to focus on something until his grey eyes were glazed over and void of emotion. He was good at focusing. It was a useful skill. Draco Malfoy scanned the room. As his eyes passed over a jumbled assortment of wizards with Quick-Quotes Quills tucked behind their ears and cameras, a series of bright flashes temporarily stunned him. He contorted his face into his patented Malfoy you-are-but-an-insect-beneath-my-expensive-dragon-hide-boots sneer and ignored the stars dancing in front of his eyes. Good. Better to have the Prophet headline be Draco Malfoy Still an Arrogant Git than Draco Malfoy Cries at Father's Sentencing. He paused upon seeing a shockingly bright orange head. The Weaslette. He would focus on her hair. Not to mention her putrid choice of mauve robes. Yes. Staring at the Weaslette would provide him both with a point of focus and a reason to continue sneering.
Draco narrowed his eyes until the world around him became a watery blur, keeping all his attention focused on that unfortunate red hair. He was vaguely aware of his mother grasping his hand to the point of cutting off circulation as if she was not already aware of the outcome of the day… but Draco wasn't thinking about that. He was staring at the smear of orange at the center of his vision. Red hair. Red hair.
A sudden jab to his ribcage jarred him back to his senses. "Stand up, Draco!" hissed his mother. He blinked and the scene around him swam until he noticed that everyone except himself was standing as the Wizengamot took their places in the court room. He quickly rose to his feet. A heavy hush had descended, pressing itself into all the available space. Narcissa was apparently attempting to squeeze the life out of his hand. "Mother, I don't understand why you're so anxious." he said, continuing to stare straight ahead.
His mother did not turn to look at her son. "Draco Abraxas Malfoy, for Merlin's sake, could you at least pretend to be concerned about your father?"
Focus. Focus on that disgusting orange and mauve abomination. "Not, really, no. All apologies."
Narcissa sniffed.
Mauve and orange. Mauve and orange. Mauve and… "All rise for the Minister of Magic."
Draco tugged his now mottled-purple hand from his mother's death grip and stood. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the recently appointed Minister of Magic, swept into the room. His strides were long and purposeful, and his assistant had to skip to keep up. Draco noticed the grotesque shade of orange that covered the assistant's head. Another Weasley. At least he had heard that this one had been of some vague intelligence, but compared to the others that was hardly a compliment. What was his name? Percival? Patrick? Pompadour? Something like that.
Shacklebolt seated himself at the head of the Wizengamot and reached for his gavel. Three slow bangs resounded throughout the courtroom, each one like a physical blow. "The prisoner is to be brought in!" announced Shacklebolt, and the double doors at the end of the court room opened. The emaciated remains of what probably used to be a person were brought in by two guards. Several boos and one shout of "Murderer!" were released by the audience, but the figure seemed to take no notice. A sneer was etched on his pointed face. He shook his long white blonde hair out of his face and turned to the direction of the shout. "Quite," he smiled, and allowed himself to be seated in a chair at the center of the room. Chains sprang from the floor and wrapped themselves around his limbs.
Hello, Father, thought Draco. He decided to shift his focus to Pompadour or whatever his name was Weasley's enormous white quill, with which he had already begun to furiously scribble minutes. Draco wondered what they recorded-
10:15- The Minister entered. Fitting applause followed. Must remember to polish Minister's
Boots. Will lick them if necessary.
10:16- Noticed family sitting together. Must tell them how awful it is to be greeted by a wall of orange. Will strategically seat them next time to avoid this.
10:18- The Minister called for the prisoner. His voice was extremely authrotative. Must take
notes.
10:19- Lucius Malfoy brought out. Looks like a nightmare. Audience not amused.
Shacklebolt cleared his throat. "Very well then. Are you Lucius Tarquin Malfoy?"
What's left, thought Draco, and found that he couldn't suppress a brief feeling of satisfaction which bubbled up and opened his mouth into a slight smile. He quickly tightened his mouth back into a hair-thin line. He could already picture the headline Former Death Eater Smiles at Father's Sentencing- What Secrets Lie Behind the Sneer?.
