Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Warnings: Hinted one-sided slash.

Note: Written for the Religious Education Assignment (Write about someone who lives by a moral code and an event which places them in a predicament). Witch trial-esque.

WC: 3000

My Enemy

They dragged her kicking and screaming from her own home. She twisted her body, thrashing in their unrelenting hold, pleading, begging, threatening, anything to make them see sense. And Harry fought tooth and nail to get her back.

But he only ended up with a bruising jaw and sore ribs. After the Inquisition Squad left, Harry sprung up from the floor, ready to give chase when Ron pulled him back with a solemn shake of his head.

Harry jerked his arm away, glaring at Ron. "How could you just stand there and let them take her?" he demanded, hands clenching into fists.

Ron pursed his lips, staring back almost hatefully at the accusation. "I wanted to help her just as much as you, alright? She was my girlfriend, not yours. Don't think this doesn't hurt me, too, okay?"

"You didn't even lift a finger to help her," Harry fumed.

"And what? Get on Malfoy's bad side? Unlike you, I have a family to think about! Not everyone's a bloody orphan!"

Harry immediately tensed, the silence around them ticking down ominously.

"I would have fought just as much if it had been your sister," Harry said quietly, looking at Ron with hardened eyes. "And I know Hermione would have, too."

Ron flinched at the statement but refused to back down. Harry threw him one last unreadable look before storming after them. Ron watched him go, heart seizing with guilt and regret.

"Open the bloody door, Malfoy!" Harry shouted, punctuating his sentence with an extra hard punch. He relentlessly smacked the wooden door. When it finally opened, he lunged at the blonde man, fisting the collar of his shirt and yanking him close until they were nose to nose.

"Potter," Draco drawled, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "Is this any way to treat an old friend?"

"Cut the bullshit, Malfoy," Harry growled, roughly shaking him. "Where the fuck did you send Hermione?"

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you mean."

"What did she ever do to you? She didn't deserve to be reported!"

"Like I said," Draco interrupted, jerking out of his hold. Fixing his collar while shooting an irritated glare at Harry, he regarded the other stiffly. "I don't know what you're talking about. If you're insinuating that I was the one to report the dirty lowlife, then I would like to point out how absolutely wrong you are."

"In fact, I haven't left my humble abode all day. Would you like me to call for my mother and have her provide my alibi?" he asked mockingly.

"Well, who else could have turned her in?" Harry threw back in his face. "You never liked Hermione," he said pointedly, but hesitance creeped in. If it wasn't Malfoy, who could it be? Malfoy senior never bothered with hauling in children, preferring to target influential members of the older generation that had gone awry and out of his control.

"Now that I think about it, why are you the one questioning me? What, did Weasley ditch out on his little girlfriend?" Draco asked innocently, if not for the vicious smirk on his face. At Harry's bitter expression, Draco cackled. "Oh he did, didn't he? This is just rich! Where's the declarations of love now?"

Harry shoved him with a sneer before storming away.

"Hey, Potter!" Against his better judgement, he halted in his steps. He turned around and stared expectantly at Draco, an annoyed air around him. "I might not be the one to have reported her, but I do have access to the guarding cells," he offered enticingly.

Harry hesitated, eyeing the blond warily.

"Tik tok, Potter, tik tok. I have places to be, people to entertain," he said, leaning against the entryway, arms crossed.

"Fine," Harry growled out through gritted teeth.

Harry glanced at Draco from the corner of his eye, frowning at the spring in his steps. While he said he wasn't the one to report Hermione, Draco sure looked cheery. Then again, Draco never had particularly liked her. But that begged the question of why he even bothered to help Harry. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, but before he could question him more, they neared the containment building.

