They'd escorted him back to his common room, frog marched was a far more accurate term in his mind, but he was certain they'd believe he had been walked back with his own breathing space. Regardless of what he thought.

He had settled into a random chair within their sights, unwilling to aggravate the already biased aurors. The pair of them had sat opposite him, their eyes never leaving him; save to check a small bracelet the woman wore once in a while.

"What are you expecting?" Draco asked eventually, breaking the uncomfortable silence they'd been sitting in after watching the woman look at her wrist for the hundredth time in the five minutes they'd been back in the common room.

"It to vibrate," she replied in the droll tones he normally used. "We're to go the moment it starts; you're to be taken straight to the courtroom. You'll be seated next to your mother, and Miss Hermione Granger." The woman continued eyes glued to her wrist as if she wouldn't feel the bracelet move.

"We'll be right behind you, so don't you try something with Miss Granger." The man said as the woman stood up, clearly agitated with the idea of waiting. Draco smothered a laugh, looking at the man he believed was called Luca as if he were of little intelligence, after all, they'd been in the hall with him whilst he'd sat with her, and had a brief conversation with the woman, all managed without any kind of violence.

"Please," he answered condescendingly, "I'll admit I've not been a saint, in fact, if you recall I was made to do an incredibly public apology for my poor behaviour, I believe you were even there in person. Now, It speaks volumes that you genuinely believe that I'd attack a war-heroine at my own father's trial. Do tell, what do I have to gain from such a thing?" The old Malfoy behaviour was back, patronising, in control, and scathing. It had always suited him well, there was an effectiveness to it that produced results that other ways could not, this was a part of himself he would not be shedding.

Luca had curled his upper lip up in what looked like embarrassment as Draco had spoken to him so unflinchingly, instead, he put his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a chain of all things. Draco regarded it, raising a brow curiously, but disinterested.

The wall opened once more, and for the second time that morning, Professor McGonagall rushed in, thoroughly out of breath.

"Professor?" Draco asked, staring at her in surprise. Minerva looked at the three of them, relief washing onto her stance like waves over a sandy beach.

"Thank goodness you're still here, I just received word, I am to take your wand, not Miss Brett," she explained, referring to the female auror who was with them, holding her hand out expectantly as she stood up straighter, and regaining her breath.

"What?!" Both Draco and Ava spoke simultaneously, looking at her in surprise.

"If you've questions, bring it up with the Minister, it seems Shacklebolt prefers that you do not enter the Ministry with a wand, and as you will be returning here each night, you can retrieve it from me when you return." She explained, as Luca looked as if he'd rather like to kick something.

"Give it to Ava, Malfoy." Luca said menacingly, completely disregarding what McGonagall had just said. Minerva gave Luca such a withering glare he recoiled visibly, as, with a hint of distress, Draco withdrew his wand from his pocket.

He looked at it lovingly; it had been used so little since it had been returned to him, he'd wanted to play it as safe as possible making sure no spells were on it that may upset who ever may be the judge of his future. Now he was being asked to turn it over once more, be separated from it again, leave it in the care of someone he wasn't entirely sure had his best interests at heart.

"Mr Malfoy," McGonagall spoke suddenly, her hand still outstretched, her expression understanding. "I assure you, this is temporary. It will be returned to you the moment you step foot upon Hogwarts grounds, it will be returned to you. You cannot carry a wand at the Ministry and in court, due to your own situation. You know I speak the truth. You know I have nothing to gain from this. I have my own wand. You have also given me no reason to think confiscating your wand would be beneficial." She was stern, as she always was, but each word was like a solution of logic to a mind that was becoming hazy with grief at handing over his wand. He spun it in his hand suddenly, holding it out to the Transfigurations mistress to take, his eyes closing in distress.

He felt a grip take the handle, and as he was about to release his own, a sharp slapping noise forced his eyes open.

"Mr Greensworth!" McGonagall scolded, "If I have to speak to Minsiter Shacklebolt about you, I most definitely will. Remove your hand immediately." She finished, her nostrils flaring as her lips whitened with her fury. Luca tightened his grip, gritting his teeth as McGonagall looked even more livid with each passing second her hand wasn't on his wand.