Lucius Malfoy did not blink. "Yes," he said, his voice surprisingly strong and dripping with acidic disdain.
"Mr. Malfoy, are you aware of the charges of which you have been found guilty?"
"If you have forgotten, I pleaded guilty. So yes, I am aware." said Lucius.
Shacklebolt shifted. "Mr. Malfoy, you were found guilty of serving as a Death Eater, hiding both Lord—"he paused for a moment. Even a year after his demise, a cursed feeling still hung over the Dark Lord's name. "Lord Voldemort and known Death Eaters, numerous accounts of all three Unforgivable Curses, specifically thirty-two Imperius Curses, twenty-seven accounts of…"
Orange and mauve. Merlin, even the Weaslette's mother had a superior taste in clothes, if you excluded those disgusting lumps of knitted yarn she insisted on calling sweaters.
Shacklebolt had finished the oration that was Lucius' list of crimes. He rubbed his temples. "The Wizengamot has sentenced you…"
"You are very fortunate, Minister," interrupted Lucius with a voice thick with smugness.
"Pardon, Mr. Malfoy?" said Shacklebolt, setting down his papers.
"Yes," continued Lucius. "How fortunate that the Wizengamot was able to sentence me before The Savior of the Wizarding World passes his wondrous new legislation."
There was an uncomfortable collective murmuring from the audience. Harry Potter hadn't rested after the war—he and his Dream Team had immediately gone to work reforming the Ministry. Potter was especially vehement about abolishing the use of Dementors as Azkaban guards, and the Ministry never said no to Harry Potter. The law was set to be put into action within the next year. And no Dementors meant no Demontor's Kisses. But people still liked to think that they deserved to deal out the highest punishment to those who they believed deserved it, so trials of convicted Death Eaters had gone by surprisingly fast. The Ministry was still anxious to deal out as many Dementor's Kisses as possible before Potter's law became stone. Draco had watched as school friends, cousins, aunts, and uncles had been reduced to shells of their former selves. Draco's own trial would not be for another few months. He pulled absently at the silk sleeve of his shirt under which lay permanent reminders of his own dealings with the Dark Lord. For the meantime, he had pushed thoughts of his own trial away until he could no longer ignore them.
Shacklebolt cleared his throat. Several members of the Wizengamot had blanched to a complexion that looked about as healthy as The Bloody Baron's. The murmuring from the crowd had risen to a cacophony of sounds of sobs and shouts pumping against Draco's eardrums. He closed his eyes for a brief second, and saw only mauve and orange.
The Minister was banging his gavel and crying for order, and his Weasley assistant looked as though he were about to suffer an aneurysm. "Please! Please!" shouted Shacklebolt and the noise receded slightly. "A five minute recess. Yes. Five minutes." He dropped his head to his desk.
"Ah, Minister?" called Lucius Malfoy from the floor.
"What is it you desire, Mr. Malfoy?" Shacklebolt did not raise his head.
Lucius jerked his head toward Draco's directions. "Simply for a moment with my son."
Shacklebolt lifted his head, one eyebrow cocked to the ceiling in suspicion.
"Minister, I hardly see what sort of Dark Magic we will be able to perform in the heart of the Ministry without wands while I am enchained."
"Yes, fine. Five minutes." said Shacklebolt.
Draco's legs were frozen solid. The room's temperature had dropped and he shivered.
"Go, Draco!" Narcissa prodded her son into the aisle.
People scurried out of the way as he passed, and he ignored the whispers that began to surround him in a fog of words.
"… both accomplished Legillimenses, no telling…"
"… where he gets that sneer…"
"… password to the Pureblood Club or something…"
He paused at the gate that separated the spectators from the court room floor and took a breath, half expecting his breath to crystallize in the frigid air. Shacklebolt's pet Weasley dashed over to let Draco in, sending him a glare that wasn't exactly welcoming as he did so.
Draco tried to focus on the Weaslette's atrocious robes as he crossed the threshold but he was unable to tear his gaze away from his father. He had planned for this. He knew exactly what he was going to say. Draco bit his lip.