"Blaise! Finally doing your job, I see," Draco greeted the man, shaking his hand warmly. The guard wasn't a formidable looking man, not that tall or bulky like the ones that dragged Hermione away. He was only an inch or two taller than Draco himself, skin a deep rich brown with an easygoing grin and a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"Well, I can definitely tell you, I'd rather be down at the bar, if you catch my drift," he said. The guard glanced in Harry's direction, face lighting up in recognition before raising an amused eyebrow. He turned back to Draco. "And what do I owe this pleasant encounter for? You only ever come to me when you want something," Blaise teased, lips pulling back in a smirk.

"It's not my fault that's all your good for," Draco shot back, the sharp comment softened by his mischievous tone. "But, yes, I do need a favor," he said, glancing meaningfully at the door into the building.

Blaise sighed. "If you weren't the pastor's son, I would get in a whole lot of trouble for this. If your father finds out—."

"He won't," Draco cut him off callously.

"Be quick," Blaise said, unlocking the door and ushering them in.

"Hermione!" Harry called out, dropping to his knees in front of her cell. Her eyes were red, tearing up at the sight of him. She grasped the bars caging her in, bowing her head to them. At her suppressed sobs, Harry tried to reach through the bars and hug her, cradle her in his arms. "'Mione, I'm going to get you out of here. I'm not going to let them hurt you," he promised, tightening his awkward hold around her.

"I don't want to die," she quietly admitted into his shoulder.

"You're not going to die!" Harry admonished fiercely.

Draco lingered at the back, staring at everything but the two huddled figures on the floor. He eyed the other cells in vague interest; the containment building housed those suspected of indulging in witchcraft. The design was remarkably like a prison; the next building over contained the criminals. But the fate of a witch was worse than that of a mere criminal. Draco winced. They didn't often have witches, but when they did, the deaths were very gruesome. The recent burning still haunted him. It took him a while before Draco stopped gagging at the smell of smoke.

"Draco! Time's up," Blaise called out.

Harry held Hermione's hand, squeezing it tightly before letting go. "I'm getting you out of here," he repeated with conviction. She just stared at him with sad eyes, not bothering to refute his statement.

He left the building with a heavy heart, Draco at his heels.

"And how are you planning on accomplishing that?"

Harry stared at him, weighing his options. Draco waited impatiently. "Her trial is in a few days," he finally said. "I need to find the person that reported her and make them retract the claim."

Draco scoffed. "Easier said than done."

"If they didn't go to you to report Hermione, then they must have went to your father."

"So you're just going to go up and strike a conversation with him? Good luck with that."

Harry paused before tentatively asking, "But he'll listen to you, right?"

Draco immediately refused.

"How hard is it to ask your father about this? I imagine you spend your family dinners discussing the executions over a nice, ol' salad," Harry bitterly said.

"It's bloody complicated, okay? Not everyone has a picture perfect family."

"Picture perfect?" Harry laughed, loud and mocking. "Tell that to my mom."

Draco flinched under the accusing glare. The words lingered heavy in the air, the unspoken sentence ringing loudly.

Oh wait, you can't. Because you killed her.

The soft clinks of silverware filled the otherwise silent dining room. Draco hesitated before speaking. "Father?"

Lucius Malfoy, a merciless man, a stern father, raised an eyebrow at this odd break in routine. "Yes, Draco?" he said, setting down his fork and knife.

"Is something wrong, dear?" Narcissa asked, looking at her son curiously. Draco was quick to reassure his mother.

"I was wondering about the recent capture of Hermione Granger."

"You're normally rather disinterested in these affairs," Lucius pointed out. Draco tried not to fidget under his calculating gaze.

"Well, there's nothing I can tell you," he continued, cutting a piece of steak. "All information is confidential until the trial."

Draco nodded stiffly at the dismissal, staring at his plate as the conversation winded back down to silence.

Nothing. He found out nothing. Harry ran around the village the past few days, asking everyone if they knew anything, but they told him things he already knew: the Inquisition Squad came and took her. No explanation of why.

He avoided the Weasley house. He couldn't bear the sight of Ron just yet.

