Three pounds of the gavel silenced the room. The groups of representatives, witnesses, officials, and the relatives of the victim quieted and seated themselves in the dark, round court that right at that moment felt like a tomb to the unfortunate soul that had done such travesties as to find themselves within a steal cage, hands bound and wands pointed at them in case of any suspicious movements. The crowd settled their eyes to the center where of the floor where that cage sat. Filled with whispers from the past offenders who were held inside, it was rusted and dark and creaking and it was one of the most frightening things to behold when inside.
"The defense will rise." The minister sounded out, his voice cracked. This entire trial had been emotional. There was no bad press, no scandals for the victim this time.
The officials assigned to the defendant stood and inside the cage a figure rose up off his knees.
The room must have been filled with over a hundred and fifty people. The thick silence only made it easier for the defendant to hear their heart beating in their ears. It was a tool used by the ministry, the dark walls, the rusted cage with dried blood on the spikes, the silence that echoed in the vault of a courtroom.
"The court has examined the evidence. The jury has listened to both the prosecution and defense. Has the jury reached a verdict?" The minister turned his head to the jury foreman, a small elderly man of sixty who ran a small magical shop just outside of a small town in northern England.
"Yes your honor." There was a pause.
This pause seemed like eternity to the one unfortunate to be in the cage. The cage that not only protected the court from the defendant, but at times such as this, protected the defendant from the court.
"On the charge of murder in the first degree by use of an unforgivable curse, we the jury find the defendant-"
All ears seemed to hone in on the following word.
"Guilty."
Photographers began to snap pictures of the lowering head of the defendant.
"On the charge of murder by torture, we the jury find the defendant guilty."
The defendant dropped to one knee.
"On the charge of endangering the peace, we the jury find the defendant guilty."
Both knees.
"On the charge of misuse of magic, we the jury find the defendant guilty." The foreman took his seat.
The murmuring in the court quieted after a few moments as all turned to the minister who would determine the sentence. "This is a particular case. We have had many come through here convicted of murder." He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. "But not once have I seen such a murder. I have seen premeditated. I have seen accidental. I have seen sloppy. But never have I seen something so cruel since…" He stopped.
The courtroom was filled with whispers.
Since the war. The war that had placed many of the death eaters in Azkaban or sent them to their deaths. The fatalities that came on the side of good were indescribable. Tortures that were so disgusting and so cruel they weren't even mentioned in the papers afterwards.
"Do you understand that the minimum sentence is forty years in Azkaban for murder of the first degree?"
"Yes." Replied the defendant, voice so weak now it could barely be heard.
"Do you understand that the minimum sentence is twenty years in Azkaban for murder by use of torture, to be served consecutively with the prior sentence?"
"Yes." Voice, raspy, dry, and something else.
"Do you understand that the minimum sentence is five years in Azkaban for endangering the peace to that degree, and one year for misuse of magic, to be served consecutively with the prior sentences?"
"Yes." Again, there was that something there.
"I must remind you that in this case it would be far within my power and understanding to execute you immediately."
Nothing.
"I do not believe you fully comprehend your crime." The minister stopped a moment. "You will be sent back one month prior to the time of the murder. We will manufacture this past so that you and the victim are mere acquaintances and none of your prior offenses have occurred. You will wear a band around your ankle that will control this. No means of magic will be able to remove it except that which is in this present. After one month you will be replaced in the past you have chosen at the exact moment that you murdered the victim. At that time you will be brought back."
The crowd in the courtroom erupted and the minister had to take some time to silence them.
"At that point, you will begin your sentence of seventy years in Azkaban after which you will be eligible for parole. You will be kept in an Azkaban holding cell for the night and in the morning at seven o'clock you will be sent to your past destination. You will not be able to escape the time in the past as we will also send back guards to monitor your movements. These guards will be prepared to do anything that is necessary to ensure your completion. Are there any questions?"
Silence.
"Very well, until seven o'clock tomorrow." With a pound of the gavel the courtroom burst forth once more and the cage was swarmed by guards who carefully unlocked it with an eerie familiarity and pulled the defendant from the cage. The defense attorney approached. "Mr. Malfoy, I truly am sorry but there was no way you could win this one."
"And why is that?" Draco's steel gray eyes peered up at his lawyer. His voice was cold.
His lawyer, unafraid of this convict merely looked at him. "You killed a Weasley, Ginny Weasley at that. Not only was she rising on the popularity charts in being in the running for a position in the Ministry alongside the minister as his advisor, but her family gained popularity when her father and brothers practically won the war. She had modest beginnings and you were unpopular to begin with. On top of that you're prints were all over this. There was no way we could've gotten a better sentence than this…"
"I don't see what's so good about it. I'm gonna have to go be with that Weasel bitch for a month now. I'd have preferred death."
"Well, don't follow the sentence requirements. It may come more readily than you think."
With that Draco was carried off to the aforementioned holding cell where he spent the night wishing for death to grab him by the very pit of his stomach and swoop him off to the very bottom pit of hell, which he much preferred to his punishment. It wasn't as if seventy years in Azkaban was any better. Yes, he would have preferred a month with Weasley as opposed to that. But death was the better alternative of the two. The sounds of the dripping faucet in his cell and the distant screams of lunatic prisoners were the last things he heard before the shadow world of night took him.