Draco tried not to fidget as he waited for the Wizengamot to return from their recess. It wasn't often that a wizard as young as himself was tried in front of the Wizengamot, the highest court in Wizarding England– in fact, it seemed as though the last young wizard to be tried by the Wizengamot was Harry Potter himself, for a case of underage magic. Draco wasn't sure if it was because he was being charged for attempted murder of Albus Dumbledore (a former Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot), or because he had been an under-aged Death Eater and the last of one of the oldest Pureblood families in Europe, but the Ministry had decided that his case go straight to the top. Or maybe it was simply because Harry Potter had decided to testify.

Speaking of the Boy Who Lived, Potter hadn't returned since the day he had testified. He had given his testimony, and quite a long, shocking one at that– Draco had had no idea Potter knew so much– and hadn't shown up again, as though he didn't care for the outcome. Well. Draco couldn't care less, as long as Potter had said his piece. There were more than enough people crammed into the courtroom. His was the first major war case to be tried, as there weren't too many charges against him; at least, not compared to his father and the other Death Eaters. The Aurors were still compiling notes on all of them. As a result, many people had shown up to learn the verdict, more out of curiosity than compassion.

Draco took a deep breath, trying to look impassive. It was quite a difficult thing to do when sitting alone in the middle of the Courtroom 1, with the audience gathered behind him on raised seats, giving them the perfect vantage point to watch him. He wondered how long it would take the Wizengamot to decide his sentence. The court had been called to order and the charges read out one last time– to Draco it felt as though the Wizengamot were trying to rub it in. There had been quite a lot of ceremony, probably for the benefit of the large audience, before the court members had finally left the room. They had already been gone for close to an hour. As soon as they had left the courtroom had exploded in noise; many people stood up to talk to their friends from across the room, or to yell obscenities at the Malfoys, which Draco pretended not to hear. The Malfoy family lawyer, Mr. Witters, sat slightly behind and to Draco's right, but Draco had no interest in talking to the old man, who was already going over his notes for Narcissa's case, which was in two weeks. Narcissa and Lucius themselves had been granted permission to attend the hearing, as both had given statements describing Draco's upbringing and the period that Voldemort resided in their Manor. They sat a few feet behind Draco, and he wanted to turn around to talk to them, but already he could hear his mother sobbing and he didn't feel up to the task of comforting her. Somewhere on the seats to Draco's left sat Hermione Granger. He could just barely see her out of the corner of his eye, and he turned his head slightly to look at her.

To his amazement, she was reading! She had brought a book to his trial. Draco wanted to laugh, it was so typically Granger. He would have assumed that she, like Potter, didn't care for the verdict, but he noticed the way her eyes darted every so often to the small door from which the court members would enter, and that she never turned her page. Once, her gaze turned to him, and she gave him a small smile before going back to her book. Draco quickly looked away, frowning slightly. He didn't know what to think. Was she being condescending? Did she pity him? Or was she merely trying to be friendly?

His mind wouldn't settle on her, though. Draco had more important things to think of, like his own future. He wondered if the Wizengamot were as fair as they were supposed to be– or if not, he hoped that they at least leaned towards Potter and not away from him. He supposed it took them longer than normal to reach a decision, as it was more than one charge being put before them, unlike in simpler cases where they only had to raise their hands and vote. There was even that small matter of the charge brought against him by an anonymous informant; someone had told the prosecutor about the time in sixth year when Draco attempted to cast the Cruciatus on Potter, and so the prosecutor asked Potter about it when he testified. Draco had to give the Gryffindor credit– although he truthfully answered the questions, Potter still tried to defend Draco by admitting that he caused more damage than Draco had. Draco could see that Potter still felt somewhat guilty about almost killing him, and, in typical Gryffindor fashion, tried to take all the blame for the incident. It didn't seem to work, but Draco had to admit, he appreciated the effort.

He was pulled from his thoughts when a wizard commanded everyone to rise. Draco stood, his heart pounding so forcefully he was sure the entire courtroom could see his body shaking. He didn't know what to expect, he didn't know if he dared to hope. He closed his eyes briefly, saying a little prayer to whoever was listening.

"Draco Malfoy, you have been accused of the following charges," Clementine Ryder, the Supreme Mugwump, began. "The attempted murder of Albus Dumbledore, then Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, former Supreme Mugwump, Order of Merlin, First class... you all know him. The smuggling of illegal substances and objects into Hogwarts, that led to the near-deaths of Miss Katie Bell and Mr. Ronald Weasley. The smuggling of Death Eaters into the school, and three counts of using Unforgivables– the first, an Imperius against Rosmerta Doone, the second, an Imperius on Katie Bell, and the third, a Cruciatus against Harry Potter. All of these occurred while you were 16, still a minor. That is fortunate for you because you have been found guilty of all charges."

Draco felt his stomach drop. His knees almost gave way. Guilty. It was true, he was.

"The court is convinced, however, that for the most part you acted to save your family, and not because you truly supported He Who Must Not Be Named. You are also accused of five more counts of using Unforgivables in your seventh year at Hogwarts; however, it has since been proven that you were forced to perform them by your teachers, and hence, you have been found not guilty. The court has also taken into account your actions in not naming Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger when they were brought before you at your residence in Wiltshire, your intervention when Mr. Vincent Crabbe attempted to cast the Killing curse at the aforementioned students, and your efforts in saving Mr. Vincent Crabbe and Mr. Gregory Goyle from the Fiendfyre at Hogwarts. The Wizengamot has decided that you shall spend one month in Azkaban, after which are required at least six months' worth of uncompensated service within the Ministry for Magic."