A part of him wondered if Ron would bother showing his face at the trial. He guessed it didn't matter much as long as everything fell into place as planned.

Harry stared at the photograph once more, fingers gently holding the picture frame as his eyes lingered on his mother's smiling face. He sighed softly, setting the frame back down on her vanity. Everything was the same, just how she left it. His hand brushed across the smooth surface, an air of melancholic nostalgia around him.

"I guess I'll be joining you soon, Mom."

Stepping into the living room, he saw his father's prone figure sitting on the couch, gazing blankly into space. He slowly crouched in front of him.

"Hey, Dad," Harry said quietly, waiting until hazel eyes focused on him.

"Harry," James said with a smile, the cloudy look in his eyes clearing up. "Are you heading out?"

"Yeah, I'm going to see Hermione."

"Have fun then," James replied, ruffling his son's hair.

"I love you, Dad."

"Oh, what is this? Did you break something?" he teased, shoving the boy away. "Go on, get out of here, you little brat."

Harry chuckled, putting on his shoes. As he opened the front door, he paused at his father's voice.

"Oh, and Harry? I love you, too," James said warmly.

The courtroom was tense. The trial started a few minutes ago, and Fudge sat at the judge's seat, staring down at Hermione. The girl was kneeling, hands bound together before them all.

Draco had a front row seat to the proceedings, and he stiffly watched the events with his mother. Lucius stood center stage, announcing the girl's crimes to the room.

Granger's parents were to his right, tear stained faces stricken and horrified. He couldn't see where Harry was, but Draco didn't doubt his attendance.

When Lucius called for a witness, Draco was shocked when his fiancé stood up. Pansy Parkinson strolled to the front, refusing to glance in his direction.

"Now, Miss Parkinson, would you please recount your story?" Lucius prompted.

"It was in the late evening, on the past Wednesday, I was walking home from my fiancé's house," she said. At Lucius's nod, Pansy continued. "Just before I reached my door, I saw a figure in a dark cloak, hood drawn up, heading into the forest. A curious sight, really. After all, who would go in there at that hour? I still wondered that two hours later as I got ready for bed. Since my bedroom window faces the forest, as I was closing the curtains, the same figure emerged, carrying a basket full of herbs. And what a surprise it was to see that it was Hermione Granger!"

Whispers broke through the courtroom.

"How can you be sure it was her?" Lucius asked.

"It was definitely her," Pansy said with conviction. "I saw her face."

"Thank you. You are dismissed, Miss Parkinson."

Draco tried to catch her eye when she walked back to her seat, but she ignored him. All those years she did everything to ensnare his attention, and when she finally had it, it seemed Pansy could care less; suddenly, their positions were reversed, and Draco was incredibly perplexed.

"Do you have anything to say to that, Miss Granger?"

Hermione was silent.

"Nothing? Well, maybe this will get a reaction out of you."

Lucius snapped his fingers, and a man came scurrying forth, opening a bag and dumping its contents onto the ground. Books spilled forth clattering, knocking against the wooden floor. Draco furrowed his brow, squinting his eyes to get a closer look at the titles. But he didn't need to. His father started listing the names of the books, calm in face of the growing chaos around them. Hermione was frozen in horror.

"Order! Order!" Fudge banged the gavel. "We will reconvene in 10 minutes."

Draco rushed from his seat, instantly heading toward Pansy. He grabbed her wrist, yanking her away from the rest of the group.

"Retract your statement," he demanded before she could say anything.

"Draco, what—."

"Retract your statement," he repeated vehemently.

Pansy stood, shocked. She gathered herself together. "No," she said.

Draco blinked, surprised. Pansy had never refused him before.

"No," she said again, gaining confidence. "Why should I? She's always getting in my way. You're always staring at her. Might I remind you that you're engaged, Draco Malfoy, in case you've forgotten."

"I've never looked at her," Draco denied, face scrunched up in distaste.

