The morning passed like a blur. Draco was tempted to make it even more of a blur by getting drunk by mid-morning, but some part of his self-control remained, and when he took his seat in the Ministry courtroom he was greatly relieved that it had.

Most of the Wizengamot was already seated. In fact, as Draco looked around the room with as much discretion as he could muster – he was acutely aware that almost everyone in the room had their gazes directed at him – it was only Astoria, Macmillan, the Minister and whichever Weasley was his secretary who were missing.

He could hardly avoid moving his gaze towards the desk on the opposite side of the courtroom. Macmillan's empty seat was followed by Nott's.

Draco wasn't sure how he had avoided flinging himself at the bastard to wring his neck before Nott had even stepped through the courtroom door, but somehow he had managed to contain himself. There was some satisfaction to be derived from the obvious discomfort the jerky manner in which Nott walked betrayed. Macmillan probably had no idea why his witness moved so strangely, but Draco sneered at the memory of Nott flying through the window of the Manor.

It was closely followed by the memory of Nott's fist colliding with Astoria's face, which quickly replaced his satisfaction with rage.

Draco knew they weren't allowed to speak to each other, and indeed Nott seemed intent to follow all rules while at the Ministry. His hair was slicked back with some sort of gelling charm and more than enough arrogance, and there was a disgusting confidence to the way he was sitting upright in his seat, as if he had already won. Draco moved his hand to his pocket, where the outline of his wand brought him some measure of comfort. The crippling emptiness in his fingertips had finally been replaced with the familiar sensation of magic.

He couldn't help looking around again, for what had to be the hundredth time. Where was Astoria? With the other missing people, no doubt; after all, there were still five minutes left until the trial was due to begin, and it certainly wouldn't start without the Minister. But he couldn't seem to relax while her seat was empty next to his, and he had to force himself to focus on the situation at hand instead of allowing his mind to drift back to the way her legs had looked tangled up in his bedsheets…

As he jerked his head to a side to distract himself, Nott caught his eye. His features hardly changed, but there was a slight tightening in Nott's jaw. He was angry.

Good.

The sudden click of an opening door broke through the near-silence of the courtroom, and as one, all heads turned towards the door near the Wizengamot benches. Astoria came at the forefront, eyes downcast and lips pressed into a thin line. Macmillan, striding in behind her, made a beeline towards his seat beside Nott, his normally elegantly styled hair looking slightly disordered. He threw Astoria one last look of dissatisfaction before taking his seat. The Minister and the younger Weasley took their seats wearily, and Draco thought he saw Shacklebolt sigh before beginning to arrange the documents in front of him.

Astoria sat down, and the sudden onslaught of her perfume left Draco momentarily dizzy. The bruises that had lined her neck were mostly hidden by the high collar of her shirt, and the remaining scars must have been covered by a glamor charm of some sort. The resulting effect was that she looked even more radiant than usual, which Draco found quite irritating.

"Are you ready?" she asked, by way of greeting.

He set his hands on the table and crossed his fingers to ensure that he wasn't tempted to grab hers under the table. He let out a noncommittal grunt. "What was that about?"

"I don't think Macmillan actually thought we would settle, but everyone's frustrated anyway." She reached down for her briefcase, waving a hand over the lock. It opened with a click, and she sifted through document after document before pulling out a seemingly random assortment of parchment rolls and an envelope, arranging them before her. Her expression was still grim, and she had not yet met his gaze. "Shafiq settled for twenty-five years."

Draco's stomach churned uncomfortably, but he tried to ignore it. "Greyback'll probably be dead by then."

Astoria didn't reply.

The Minister cleared his throat, and the murmurs had been running through the courtroom until now were quickly silenced. Draco looked away from Astoria and focused on the thin lines that cut across the stone floor.