"Let go Luca," Ava sighed, rolling her eyes in the background, as Luca clinked the chain he was still holding thoughtfully. He released his fingers, and Minerva took over immediately, slipping his wand into a special sheathe and then tucking it away in her own robes.

"Thank you," Minerva said to all in the room, turning to look at Draco pointedly.

"Thank you," he swallowed, suddenly painfully shy as he looked at McGonagall, "thank you for giving me a chance. No, I mean, thank you for giving me a chance to return to Hogwarts and…" he trailed off, aware that he was garbled and incoherent; unfitting for a Malfoy. McGonagall looked slightly taken back, but she dipped her head as her lips thinned. Luca snorted a laugh back, smirking at him behind McGonagall's back.

"If Hogwarts can give you another chance at life that you won't throw away; then you shall have it." She promised him, once more a strictness to her voice as Ava's bracelet began to vibrate at exactly eight thirty in the morning. "Now, you cannot be late, you are aware of how you're to be transported I assume?" She asked as Luca began to look at him with such venom in his eyes he began to feel afraid. He began to raise his hands warily, as McGongall watched him with a hint of alarm, it was smothered however, by the fury that now raged beneath her skin. "No." He answered tersely, as he began to struggle not to cower at the two aurors with their wands raised and pointed at him. She raised her eyebrows in disapproval, but by the look on her face, Draco got the distinct feeling after the day was over he'd never see Luca again in his life.

"Like a criminal," Luca said delightedly, as he flicked the chain and his wand at the same time. The chain sneaked around his wrists, snaring his ankles. A fatigue began to seep into his very being, his very core now a slave to his shackles; draining him of all energy.

"What… what is this?" He gasped, struggling to keep his eyes open as he fell to his knees.

"Can't have you possibly transforming on us can we?" His thoughts muddled, confusion blocking all hope he had for sense, he vaguely wondered if they meant he was an unregistered animagus, the memory of Rita Skeeter not one he wished to re-live. The woman really was a beetle.

"I guess not," he agreed, marginally unaware of what he was saying, as he found himself being pulled to his feet.

"Let's go." He heard someone say, and with the familiar, but now painful pull of apparition; he vanished.

:: :: ::

Hermione sat in the kitchen of the Burrow as Ginny whirled her wand about her head, gently tugging her hair into a simple, yet elegant knot at the back of her head. The youngest Weasley had helped pick out a dress for her to wear earlier, and Hermione had taken great care over eating her breakfast that morning so as to not spill any of it on the form flattering pencil dress she'd been handed the moment she'd apparated into Ginny's bedroom in her pyjamas. She looked at her hands as Ginny finished, patting the knot to signify she was done, and Hermione smiled to herself.

"Thanks Gin, you're a life saver." She said fondly, as Ginny sat next to her.

"Don't be silly, I'll teach you these things if you want. You're also forgetting it's easier to do on someone else than it is yourself." Ginny chided with an amused quirk to her freckled features, gesturing to her own long red hair that she'd tied back into a simple pony tail. Hermione grinned properly; as Harry bounded down the stairs in a suit he looked surprisingly comfortable wearing.

"Not robes?" Ginny asked, giving Harry and admiring glance as Hermione picked up her blazer from the seat next to her.

"Nah, think this is going to be uncomfortable, your Mum said to wear something I'd feel more at home in. Was raised as a muggle so… it's what I'm used to." He said, shrugging. Ginny nodded, not really minding in the slightest as the fireplace roared to life and Arthur Weasley stepped out of it.

He stumbled forward slightly, catching himself on one of the many soft chairs, shaking his head free of soot. He knocked his still shabby robes about, and a shower of ash was set free, it gathered about him on the floor in a halo; a guilty expression coming to life upon Arthur's face. He looked about in what was clearly meant to be a sneaky way, pulling his wand out of his robes and pointing it at the floor. A second later, and the mess had vanished, the floor as pristine as it had been previously. He tucked his wand away, and walked into the kitchen, his face fell a little as he realised the three had seen everything.

"Don't… don't mention that to Molly would you?" He asked a hopeful twinkle in his eye.

"Don't mention what Dad?" Ginny replied, a look not uncanny to George's mischievous air on her face. Arthur sighed with relief, giving his daughter a loving expression.

