Chapter Thirteen: Fall of a Lord

The announcement of Draco Malfoy's trial made headlines in the wizarding community around the world – the Ministry of Magic made sure of it. The date, the time, and the location of the trial were also highly publicized. They wanted to make sure that everyone knew of the trial – especially Lord Scylla.

Muggle weathermen were astounded the night before the trial when a freak thunderstorm racked the entirety of the British Isles, but Ron knew the sign for what it was. Lord Scylla knew Malfoy was alive, and he was furious. As he sat and watched the rain pelt down against the window, a part of him wanted to call the whole thing off, execute Malfoy without a trial, and deal with the consequences.

His father, were he still alive, would be ashamed of him. His mother, though he hadn't talked to her in weeks, probably was already. She certainly would be once this was over, no matter wether he captured Scylla or not.

The plan terrified him. It was ingenious, but terrifying. A public war trial; the room would be packed with people, innocent and unaware. Scylla would come as well, even if Ron could not predict whether he would disguise himself or simply attack without warning. And Scylla would, in that room full of people, attempt to take back Draco Malfoy. If Hermione's spell held in place, Malfoy would subdue Scylla, and the war would be over.

They were prepared for this outcome. The chamber prepared for Scylla's imprisonment before his own war trial had been finished two days ago – one even more strictly non-magical than Malfoy's. No stray magic was let in or out through heavy warding, and Ron himself had implemented the wards that would continually drain Harry's magic out of him, rendering him a powerless prisoner.

And Ron felt so awful about it, as if he were doing something so dreadfully wrong. He couldn't stop thinking about Scylla as Harry, and when he did, every act against Scylla was suddenly an act against his best friend. But he would do this – he had to. So many people, so many good people, were dead at Scylla's – at Harry's – hands. He could not overlook their deaths simply because of his feelings of friendship from the past.

The morning of Malfoy's 'trial' dawned with a peal of thunder. Wizards of every age trudged through the pouring rain to the huge amphitheater set up in the Ministry of Magic to watch the trial.

Ron woke early, hours before the trial was to begin, and sat at the window watching the rain. The breakfast that Hermione made for him was undoubtedly good and tasty, but he tasted nothing as he mechanically ate it. They sat in silence until the clock on the wall chimed eight forty-five. Then Ron rose silently, kissed Hermione good-bye, and floo'd to the Ministry. It was time to get Malfoy for his trial.

The other aurors looked as Ron felt, and they barely managed a nod to each other as they passed. There was too much riding on today to worry about such pleasantries.

Malfoy's wand was exactly where he'd placed it in the vaulted room in the Department of Mysteries. He held it for a second, looking at it – the wand which would be the wand to curse Lord Scylla. Hermione had likely already given Malfoy the order for today, even though she refused to be at the trial itself; She didn't need to be present to keep the spell strong, though, so Ron hadn't pushed the matter. Truly, he didn't want her to see what would happen.

Malfoy was awake and glaring at him as he entered the room. It was a helpless glare, however, and Ron knew that Hermione's spell still held as strongly as it had when she'd cast it. Malfoy had been under Imperius for a little over three days – it was hardly enough time to create a resistance to the curse if Malfoy even had the willpower to resist.

The hand that gave Malfoy his wand was cold and clammy, and it shook like a harp string when plucked too harshly, but Malfoy said nothing. Ron almost wished he would. The Malfoy from their school days would not have let Ron's nervousness go uncommented – he would not have missed the opportunity to insult Ron. Yet this Malfoy seemed to find nothing to say to his captor as Ron led him to the court room.

A hush fell over the crowd as they entered and the aurors latched Malfoy's feet to the legs of his chair. Longer chains were used to bind Malfoy's arms to the chair as well, but, they allowed for movement as he would need one arm later.

Later… Ron scoffed at himself. There was no 'later'. 'Later' was now; now the fate of the wizarding world would be decided.

The Wizengamot members took their places, and the Head of the Wizengamot stood to begin the trial.

The lights flickered. Ron tensed. Harry was here. Harry was somewhere in the room, but he was here.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy-"

Lightning crashed outside, the lights flickered, and the Head of the Wizengamot never finished his sentence. He keeled over, the words dead in his throat.

A gasp permeated the room, and Ron winced. The first casualty.

The two members next to the former Head carefully lifted his body from the dais where it had fallen. "He's been cursed," came the verdict. "Strangled to death."

Strangulo (lit. 'I strangle'), Ron's mind supplied with a detached, academic air which he'd always associated with Hermione during his training. He shook his head slightly at the aurors next to him. They had to stay put. If they didn't, the whole plan would fail. As much as he wanted to end the trial and get all the innocents out of the room, he couldn't.

He wouldn't.

Thunder pealed; the lights flickered one last time and went out. Ron closed his eyes as screams echoed around the room. Chairs were overturned, and if he quieted his mind, he could even tell the difference between a scream of fright and a scream of one in the throes of death.

The sounds escalated, and Ron had to physically hold back some of the junior aurors seated next to him. It would all be over soon. Soon it would be finished. If they could just wait-

"Stupefy."

Draco Malfoy's voice rang out like a bell in the confusion, and Ron let go of the aurors.

"Someone get the lights back on!" he ordered, "And get these people out of here."

He cast Lumos, and approached Malfoy. A cloaked figure lay draped over his body, and a single tear fell down his cheek. One look at Malfoy's eyes told Ron that Hermione's curse had ended. As he reached for the body, Malfoy's arms wrapped around it as his wand clattered to the floor. Ron pushed them off roughly, and turned the body over.

The lightning bolt scar told Ron all he needed to know: the war was over.

Ron stepped down from the witness stand amidst silence and walked to the seat Hermione had saved for him. He was the last of the aurors to speak. Now, the Wizengamot would discuss and give their verdict. All they had to do was wait.

Surrounded by aurors, Scylla awaited his sentence with dead eyes. Ron couldn't look at him. Hermione had stopped trying to do so long before. She took Ron's hand and squeezed it gently. It was almost over. Now all they could do was wait.

The Wizengamot sat together inside a bubble of privacy for almost an hour and a half as the rest of the room waited. Finally, the pale blue film disappeared, and Rok'lan stood. He waited for a moment as the scribbling of the press died down to silence before speaking.

"We will now judge the actions of one Lord Scylla, formerly Harry Potter." He turned to fix Scylla with his gaze. Scylla gazed back emotionlessly. "You were charged with the murder of a hundred and seventy-two wizards and witches, and three hundred and forty-five Muggles, as well as helping to lead a conspiracy and exciting certain groups, specifically Vampires and Centaurs, to join in this rebellion. We, the Wizengamot, find you guilty of all charges."