"The Wizengamot is present today to pass judgment on the case of Draco Lucius Malfoy, accused of conspiring with the terrorist organization of Dark Wizards, self-named Death Eaters, under the command of Voldemort, in the murder, torture and other crimes committed against Wizarding and Muggle population from the year 1996 to 1998. In addition, he is accused of: aiding in the infiltration and attack on Hogwarts in 1997, assisting in the murder of Albus Dumbledore, being responsible for the attack on Katherine Bell through Dark Magic, participating in various Death Eater meetings and witnessing over 30 tortures of innocent Muggles, Witches and Wizards, participating in the sacking of Ollivander's Wand Shop, witnessing the murder of the Muggle Wendy Stewart, submitting two Ministry officials to the Imperius Curse, and participating in the Battle of Hogwarts in support of the Death Eaters, assisting in the murder of hundreds and witches and wizards, many of them students." The Minister looked up briefly in Astoria's direction. "To this, the accused pleads not-guilty."

"I still think that was a stupid idea," Draco drawled under his breath to mask the sudden pounding of his heart.

Astoria said nothing, but her jaw clenched even tighter and Draco immediately regretted saying anything.

He wondered, suddenly, if her injuries from the night before were still paining her. Had she rested enough? He got a sudden, irrational urge to reach for the collar of her shirt and examine her bruises. He wondered how much of the tension in her stance had to do with the situation, and how much of it had to do with pain.

Suddenly Macmillan was standing up, his hair now back in perfect order as he rolled his shoulders like he was preparing for a Quidditch match. Draco knew he was being childish, but he suddenly really wanted to punch the man.

Nott stepped forwards at a carefully measured pace, his features arranged into a mask of quiet reluctance. Astoria's nails were digging into the quill she held between her fingers with such fierceness that Draco feared she might snap it in half. She was staring straight at Nott, and maybe Draco was imagining it, but Nott's eyes skipped over their table entirely as he looked around the room.

There was very little in the manner of greeting between Macmillan and Nott. Maybe Macmillan had finally realized how much of an asshole his witness was. He went straight to the point.

"If you could please repeat the information you disclosed last Wednesday."

"I mentioned that Draco Malfoy had been assigned the task of murdering Dumbledore by the Dark Lord, and would have done it, had Snape not interfered."

The tension in the room was tangible now, and Astoria's eyes were flitting from Nott to Macmillan, as if she was carefully calculating something. Draco had seen that look before, in people like Marcus Flint during Quidditch practice.

Macmillan nodded shortly. "Thank you."

Stepping back from his witness, he turned towards the Wizengamot, pacing slowly across the floors Draco returned his gaze to the ground, feeling somewhat sick. He knew, mostly, what Macmillan was about to say – he had read it in the Prophet countless times, and had had it shouted at him nearly as many times. But it never quite softened the blow of hearing it recited with Macmillan's perfect enunciation, to a room of several dozen people.

"As you all know, this was a piece of new information that we were not aware of. As far as we knew, Draco Malfoy's assignment by Voldemort involved granting passage to the Death Eaters into Hogwarts castle through the Vanishing Cabinet, and nothing more. Now, thanks to Mr. Nott, we know that his task was much more sinister – he was meant to murder the greatest wizard who ever lived.

"It made sense for Voldemort to choose Mr. Malfoy as the loyal servant entrusted to such a monumental mission. He would need someone with a profound knowledge of the school, the ability to approach the Headmaster's chambers unsuspected, and an unswerving loyalty fueled by deep conviction. Having already proven himself by the actions that led up to the infiltration, including his participation in multiple Death Eater gatherings and the attack on Katherine Bell, Draco Malfoy was the perfect candidate.

"We know, of course, that Severus Snape was the one who dealt the final blow that caused Albus Dumbledore's death, as part of an arrangement between Dumbledore and Snape – but clearly, this was not the version of events Draco Malfoy would have preferred. His words to Mr. Nott conveyed a sense of pride – a sense of frustrated purpose. It is clear that the accused, at that moment in 1997 when he confided in Mr. Nott, wished that he could relive the moment and deal the killing curse himself. His intent, ladies and gentlemen, was that of a murderer."

Draco battled nausea in his stomach. He wanted to close his eyes, shut out Macmillan and the Wizengamot from his vision, but he didn't trust what the inside of his eyelids might show him. Dumbledore, the tower, the taste of an unpronounced Avada Kedavra lingering in his lips…

Macmillan was not finished yet, but the cadence of his voice was reaching towards a point of finality, like a storyteller bringing a tale to its dramatic close. "This was Draco Malfoy's first mission, and one that initiated his involvement leading up to the end of the War. I do not believe that it is a stretch to say that the crimes committed in June 1997 were the most significant in the accused's career as a Death Eater. It was at this time that the petty schoolboy became a criminal – a criminal with murderous intent."