"That's my girl; Molly worked too hard to keep that floor clean." He smiled, turning to Harry and Hermione who were both still eating. "Harry, Hermione, I've been sent to collect you." He continued, giving them both an approving glance as he saw what they were wearing. Harry started to shovel food down his throat so fast Hermione thought he might choke, and Ginny snorted with laughter. Arthur blinked, taken aback by Harry's sudden speed eating. "Not, not now, there's still some time!" He exclaimed, and Harry threw him a relieved look as he slowed down his shovelling.

"Are you going to be there at the trial too Mr Weasley?" Hermione asked him, her brown eyes wide. He shook his head and Hermione slumped a little, not aware that she'd been hoping for another familiar presence at the trial.

"No, I'm to apparate you there, and then leave; I gave my memories – no need for my attendance. I'll do this each morning for as long as the case lasts." He told her, picking up a croissant.

Silence reigned once more, as was now the common situation; as if all were able to appreciate the sound of nothing more since all previous silences had been terse, strained, and the echo to a deathly scream. These had become comfortable; almost pleasant silences. They finished their meals just as Arthur began to look as if he was about to drag them away; Ginny kissed Harry, and he grinned much to Hermione's inward relief. She stood, facing Arthur who gently took hold of her arm, holding his other hand out for Harry to join him.

"We'll be going straight to Kingsley, no one else; he'll be waiting and he'll then take you straight there. There shouldn't be any press, not until you get inside the courtroom." Arthur said, with the all too familiar tones of needing to keep them safe from a danger they couldn't run from forever. He gripped Harry's arm; almost protectively, and the pull of apparition engulfed her.

:: :: ::

The waiting room for their entrance was dull to say the most, a brown leather sofa, filled with cracks betraying it's age was shoved up against one of the walls, a coffee table carelessly placed in the middle of it, with a coffee stained copy of the newest Daily Prophet, an old Malfoy family picture emblazoned on the front of it under the headline 'Family Reunion'. A house plant of some sorts, one that looked as though it hadn't seen nor heard of water once in its life time was in the corner of the room to add something to look at Draco assumed, as not even a picture hung on the dull grey walls. Four aurors were guarding the room, one in each corner, whilst Draco's two had a small break in shadowing him before the court was due to start.

The room however, was a nice change from the corridors that he'd been paraded down; a major re-decoration was in progress. There were so many bodies, so many sheets, and the smell of rotting flesh… the smell was lingering.

The door opened, and a lanky man walked in, clearly chaperoning someone.

His mother.

She followed the auror in, clearly irritated with the mornings events, and allowed her eyes to casually scan the room once over. She took note in its bare decor, wrinkling her nose ever so slightly, enough that only Draco would notice it, she ran her eyes over both Potter and Granger, who were talking to quietly about the Weasley's by the potted plant, her eyes flaring with fury for the briefest of instants, before noting the other few insignificant members of the public.

Finally, she found him. Her face brightened immediately, and she swanned over to him, her hands outstretched.

"Mother," he said, leaning into kiss her cheek affectionately as she clasped her hands over his.

"Draco," she replied, returning his kiss as delicately as she usually did. For a moment, Draco was relieved the press that had been allowed to attend had not been able to see the second reunion they'd shared since being parted from one another. The door opened once more, and a shrill voice that he recognised instantly greeted them before he could turn to look.

"Draco!" Pansy cried grabbing hold of him and pulling him in to a greeting kiss, her lips crashing themselves against his jaw, he hadn't been able to turn his head fast enough, in an overly spit filled manner. "I'm so happy to see you here, did you know that stupid McGonagall woman won't even allow me to come see you at Hogwarts. It's such a fucking dumb thing to say, like, I'm his contracted wife-to-be, doesn't that mean anything? Urgh." She huffed, as Narcissa looked at Pansy fondly. Pansy finally seemed to have noticed that his mother was in attendance, and without waiting for any response from him, turned to her, elated.

"Mrs Malfoy!" She said in the same jubilant tones she'd greeted him in her signature brunette bob shaking just below her jawline as she leaned in to kiss both his mother's cheeks. Narcissa returned them both effortlessly, clearly pleased Pansy was there.

"Pansy, darling, I'm so pleased you're here," she confirmed Draco's suspicions as he looked at Pansy with a distaste he hadn't expected.