Azkaban wasn't known for its guest hospitality, but he could hardly recognize Lucius. Dark bags encircled his grey eyes which now appeared to pop out of his thin face. It's the first time I've ever seen him with stubble, Draco realized, noticing the thin layer of fuzz on Lucius' face. I'm still terrified of him though…
His father suddenly smiled. "For such a good Legillimens, you really ought to consider improving your skills at Occlumency. Come closer, Draco; I may be starving, but I am not going to bite."
Draco shuffled forward, and, for the first time in his life, looked down at his father.
"Kneel," snarled Lucius. "And look me in the eyes."
Draco obeyed, and stared into the steely pools which were narrowed at him.
"Draco… Abraxas… Malfoy." He spat the words slowly and deliberately and somehow made Draco feel as though he were being vomited on. His stomach twisted into a tight knot as every comeback he had planned faded into oblivion. "Minister," called Lucius.
"What is it now, Malfoy?" came the voice from above.
"Permission to call my house elf?"
"Granted."
"Pinkie!" called Lucius. There was a small pop and a wizened little house elf with green eyes like enormous Christmas ornaments appeared.
"Pinkie has been waiting for Master to call. Pinkie brought what Master told Pinkie to bring before Master went to the bad place!" The elf hopped over, tripping over its ridiculously long pillow case which had probably at some point been a shade of white. The elf held out its fist to Draco and motioned at him to open his hand. Draco did so and the elf dropped whatever it was carrying into his open palm.
The small thing was surprisingly heavy, and Draco picked it up for closer inspection. It was a ring emblazoned with emerald serpents twisting around the words Sanctimonia Vincet Semper. Purity always conquers. Draco could have scoffed, but the sound caught in his throat. "It's the family ring," the words stumbled clumsily from his gaping mouth.
"What else did you expect? You are the last Malfoy male; I am obligated to give you the ring."
Draco swallowed.
"Well, put it on, Mr. Malfoy."
He slipped the ring onto his finger. "Thank you, Father," he whispered.
Lucius' eyebrows contracted. "Thank you? Thank you? Is the most I receive from you a thank you? You always were ungrateful."
"I'm sorry, Father."
"You are hardly deserving of the name Malfoy. These are our last moments together. I am not going to mince my words. I can only hope that your children are but half as cowardly and sniveling as you have been. You have always known you were a disappointment to me; I have nothing left to say."
"I- I really tried, Father, I-" The words were small and weak and floated into the air and dissipated.
"You tried. Isn't that nice. You tried. Weakness. You will always be that same little boy who could not even kill a one hundred and fifty year old man. You will always be the boy who was surpassed by a Mudblood at school. You will always be the boy who was knocked off your broom in front of me by a blood-traitor Potter. You will always be the son who has yet to make me proud. The son who always knew somehow that he was never quite good enough. You are nothing right now. And yet I give you my ring. Make me proud, Draco."
"I will try, Father." He felt as though he had just dipped his head into a bucket of ice water.
"What did I tell you about trying, Draco?"
"I mean, I will, Father. I will make you proud. I promise."
His father gave a harsh laugh. "I would make you take an Unbreakable Vow, but you would die. Draco Abraxas Malfoy," he said. "My biggest regret. Leave me."
Draco stood in place for a moment, fingering the ring.
"I said go. And Minister?"
"For Merlin's sake, Malfoy, what is it?" snapped Shacklebolt.
"I would like to make an announcement. A dying man's last, request if you will." said Lucius.
"Do what you will, Malfoy." said Shacklebolt.
Lucius snapped his head up, and Draco was amazed how even lying in chains Lucius Malfoy still managed to look as though everyone else were shit beneath his boot. "Attention all! How very kind of you all to attend my sentencing today. I would like to take these last moments to announce that my son, Draco Abraxas Malfoy, is the new head of the distinguished Malfoy House and to inform you all of his official engagement to Ms. Astoria Greengrass. The Malfoy Family will live on."