He couldn't help it. He closed his eyes. Blue eyes were staring at him from under half-moon spectacles.

He looked up quickly, preferring to face the Wizengamot instead. The witches and warlocks across the room glanced at each other, some leaning sideways to exchange quiet remarks with their colleagues. Macmillan's statement had had the intended effect, and he seemed to bask momentarily in the air of the room. The Minister's mouth was an expressionless line, and his eyes were fixed on the prosecution.

But Astoria's mouth had twitched into a slight smile. Draco caught a gleam of triumph in her eyes, and the tightness in his throat relaxed slightly. Things, bizarrely, were going as she had hoped.

"The Wizengamot calls the defense forward."

She still hadn't spared him a glance.

Still with the mysterious smile on her lips, Astoria stood up, brushing past Macmillan to stand before the room. She stood still, her back to Draco, but he could almost see her eyes move over the Wizengamot in a calculated choreography. Somehow, the confidence with which she stood managed to reach him, and though he still felt a knot of nerves in his stomach, his nausea disappeared entirely.

"Thank you," Astoria said, in the clear voice she reserved for trials – so different from the gentle conviction of her tone when it was only the two of them. Her gaze moved over the benches as she spoke, as if she was making eye contact with every single member of the audience. "We are all rather surprised at this new turn of events – the emergence of this information seems to have changed everything." She paused before continuing, taking a breath. "And yet, when observing with objective eyes, it becomes clear that nothing has changed at all.

"Albus Dumbledore is dead, and Severus Snape murdered him. Draco Malfoy was present upon the Astronomy Tower of Hogwarts that night, and yet he murdered no one. Among the five Death present, Draco was the youngest at seventeen years old. It seems to me rash, if not downright irrational, to try and lay the blame for such a high-profile assassination on the smallest person in the party – one who had clearly been coerced by the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters to carry out the mission. We have repeatedly gone over the Malfoy family's situation, and I don't believe there is a need to restate how pitifully desperate it was. Draco carried the responsibility of his family's fate on his young shoulders; he was to carry out the Dark Lord's orders, on pain of death."

She sighed with something akin to frustration. "We could philosophize for weeks about what might have been if Snape hadn't been there, but what is the point? This is a trial, and we deal with facts. The fact is, Draco Malfoy did not kill Albus Dumbledore, and as such, he is innocent of the crime."

Pausing again, Astoria turned slightly, and Draco could see her eyes burning with determination. They moved past Nott and connected with Macmillan's. Her voice was as clear as ever. "We must ask ourselves, then, why the prosecution's witness seems so eager to mention a fact that would seem irrelevant—"

Draco could see Macmillan's irritation, and he couldn't blame him. It was hardly an irrelevant fact. It didn't feel irrelevant; not when he could still remember the way the stone floor had felt against his shoes and the exact temperature of the wind upon the Astronomy Tower. But Astoria's tone had turned cold.

"I have a series of questions to pose to Mr. Nott, which might help give us some context. Let me remind you, ladies and gentlemen, that the only people with true knowledge of what happened were those who were on the Astronomy Tower, and that seventeen year olds under pressure easily submit to teenage attitudes when trying to hide very real fear. Draco Malfoy's emotional state in 1997 is quite clear from the testimony of much more reliable witnesses than Mr. Nott, and I believe it would be ridiculous to count classmates boasting as an admission of murderous intent. If so, every false threat that gets thrown around in school dormitories would be prosecutable."

Macmillan's face was twisted into a barely-hidden scowl as Astoria turned swiftly to Nott, whose expression was steely as he faced her.

"Mr. Nott," her tone was biting. "Please inform the Wizengamot of the names of your parents."

Nott did not seem to have expected her to ask anything along those lines. He seemed to stumble over his words for a second, suddenly confused by her line of questioning. "Er… Paschal and Claudette Nott."