Merlin's beard. It was Granger. Granger prompted by McGonagall. She was right, the world was changing, and it had no choice after what had transpired just over a week ago. Things would have to be different, and in had come Pansy, speaking about a marriage contract that had been agreed for them in the summer between their third and fourth years. It's why he'd taken her to the yule ball; it was why he'd attempted to care for her beyond their friendship if they could ever had called it that. He'd been perfect at putting on a display of slow burning affection for her, but never, never had it ignited into something real. He'd barely even thought of her since Voldemort's defeat. She'd been so insignificant in the whole scheme of things. The idea of seeking her out for comfort simply hadn't occurred to him, because Pansy didn't do the kind of comfort he needed, Pansy didn't do much at all that didn't benefit her. Private comforting hugs were not her style; she'd prefer the world saw her stroke the hair of the Malfoy heir.

"Draco?" Pansy was asking him, looking at him as if he'd just had a fit; she was not used to being ignored by him. He'd made sure of that after the contract had been signed.

"Sorry Pans, I zoned out for a moment, was thinking of…" He lied artfully, looking shamefaced as Narcissa made a hushing noise, clasping his hand sympathetically. Pansy softened immediately, understanding the situation they were about to endure.

"I was only asking if the rumour about Granger living at Hogwarts was true," Pansy repeated for him, "as I was saying, it's a travesty. McGonagall won't allow me to see someone who is there unwillingly, but will allow Granger to put down roots. Does she not have a home to go to?" She laughed spitefully.

"Actually, no I don't." Hermione said making the three of them jump in surprise. Shock filled his veins like ice water as he turned to watch her pass them on her way to the door. A delighted chuckle escaped Pansy, and his mother tutted with satisfaction at something he couldn't fathom. Granger didn't have a home?

A fragmented line was being formed, and an auror was checking names off a list he held in his hands, as another placed Hermione behind a stern looking man he didn't recognise. Potter had been called, and a murmur of astonishment and interest burst to life in the room as he was directed to his spot.

"Mr Draco Malfoy." An unfamiliar voice called as Potter sighed, rubbing his hands on his suit's trousers nervously.

"It's time, let's go." Hermione said as the auror by the door pointed at him, and waved him over. The first day was due to begin.

:: :: ::

The courtroom was small, circular. It was decorated plainly, deep brown wood was laid down for the floor, and it meant every footstep echoed in the dome, which, despite its size, was cavernous. The wood continued up the sides of the room, leading up to raised seating, rows upon rows all the way up to the ceiling. In the middle of the floor was a lone chair in a wrought iron cage, its wooden arms and legs with braces for someone's limbs. It faced a podium, high above the chair, imposing. Great oak doors were behind the chair, and the lowest row of seats was at the same height as the doors midpoint, exactly halfway. The entire courtroom was lit by one lone chandelier, tiers of candles placed upon it, their dim light giving the place a foreboding glow.

The media were already sitting in the top rows of seats like insects, the lenses of their cameras their bright beady eyes, and the scratching of quills on parchment was eerily similar to how a swarm of insects sounded when eating.

Aurors, many of them, as Kingsley Shacklebolt had been kindly loaned twenty each from other ministry from around the world until they were not needed anymore lined the floor below where the audience would sit, a good couple of feet between their heads and the feet of those beginning to walk to their seats in the lowest row.

Below the media, were several rows of people each wearing identical robes of the Ministry. They weren't the robes of the Wizengamot, and so must have been the jurors. They were talking amongst themselves, excited and eager for nine o'clock to chime.

He walked to his allocated seat, pointedly ignoring the aurors walking beside him the row just above him, watching Pansy, just in front of his mother settling into her seat, looking bored already. The media had noticed their arrival, and were lazily taking pictures, a flash lighting up the room every few seconds.

"Mother," Draco said, sitting in the chair next to her, leaning in to kiss her cheek affectionately. He relaxed back, feeling an ache in his guts where the chain had pulled at his core.

"Draco," she replied, returning his kiss as the aurors guarding them settled into the seats behind them, the flashbulbs of the press capturing their practised reunion for all to see. "Remember, placid faces," She said lowly, her lips barely moving her gaze upon the chair in the middle of the court, where her husband would appear in chains.