He was half-listening as the Supreme Mugwump outlined the conditions of his job at the Ministry. Draco got the gist of it– no getting into trouble. His mind was stuck on the stint in Azkaban. One month? He could survive that. It took years for people to go mad, right? Or was it a matter of weeks, days? Was his mind weaker or stronger, because he was only 17? And was a month thirty days? Or thirty-one? It should be twenty-eight, because there were seven days in a week, and four weeks in a month.

Draco shook himself slightly and turned his attention back to the lady. He could already feel his sanity slipping.

"–monthly meetings with a court-approved representative to assess your behaviour and progress. If, at the end of the six months, he or she is satisfied with your contribution to society and self-improvement, you shall be under no further obligation. If he or she is unhappy with your performance, your behaviour shall be reviewed by the court, and further sanctions will be employed. Is that understood, Mr. Malfoy?"

He forced himself to speak. "Yes, Your Honour."

"Your month in Azkaban shall begin today. Once you are released from the prison, you will be given your job details at the Ministry, and you have one week to readjust to life outside bars before beginning your work. All clear, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Good. Court adjourned."

Draco stood still as the Wizengamot left, unsure what to do. When the door had finally closed behind the last Interrogator, his mother approached him and embraced him.

"Oh Draco, one month! This is better than I had hoped for. The Wizengamot aren't as biased as I thought they would be– I do believe we owe it to Mr. Potter," she said happily. Draco wanted to scowl at her, tell her a month in Azkaban was as bad as a month in hell, but he bit his tongue, reminding himself that his parents were likely to be in the prison for many years. Suddenly he realized how short one month was.

His father stood beside them. "I think the guards want to take us away," he said, raising his voice slightly so they could hear him over the noise of the audience leaving the courtroom.

Narcissa nodded, not looking pleased at the idea of returning to Azkaban. She glanced over Draco's shoulder, and her face softened slightly. "Draco, there's Miss Granger. She looks like she'd like a word." She turned to the guard waiting beside her and said, "My son will just thank Miss Granger over there, if you don't mind waiting a few more minutes." He shrugged, and Narcissa gave Draco a slight nudge in Hermione's direction. Draco got the feeling his mother was stalling, anything for a few more minutes of 'freedom'.

Hermione Granger was indeed hovering uncertainly several feet away, and she looked relieved when Draco approached her. "Harry and Ron are sorry they couldn't come," she began talking rapidly, like she always did when she was nervous. "They were busy with something, but they'll be happy to know your sentence isn't too bad. It was Ginny who told the court about that incident in sixth year, the one where Harry almost killed you. She's never forgiven you for saying the Unforgivable, and she always completely forgets that Harry was in the wrong too," she said, sniffing in disapproval. "Anyway, we're sorry about that."

Draco was confused, wondering what she could possibly apologize for, but he didn't press the matter. "I have to... thank you. And Potter, and even Weasley, for helping me out," he muttered, feeling terribly awkward.

To his surprise, Hermione turned pink. She seemed as uncomfortable accepting his thanks as he felt giving it, although he could tell she was pleased. "We couldn't not do anything, Malfoy. You don't deserve a harsher punishment. We've all suffered, even you."

"Yeah, well..." He wanted to ask her why, why she and Potter bothered to help him. After all that had happened, hating the trio seemed almost petty. Perhaps they felt the same way. Even so, he wouldn't have gone through such lengths to help them; he might not have helped them at all. Somehow the answer 'they're Gryffindor' didn't seem to cover it anymore. But he didn't ask. "Tell Potter too, okay?"

"Of course."

Draco nodded, for lack of a better thing to do. Then he cleared his throat. "How many days in a month, Granger? Thirty? Thirty-one?"

"Well, since you're going... there today," she said, unwilling to say 'prison' or 'Azkaban', "and it's the 24th of August, you'll be out on the 24th of September. It's about thirty-one days. But you won't spend the whole of today in there, so think of it as thirty and a half. And if you think of it that way, it's only... only 732 hours..."

It was funny talking to Granger, Draco decided. When she got nervous, she said a lot; when he got nervous, he didn't. He had to admit he was impressed, but not surprised, by her mental arithmetic. He didn't know why they were so awkward around each other. Maybe it was because they had never had a decent conversation with each other in their lives. It was something he could think about during his 732 hours in Azkaban. He cleared his throat again. "Listen, I've got to go."

"Yes," she said, nodding her head vigorously. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry to have kept you from... I mean, it was–" she took a deep breath "–strange, but nice, talking to you."

Draco almost smirked. "You too, Granger."

She smiled. "All the best, Malfoy."

He nodded in acknowledgment before walking back to his parents. His mother looked impassive, almost pleased, while his father wore a look of disgust. "Don't look at her like that," Draco snapped, annoyed.

"Like what?"

"Like it's her fault. Like she's beneath us." Abruptly, Draco stopped himself. He hadn't been raised to talk back to his parents, and he wasn't about to start then, especially over a Muggleborn. But his father had to accept that blood didn't matter, especially when it came to Hermione Granger.

Lucius frowned. "To see you talking to and having to thank such a girl– I understand that we should be grateful to her, Draco, but I thought you hated her," he said in a low voice. "If not because of her blood, then because she always beat you at school!"

I didn't hate her because she was beneath me, I hated her because she was better than me. Draco's eyes widened at the realization, and he was thankful he hadn't said it out loud. He wasn't sure if it was true or not.

Sighing, he followed his parents back to Azkaban. He had a lot of things to think about, and a lot of time with which to think.

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews and alerts and favorites! :) Thanks for reading this chapter, we hope you like it as well.