"Thank you." She turned to the Wizengamot. "I'm not sure if you are aware of the great Malfoy scandal that took place nearly fifty years ago; after all, Abraxas Malfoy made sure to keep it under wraps from the wider world."

Macmillan had had enough. "Objection, Minister!" He sighed with irritation. "Is this relevant?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt merely raised his eyebrows at Astoria.

She didn't miss a beat. "It will be. Mr. Nott, are you aware of the name Andrealphus Malfoy?"

Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but Draco thought he saw Nott's shoulders tense suddenly, apprehension running down his body like a lightning bolt. Then it disappeared, almost as immediately as it had come. "No."

"I will tell you, then." She looked around the room. "Andrealphus Malfoy was the younger brother of the infamous Abraxas Malfoy, I'm sure you've heard of him –" There was suddenly a lot of eyebrow-raising and murmuring around the room, especially from the older wizards. The mysterious resignation and sickness of Minister Leach in 1968 had not been forgotten, nor had the rumors of a conspiracy been entirely silenced. "—There isn't much in the manner of records about his life, partly because he studied in Durmstrang and therefore most of his connections were established abroad, mostly because his own family went to great lengths to forget about him. But why were the Malfoys so intent to erase one of their own from their family tree?

"Well, as we all know by now, there were very few perceived crimes that the Malfoy family did not tolerate, and perhaps Andrealphus Malfoy committed the worst of all: he had a romantic relationship with a Half-blood witch. Her name was Amira Fawcett. And she became pregnant."

Draco could tell that Macmillan was itching to intervene, completely baffled by where Astoria's speech was going, and all the more apprehensive because of it. He himself had no idea what she was doing, but he found his hands clenched into fists on the desk before him, as if he was battling rising excitement.

Astoria was staring at Nott again.

"Mr. Nott, are you familiar with this story?"

"No."

She smiled in what would be a benevolent manner, if her eyes weren't gleaming electric blue. "I wouldn't blame you. The Malfoys of old were very successful in covering up the story. Would you mind sharing with the Wizengamot, then, what prompted you to be a witness in a case against your classmate?"

He raised his chin slightly, mouth a proud line. "I want to see justice prevail. Draco had a choice, and he chose the Dark Lord."

"And you?" she shot back.

Macmillan was on his feet, cheeks flushed. "Objection! Irrelevant!"

The Minister sighed. "Miss Greengrass," he said warningly.

She ignored him. "And you, Mr. Nott?"

Draco could hardly breathe. It seemed that the Wizengamot was experiencing something similar, because the Minister didn't seem to be able to bring himself to interrupt again. The discomfort in Nott's expression was now evident, and Macmillan's increasing desperation – though fueled by confusion – was only making Astoria's line of questioning seem all the more appealing.

Nott's eyes were burning, and his jaw was now ticking with boiling anger. "I was never a Death Eater."

Her tone was cold. "And yet, I find it strange that you, out of all the Slytherin classmates Draco had, are so willing to testify against him. There are other Slytherins who have come forward, of course, as I'm sure the Council will see shortly – but you decided to go against a classmate, when none of his actions truly impacted you."

The Minister broke the spell, his voice sharp. "Miss Greengrass, get on with it."

She took a breath and turned back to the Wizengamot. "Sorry, Minister. The fact is, we will probably never know if Andrealphus Malfoy's death shortly after the discovery of his relationship with Amira Fawcett was truly a result of sudden sickness, as the Malfoys claimed at the time, or something more sinister at work. But what we do know, thanks to Ministry records, and a quite detailed account by Revelio! – one of the precursors of our now well-established Witch Weekly – is Amira's name, and furthermore, in a small section on page 12, almost as a footnote, the name of the daughter she gave birth to."

Draco turned to look at Macmillan and could tell by his drawn eyebrows that he had no idea what Astoria was doing, and that he was completely unsettled by it. More worrisome to him, probably, was the look on Nott's face.

Astoria walked back to the desk where Draco was, and he nearly flinched at the sudden proximity. But she didn't look at him, instead reaching for the envelope on the desk. Pulling out a faded magazine page and drawing her wand, she projected its contents onto the bare wall. All heads turned.