"I'd never forget," he answered, in the schooled, careful movement of his face he'd learnt since he had learnt to walk and talk. Their staged reunion over he took in a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come in the day ahead as a surprised, frenzied chatter burst out opposite them, the flash bulbs of the photographers attempting to re-create a lightning storm. The sound of quills scratching upon the surface of parchment soon became the thunder. He turned his head to the left, and found himself attempting to wipe a smirk off his face.

Hermione Granger was walking to her seat beside him, the picture of elegance and personified defiance. Her face wore the look of a woman walking into a storm. She carefully lowered herself into her chair next to him, not looking at him, instead scowling at the press opposite her with such venom he was impressed.

"Goodness." His mother said under her breath, her distaste evident in the way she raised her nose in the air a fraction of an inch, so as not to be noticed by the hawk eyed lenses. Apparently, Narcissa had not been made aware of the seating arrangements.

The chatter hadn't stopped; instead, Hermione was leaning away from him, whispering something to the person next to her. Potter. He seemed to be free of his Weaselette. Each time he'd seen the pair of them they'd been attached as if a permanent sticking charm had been applied to them both. He'd actually expected her to attend considering he was. Potter's face was just as stony as Hermione's, his glare speaking volumes as he remained looking straight ahead, his hands clasped in his lap.

Hermione sat back in her seat again, and unthinkingly, he leant towards her, but a firm, stern grip upon his shoulder stopped his movement.

"I hope you're not thinking of taking Miss Grangers' wand." A woman's voice taunted him. He turned, as Hermione finally looked at him properly, annoyance sparking to life within his gut, his lip curling as he faced the auror withholding him.

"Actually," he purred dangerously, capturing her deep blue eyes with his own, "I was going to discreetly thank her for coming, as I know she didn't have to show her face here, nor did Mr Potter for that matter. Their support means a lot to my mother and I."

"Oh, well, I-" The woman attempted to answer, as Draco raised a lone brow at her.

"Yes, I'm sure." He interrupted, taking a careful look over her finally. She looked like the woman who had escorted him that morning, but younger, possibly mid-twenties, with a cut slicing the olive skin of her cheek. Her heart shaped face was framed by dark blonde hair, curling ever so gently about her jawline. She had a slight stocky build, which he suspected was muscle, and a friendly if flustered smile.

"Really, its fine, I know he wouldn't be as stupid as to attempt to take my wand here." Hermione added her voice to the fray, "I do thank you for your diligence Miss?"

"Brett, Felicity Brett," she answered, getting more flustered by the moment. Draco regarded Hermione for the briefest of instances, and noted the politeness was forced; her expression was one you would wear if disciplining a small child. The name satisfied his curiosity, a close relation to be sure, sister perhaps.

"Miss Brett, Mr Malfoy will be fine with me." She assured her, a smile that didn't reach her eyes spreading upon her lips. The auror nodded as Hermione turned back in her seat, facing the excited press once more. She didn't look at him, nor answer his thanks, but her stance relaxed ever so slightly. He caught a glance of Potter who smirked at him, before realising just whom he was looking at, and looked forward again.

:: :: ::

A clock chimed somewhere, and immediately, silence descended.

It was nine in the morning.

The doors opened for the final time, and three men walked in, the first headed directly to the podium in front of the caged chair. He stood behind the podium, waiting for the second man to come to a stop in front of the podium, and for the Shacklebolt to seat himself in the chair to the right of the main podium.

"The trial of Lucius Malfoy to begin." The man behind the podium commanded, and with a sharp crack, his father appeared in front of the court.

Lucius had been looked after well in the holding cells, he was clean at least. His hair was tied back, the way he usually wore it. He was even clean shaven. His robes were clean, whilst basic, not the usual fare he was used to, but clothed.

He groaned quietly, clearly dazed, blinking frantically as if he'd just seen a blinding light and his eyes were struggling to adjust. His arms were chained to the chair, and his legs were too, his movement was completely restricted, only his head was free to loll about, as if he were a rag doll.

"It is requested that complete silence be maintained throughout the duration of the trial. Speak when you are spoken to." The speaker at the podium said sternly, his voice magically amplified.

