A/N : not mine, all JK's.

Chapter 4: Draco

"All the world I've seen before me passing by, I've got nothing, to gain, to lose

All the world I've seen before me passing by, Silent my voice, I've got no choice

All the world I've seen before me passing by

You don't care about how I feel, I don't feel it anymore"

ATWA, System of a Down

"Draco Malfoy, cell 1135, level four."

The young man held up his head, and looked at the guard.

"Someone vouched for you and her appeal had been accepted. You will be picked up after all the papers had been signed and you will stay in custody of said person until the Court decides you could leave it."

He slowly got up, straightened his poor clothing and asked who that verifier was as he was led off his cell and into a small room.

"You'll know soon enough. Now, sign here," was the only answer.

"May I have my wand back, now?"

"No." The man escorted him down a long corridor, through an opened courtyard and up another corridor. Once at the Apparition point, the guard roughly took him by the arm and Apparated them both next to a deserted road.

"Someone's coming. Wait here. Good luck."

And with that, the man left, leaving a much undecided and flustered Draco. He tried to ponder his situation as he waited for his "someone". He was out, obviously, but without a wand. And he felt rather naked and vulnerable without it. He had to admit he was rather curious about whom had vouched for him. He hadn't expected it: whatever had transpired during and after the war, what mattered most was the tattoo on his arm, whatever the reason why it was there. When he first arrived here, he had been told he was to be sentenced – as all other Death-Eaters – to death if the jury was generous, to the Dementors if it wasn't. He had never entered another court since his first trial. He hadn't even been notified of his release under custody.

Nothing had ever prepared him for that. He had been raised as a rich little boy, with a name and fortune that preceded him. He had been brought up in the idea all was due to him because of his background. But prison was another matter: here, your name's not welcome and your money has no worth. All you have is the rags on you and your thoughts. The lesson was harsh. He might – might – have acted as a spoilt little brat at school but he definitely wasn't sure he deserved that. To be stripped bare of all dignity and respect, to have nothing left but shame and other's disgust was just too painful.

Who had vouched for him? A Slytherin fellow? Who would have risked a fragile position in society for him? He was a Malfoy. It may have once been a well-known and respected name. Now it was only spat with venom, associated with corruption, torture and murder. He might have a very dim chance now to restore his name.

He was so absorbed in his train of thoughts, he didn't immediately notice the car.

"Mister Malfoy?" a feminine voice called from the car. "Over here, please."

A/N : Review, pretty please ?