The curling letters were faded and somewhat difficult to read, but some words were bolded in thicker lines of ink, and the scrawling title of the magazine at the top of the page, shrieking Revelio! in the same antagonizing manner Witch Weekly's cover managed to imitate, could be clearly read.

Astoria held her wand steady, but her eyes were on the witness again. "Mr. Nott, would you mind reading out the name that is bolded in the page?"

Nott said nothing.

"Mr. Nott?"

A bead of sweat ran down the side of Nott's face. Perhaps the Wizengamot did not see it from the angle at which they sat, but Draco did, and the sight of it brought him vicious satisfaction.

Nott cleared his throat once, twice, as if he could somehow postpone the words he was about to utter. He couldn't refuse – not in front of the entire room. "Claudette Fawcett."

"Is that not your mother's name?"

"Yes, but—"

With a flourishing wave of her wand, the projection was gone, and the Wizengamot only had eyes for the witness and the defense. Astoria stalked towards Nott, her wand still in hand, and for a moment Draco almost wondered if she was going to strike him.

"Claudette Fawcett was not raised by a single mother, no," she said calmly, her words addressed to the Council, though her eyes were on Nott. "Amira died a mere two years after, and as the Fawcetts fell out of popularity and therefore the tabloids, perhaps no one thought to ask when Amira's elder sister presented a newer child in addition to her own. As we know, Claudette grew up to marry a certain Paschal Nott, and his son, Theodore Nott, is currently with us."

"I fail to see the point." Nott's voice was shaking ever so slightly.

She abandoned all pretense of courtesy, then. Her voice was clear and sharp as a knife. "The point, Mr. Nott, which I am sure you well know, is that Wizarding Inheritance Law in Pureblood families is quite straightforward – the estate is inherited by the closest blood relative. It is for this reason that Draco Malfoy came to inherit the Malfoy estate upon his father's imprisonment, and that, should he be convicted, the Malfoy estate would go to you, Theodore Nott, as the next of kin."

A low gasp ran across the room, and suddenly Draco understood the pure brilliance of Astoria's questioning. She had been counting on Macmillan making Nott the star witness for his case, and she had been right. Macmillan's best argument had now been rendered invalid.

"We have a questionable allegation regarding murder that was never committed by my client, from a witness who seems surprisingly unscathed by the entire affair, and who we have now learned, has every motivation to support Draco Malfoy's wrongful conviction. If the prosecution is leaning on a wizard with such a conflict of interest to hold up a case against a boy who was seventeen, under severe coercion from the greatest Dark Wizard in history, and clearly out of his depth, I think we must ask ourselves where true malicious intent lies."

Macmillan flew to his feet, eyes burning, but didn't seem to know what to say. He, too, was in shock at the revelation of Nott's motivations. He was watching his case slip through his fingers. Astoria had her back to him – but her voice rang sharp through the courtroom.

"I'm sure you have all heard of the violent crimes that took place this week, in which my client's home was nearly burned to the ground and he was beaten within an inch of his life. His attackers had the flawed reasoning of turning my client into the poster child of the Death Eater movement, blaming him for crimes he was never involved in." She reached for the envelope once more, producing a piece of parchment and waving her wand once more. "They nearly killed him. I have here a report of his state, issued by the Healers of St. Mungo's. This is not the first time this has happened."

Nor the last, Draco thought grimly. There was silence as all eyes examined the report. He didn't have to look at it. He still ached at the memory of Creevey's blows.

"How much longer will the Wizarding World continue to punish Draco Malfoy for the crimes of Dark Wizards far guiltier than he ever was?" She looked about the room, eyes flaming with something very akin to anger. "This harassment of my client needs to stop, and I will not tolerate it extending to the courtroom."

Her eyes lingered far too long on Nott.

She was pushing her luck.

"Are you mad?" he muttered, heart beating violently in his chest when she approached the desk and there was some shuffling about in the seats around them.

Astoria set the envelope on the table, breathing a bit harder than usual, her eyes still shining from the intensity of her speech. He thought he caught sight of the bruises under her collar as she bent down slightly, and the sight of them made the fear that had spread through his chest burn painfully.

She met his eyes for the first time that day, and he saw the flickering emotion there.

"You're baiting him," Draco said angrily. "Discrediting him… that's fine. But calling him out like that in front of everyone—"

"I didn't."