A pair of unspeakables had slipped into the courtroom whilst the charges, many of them, had been announced, and just underneath the podium were setting performing an incredibly complex spell with the use of several potions. Eventually, the court came to a complete silence as a silvery, metallic surface flowed upwards perfectly flat, as if it were a mirror made out of molten silver. Their work completed, they stood either side of it imposingly, waiting next to it.

And with that. It began.

:: :: ::

It had soon become clear that the only person able to speak for his defence was Lucius Malfoy himself. Everyone else that was capable was either barred due to their own criminal status, dead, or completely unwilling, out of either sheer terror, or a relief that the Malfoy's were finally in trouble.

Memories had been projected onto the silver wall in some way he couldn't figure out, but gasps of amazement and approval had twittered throughout the court, and to Draco's relief, the memories had not been biased, but a fair assessment of his father.

Only. It was becoming blindingly obvious that the man Draco had grown up idolising, was not a man to idolise.

Each of the memories had shown the same thing, he was drawn to power, knew how to pull strings, intimidate, blackmail and bribe in order to get his way. He was fiercely protective of his family, and to Draco's dismay, truly entrenched in pure-blood ideals. The first day of evidence had made that abundantly clear. The second day was proving the same. He kept his eyes on his father, hoping that there may be something to change his view, to give him some hope again.

"Tell us about your son." The man striding around his father's cage asked. His tone complacent, as if everything they'd been talking about yesterday and in the morning was nothing in comparison to this.

"He's a smart boy, talented at flying; I believe you're going to have to elaborate." His father answered, as he did his best to ignore Granger stiffening beside him, and the slight chin raise from Potter. The sudden intense interest from the press in his direction. He gritted his teeth. His jaw clenching.

"Forgive me," The man said in his bored tones, utterly unapologetic as he continued his walk about Lucius' cage. He raised one of his overly hairy arms to his chin, rubbing an overly manicured beard. "I meant tell us about the decisions you and your wife made when raising your son. How you wanted the ambassador for the pair of you, to appear to the rest of the world. Tell me, and the esteemed ladies and gentlemen gathered here today, what aspects of your lifestyles you chose to impress upon your lone son. Tell us all, why you chose them, what you were hoping for him."

The question echoed throughout the courtroom, every syllable thudding through his skull and his mother placed her hand upon his forearm, squeezing it gently. Her fingers looked minute upon the sleeve of his suit's jacket, her white fingers like a child's. The media, who had been oddly silent their quills scratching away as silently as possible, were now as loud as nails down a chalk board. Flashes burst out once more, his picture taken again, his pain illuminated.

Lucius looked towards him and his mother for the first time, agonised, and beside him, his mother nodded once, supportive, although the hand upon his arm trembled slightly. Surreptitiously, he placed his hand upon his mothers, and inwardly braced himself once more.

His world was going to shatter.

:: :: ::

Malfoy was sitting as stiff as a board beside her. He'd straightened up in his chair, but comforted his mother at the first available opportunity as his father looked to the pair of them with a pained expression.

"How, how are my parenting decisions relative to my trial?" Lucius asked, as the questioner spun on his heel to face him, clasping his hands behind his back.

"I've always found, Mr Malfoy, that there are three; almost fool proof ways of judging someone are to look at how they treat those inferior to them, to secondly, look at how they carry themselves in public, their actions when they believe no one is looking. Then, finally, look at how they find it acceptable to raise their child. I believe I said earlier, that a child is the ambassador of yourself and your partner. It is the crowning jewel of a relationship, a child. Now of course, parenthood is not for everyone, but I do find, that when a child has been brought into the world, it becomes a valuable way of seeing what someone is made of. Now, I'm afraid the memories provided haven't exactly painted the prettiest of pictures of your character, but the real way to confirm if any of that is true, is to look at your son.

This, this is all relevant to your current situation because your son up there," He said, his voice hardening, as he pointed directly at Draco, the tip of his finger aimed directly between his eyes, "is everything that you and your wife believe in. He is the epitome of the pair of you. Your children, whether you realise it or not, are mirrors of you. They see how you behave and they copy it. Having you tell me, and all those gathered here today, exactly what attributes you intended for your beloved son to inherit will help the pair of you." He explained sternly, not once breaking his gaze from Lucius's.