There was a brief moment of silence in the audience where no one was sure whether to laugh, shout or applaud. There were a few gasps and a single smattering of applause and three expletives. In the reporters' section, a storm of camera flashes blinded those unfortunate enough to be seated by them.
Draco backed up slowly, not taking his eyes off his father all the way to his seat. Narcissa nodded reassuringly at him, her eyes filled with an emotion Draco couldn't quite place. He sat down, and she dusted his forehead with a light touch of her rouged lips. The words I'm sorry seemed to float around the two of them, but were left unsaid. They always were. She took his hand. He hadn't expected much from his father, but as always, that had still proved to be excessive.
"Anything new?" she asked.
Draco repressed a sigh. "I mean, it has been awhile since he brought up my Quidditch failings. He never managed to be there when I won anything."
"And?"
"Apparently I'm nothing." Draco's eyes found Ginny Weasley's hair again and he squinted.
"So nothing new."
"Nothing new."
Shacklebolt banged his gavel again. "Enough of this. I have humored you enough. Mr. Malfoy, the Wizengamot has sentenced you to the Dementor's Kiss. Your sentence shall be carried out on the twelfth of September at one o'clock sharp. You will be for the meanwhile escorted back to your cell in Azkaban. I formally approve this sentence." Another gavel bang sealed the fate of the Death Eater, and the guards dragged him from the room. There was a single cheer from the audience, sharp and piercing in Draco's ears. Bang. "Court dismissed."
Draco pushed passed the throng of bodies attempting to make their way out of the court room and knocked open the double doors. He made a beeline for the restroom. Orange and mauve orange and mauve orange orange orange, he thought as he hurried past the reporters waiting outside the court room. He had meant to make it to the sink. There he could wipe the slick coating of sweat from his burning face and regain his Malfoy composure. That had been the plan at least. Instead he felt his joints collapse into pudding and sank to the middle of the bathroom floor. He let the tears flow, hot and stinging from his eyes. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs like a caged animal. His stomach seized, and he barely managed to pull himself up to the sink before his body shuddered and he vomited. His whole body wracked with sobs as he repeated the process until he had nothing left to come up. Draco lifted his head and the room seemed to tilt. He stared hard into the mirror and wiped sick from his mouth with his expensive shirt because, afterall, Who cares? Is Daddy going to yell at… he stopped. A person had come into view behind his reflection. A person who was probably the person Draco wanted least to see.
"… Malfoy?"
"Get out of here, Potter!" Draco wheeled around. "I said out!"
Potter's eyebrows furrowed and he cast a silencing spell at the door. "It's locked, Malfoy."
Draco sank to the floor. "What do you want, Potter?"
Potter shifted uncomfortably. "You know, this reminds me of sixth year…"
Draco groaned at the mention of that disastrous year. "In the bathroom…"
Potter nodded. His green eyes flashed behind his glasses. "Yeah…" He bit his lip.
"Except I haven't got a wand." said Draco, turning away.
"What?" Potter looked confused. "Oh, I forgot about your…"
Draco looked up. "Trial? Yes. Confiscated my wand until the trial. Of course, they didn't really need to… I haven't had a wand since…"
There was another pause.
Since you took my wand and used it to kill Voldemort.
Potter nodded. "I never did apologize properly…"
"For killing the Dark Lord?"
He shook his head. "No, for the bathroom. Sectumsempra. I should never have used a spell that I found in the margins of a textbook."
Draco's hand flew to his chest and a wince split his face as he remembered the shock he had felt as invisible swords had slashed at him. "If I recall I was in the process of casting a Cruciatus Curse on your arse. You weren't out of line. And Sev- er, Professor Snape got to me before it could scar." Are we really discussing this?
Potter nodded again. "Good. Yeah. That's good. Good."
Draco snorted. "As always, your incredible articulation astounds me."