"Please, spare me the lies," Pansy rolled her eyes. "I've seen you glance in her direction more times than I could count."

Draco bit back his retort. It wasn't her he stared at, but the one always by her side.

"I don't have time for your little insecurities," he stressed. "She's going to die."

"She's better off dead," Pansy hissed, pulling her arm out of his hold and storming off just as Fudge announced the reconvening.

Draco had never hated his fiancé more than in that moment.

"A witch," a man sneered.

"Undoubtably," a woman replied. "Didn't you hear Father Malfoy? Books on charms, hexes, and potions." She shook her head in disgust.

"Hang her!"

"Burn her at the stake!"

The voices rose, an ugly cacophony of jeers and threats washing over the villagers.

"No!" Her mother pushed her way to the front of the crowd, screaming. "My daughter would never do this! She would never sin! She's innocent!"

"There must be a mistake!" her father shouted, standing beside his wife, clutching her hand tightly, desperately.

"The books don't lie," Lucius said callously, staring down at the girl at his feet. "They were found in Miss Granger's bedroom."

There was no way around this. Hermione Granger had a death sentence over her head, timer slowly ticking down to her last hours. Draco was sure of it.

"Those are my books," a voice called out, louder than the others.

Draco froze. No, he wouldn't do something as stupid as this…

"If you open them to the first page, you'll see my name on them," Harry said, stepping out from the crowd who parted for him as he spoke.

Lucius eyed the boy before his gloved hands grabbed a book, flipping a page. "So it would seem," he hummed, cold grey eyes flicking back up to Harry. "And why were they in Miss Granger's bedroom?"

"I needed Hermione to do some tasks for me," Harry shrugged. "Smartest student in the whole village, she was the best candidate."

Hermione stared disbelievingly at him, mouth opening and closing but no words seemed to escape. No one paid her any mind, focusing intensely on Harry.

"And she just did what you said?"

"Mind magic. Simple stuff, really," he explained. Hermione smacked her bound hands against the floor in frustration. When Lucius started to look suspicious, Harry rushed to save the situation.

"Sorry, Hermione," he quickly apologized. "You must be really mad, huh?"

Harry gave a sad smile. "I never meant for it to go this far."

"Touching," Lucius drawled.

"Don't believe me? How about I give you a demonstration."

And suddenly, Lucius Malfoy dangled helplessly in the air by an invisible grip on his ankle. Narcissa gasped, horrified. The elegant, poised pastor was anything but that as he yelped in an undignified manner. Harry watched with a vindictive glint in his eyes. After all, this was the man that sentenced his mother to her death. Might as well have a little fun with him. Once the man started panicking, Harry dropped him unceremoniously, relishing in the loud thud.

Lucius picked himself up with a glare. "Cease the boy."

Immediately, two men leapt onto Harry, seizing his arms and dragging him from the courtroom.

"End the trial," Lucius snapped. Fudge nearly dropped his gavel as he rushed to comply with the order.

Once her wrists were untied, Hermione was subjected to a bone crushing hug from her parents.

"Mom, Dad, please, we have to help Harry," she begged, pulling away from the tight embrace.

"No, sweetie, you were under a spell," her mother tried to explain. "Let's get you back home."

"I wasn't under a spell!" Hermione exclaimed. Her mother struck her hard across the cheek. The girl fell silent.

"You were under a spell," she repeated, looking at her daughter with hard eyes. "Do you understand?"

"Listen to your mother, sweetheart," her father said, pulling Hermione close. She didn't say anything the rest of the trek home.

Draco paced around, nearly tripping over the ornate rug. After that brilliant display at the trial, Harry certainly cemented his fate, whether that'd be execution or experimentation at the hands of one Lucius Malfoy, he wasn't too sure.

He threw himself on his bed with a groan. His heart chilled at the prospect of going against his father. But, Draco rubbed his tired eyes, they said love made people do crazy things.

Now he just had to stage a break out.