"How?" Lucius asked, clearly not realising he'd spoken when he hadn't meant to. The man chuckled lowly, shaking his head as he looked to the floor, shaking his shoulders as the peals of heartless laughter left his body.

"It is no secret, the situation your son is under. Thanks to the sheer generosity of our current Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and the kindness of Madam McGonagall, the new Headmistress of Hogwarts, he is under house arrest at the school until his two week stay at Azkaban. He has already been made to pay a vast amount of his inheritance to the three cornerstone institutions of our world. He has been made to apologise, in public, to I think, most of wizarding Britain. I am not sure if anyone didn't see the pictures of him in Hogsmeade. Now, I ask you this, tell me, why is this the punishment for your son?"

"His age," Lucius said as if the questioner was stupid.

"Oh. His age," he repeated, gesturing expectantly for Lucius to continue.

Lucius shook his head clearly confused, as Draco took in an overly deep breath, his chest rising and falling, causing a wave of his earthy scent to wash over her. She bit her lip, watching as the questioner sighed heavily.

"Oh Mr Malfoy." He said, as Lucius looked at him confused. "His age. He was granted the punishment because the majority of his actions were when he was just sixteen. Now, do you agree with me that it would be a fair assessment that perhaps his actions might not have been his own fault? That, perhaps, while he was still considered a minor, he should have had parents that were able, and or willing to teach him the correct way in which to conduct oneself?"

"I would say that is a fair assessment. Besides, my son admitted it himself in his apology to the Madam Rosmerta. My wife and I have most certainly made mistakes in our parenting of him." Lucius admitted, as Draco fidgeted with the cuffs of his sleeves, his mother's hand attempting to restrain him from doing so.

"Now, referring back to how it would help him, tell me, is your sons' future set in stone? What will he be doing after his stay in Azkaban?"

"He'll be…" Lucius trailed off immediately, shamed at once.

"Exactly." His questioner explained, "You have created a liability. People are unsure of the young Malfoy heir, now, why would that be?"

"My own ideals of blood purity. That I willingly placed my own son in a dangerous environment; they are most likely concerned that my son is essentially a copy of myself." He sighed, as Hermione breathed in deeply.

"So, tell me about your son."

Lucius sighed, hanging his head. "Draco was an only child for a reason. The Malfoy line has always had one lone son. Just one; to carry on the name. He was named to uphold the Black family constellation naming tradition, and as such, he was as pure-blooded as you could get. Both my wife and I's families are as old as you could get, and we had both been raised ourselves entrenched in the pureblood ideologies." He looked more and more uncomfortable as he spoke, until eventually; he finished, and looked pleadingly at the man asking him questions. "I think this would work much better if you just asked me much more direct questions."

"Very well, let's talk about the decisions you encouraged your son to make," He agreed, "let's start with friends at school. It is rumoured, that you very much encouraged him to make friends with Mr Harry Potter once he started at Hogwarts. Is this true?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Hermione tensed attempting to calm herself, because for some reason, her heart was thudding in her chest, her blood on fire.

There was something oddly terrifying, but it felt like she was about to open a whole treasure chest, like she was going to discover a map to the lost city of Atlantis. The press had begun a brand new frenzy the sheer mention of Harry Potter. Both men either side of her had shifted uncomfortably, and without knowing it, the pair of them were doing their very best to not look at one another.

"There was a belief, that, Harry Potter was going to be the new Dark Lord, so I encouraged my son to investigate, to become friends with him."

"And, why would you do that."

"Because… because…"

:: :: ::

Family was his weakness.

It had been discovered.

His mother had gripped his arm so tightly he was losing feeling in it.

He gripped her hand back just as tightly.

His father had been caught like a mouse in a field, trying to escape an owl. His father had expertly talked himself into the questioners' beak. It was galling, at every opportunity, Lucius had been given a fair opportunity to defend himself, explain his reasoning. Each memory had been countered by one of his own, or of someone else's at a different angle. Where he wasn't able to have a defence, people that Draco had never even heard of had been contacted, and had supplied either a statement, or a memory of their version of events.

To his relief, and dread, Kingsley Shacklebolt had kept to his published word that every Death Eater would be given a fair trial. It was just a shame his father's trial was the only one the press had been allowed to attend.

It made every single thing that Lucius admitted to of his own admission even worse.