Potter walked hesitantly closer to Draco, dragging his feet. "Listen, Malfoy… I just wanted to make sure you were all right. I saw you talk to your father… and you rushed out of there so quickly…"
"What, saving the entire wizarding world wasn't enough to feed your Hero Complex? If you must know, Potter, it's been absolutely peachy. I'm just peachy. After you did away with the Dark Lord my family's fortune was confiscated and my father and I spent some lovely vacation months in Azkaban before they decided to give me a trial at all and kindly put me on house arrest until the past month. But did you know it's still rather socially unacceptable to have a Dark Mark? I've been having a hell of a time doing anything without being spat upon. I've become quite good at dodging dungbombs, though. And it's been absolutely marvelous not having a wand. Not to mention the whole part about my family's name being in ruins. So it's been just peachy, Potter. Oh, and apparently, I'm also getting married. Would you like an invitation? But where are my manners, how have you been? We simply must catch up." Draco stretched and stood up again.
"I'm sorry," said Potter. He stared down at his wand. "I'm sorry about your father."
"No you aren't!" scoffed Draco. "People might say that, but I know they wish they could be the ones to carry out the sentence. I don't blame them. Wish I could."
"At any rate," continued Potter, ignoring this last comment. "I'm sorry you're upset about it. And trust me, Malfoy, if I had my way sooner, he'd be headed to Azkaban right now for good. No Kiss."
Draco made a sound that was halfway between a sob and a laugh. "Yeah. Yeah. Thanks Potter. Just what I needed. Potter's pity. Now, if you excuse me, I am obligated to meet the press and introduce them to my new fiancé. Her name was Astoria, right? Fairly sure she's my cousin," he said. He checked the mirror and grimaced. Shit. He was going to have to ask Potter for a favor. "Could you… just for one second…?" He gesticulated helplessly.
"Wow, Malfoy. Love the eloquence."
Draco sneered. "You're contagious. Please, Potter, may I have your wand?"
"What for?" Potter's grip on his wand tightened.
"Honestly," Draco rolled his eyes. "I can't meet the press looking like this."
"Why not?" asked Potter incredulously. "Your father's just been sentenced to the Kiss. I think you have the right to appear a little upset. And if anyone's had unflattering pictures in the Prophet it's me."
Draco heaved an exasperated sigh. "Yes, Potter, but I'm a Malfoy, and that's not what Malfoy's do. We carry on."
Potter thrust out his wand. "Fine. Just one spell."
Draco took the wand and looked in the mirror. "Tergeo," Suddenly, his face returned to its normal pallid complexion, his hair to its controlled slicked back state, the tear tracks on his face were erased. He adjusted his collar in the mirror. "There's a Malfoy." he muttered, glancing at his new ring, and handed Potter his wand before pushing past him through the door.
As soon as he exited, the reporters swarmed around him. Draco ignored them. "Ah, Astoria! My darling!" he called, spotting his new fiancé whom he was now certain was also in some way his cousin. He would check the family tree later.
She hurried to Draco, high heels clicking, and slicked back her dark hair with one hand. "My love!" she crooned, and placed her arm around his waist to allow the photographers a better view. "I am never going to forgive my father for this," she hissed through a smile so wide Draco thought it might crack her face into a million pieces.
"Perhaps if your father had had the guts to take the Mark he'd be snogging a Dementor by now. And do I seem thrilled about this situation either?" he asked through a similar grin.
"You're the one who gets the better deal here. Oh, I've always wanted to be a Malfoy, the family famous for its twisted loyalties and corruption. And aren't you my cousin anyway?"
"Just shut up and look pretty." Draco grunted.
"Of course," Astoria turned to him and batted her heavily mascared eyelashes. "I've always wanted to be a Death Eater's wife. Dark Marks have always been my thing. But then again… from what I've heard you weren't much of one. My ten year old sister could have taken Dumble…"
"Ah, look, it's Mother!" said Draco quickly, craning his neck over the sea of cameras and scribbling quills. Narcissa Malfoy was exiting the women's restroom. Great minds think alike, thought Draco, watching her smooth her hair. "Welcome to the family, sweetheart." he chimed as he turned back to Astoria, smacking a large and dramatic kiss on her cheek.
"Pleasure," she said, gathering him into an embrace before kissing him back. "Sanctimonia Vincet Semper, right?"