"'Harrassment'?"

There was movement all around them as a witness made their way to the stand, but Astoria's eyes were focused on his, still burning. "This is the best I can do, Draco. He's not going to walk all over us; I'm not going to tolerate it."

"You're baiting him," Draco growled. "What about your sister?"

"He won't say anything unless he's accused. He doesn't want to call more attention to himself."

"You think he's not going to pay you a visit after this?"

There was something so fiery, so reckless about the look in her eyes as she looked down at him from across the desk, that for a second Draco thought she might bend forwards and kiss him, disregarding their surroundings entirely. But then the emotions were hidden again, and she was straightening. The room was beginning to still again.

Her lips twitched, her voice low. "I just scared the shit out of him. Macmillan will have his head before he has mine."

Draco couldn't banish the intense feeling of foreboding in his chest, but he didn't have a chance to speak his mind any further, because Astoria was already walking away from him, towards the place where a new witness was waiting.

Pansy looked incredibly small despite the proud uprightness with which she sat.

She didn't meet his eyes.

"Mrs. Prince, you were Draco Malfoy's classmate and one of the closest friends he had. You were able to witness his behavior in the 1996-1997 school year, leading up to the attack on Hogwarts. Please share with us your impressions."

Draco closed his eyes this time, leaning his head on one of his hands. Pansy's voice sounded exactly the same as it had sounded when they were in school – if he ignored the tension in her voice, he might even be merely overhearing a conversation. She kept halting in between her words, as if they couldn't quite keep up with her emotions. He couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"…. I thought it was the right thing. Everyone we knew said it was the right thing. And he… I… I didn't understand why he wasn't happy. My own father was furious when he heard the Malfoys had been given 'another chance'. I didn't know what he'd been asked to do, I knew he couldn't tell, on pain of death, but… I don't think I understood.

"He just… he became so nervous. He stopped eating, lost weight… no one knew what was wrong with him. He kept saying everything was fine, but I could tell it wasn't. It was the first time he stopped confiding in me altogether. We used to talk a lot. That year, he just seemed to get further and further away."

"Did he seem excited about his new task?"

"No. He said he was, sometimes, when people like Crabbe and Goyle were listening. We all knew those two reported everything to their fathers during the War, so there was no use in trying to keep anything a secret. I think even he was getting tired of it. He became very quiet, and one time… one time I think I caught him crying. He got angry when I asked, and we had a fight."

He had been sitting in the common room one night, thinking everyone else was asleep, unable to sleep himself – he kept having nightmares with the same red eyes staring at him and laughing. He had been shivering near the fire, feeling too pathetic to even summon a blanket, and then she had seemed to appear out of nowhere, with her prying words and those eyes that had welled up in pity…

"He was so scared that people would think he was weak. But it was killing him."

When Astoria returned to her seat, Draco kept his head down. His hand was a fist pressed against his temple.

Macmillan barked his questions in quick, short bursts, his normally calm demeanor flustered by the dismay he no doubt felt at losing his star witness. "Did Draco Malfoy want to be a Death Eater?"

There was a moment of silence, and suddenly Draco felt amused. He knew Pansy was glaring at Macmillan; she had never liked him – he had always done better than her in Transfiguration and had a habit of looking smug when she made a mistake. Draco couldn't really blame him, because Pansy was known to be insufferable, but the scathing tone she used in reply, even at a trial before the entire Wizengamot, couldn't not be amusing.

"Are you joking?" she exclaimed mirthlessly. "We all thought we wanted to be, especially the boys. It was such a taboo subject at the dinner table – all our families knew about it, and sometimes you would catch the adults whispering about it, but it was never spoken out loud. Everyone tried to forget the First War. But for us, it was a legend… and when it became real, I think we still thought about it that way." There was another pause. "Until people started dying."

"Did you submit to the pressure, Mrs. Prince?"

This time Draco couldn't help it. He looked up. Pansy's expression remained calm, but her eyes were nearly murderous. Macmillan really shouldn't cross Pansy.

"Objection, Minister," Astoria suddenly called out. "This is irrelevant—"

The Minister shook his head. "We tolerated your tangents, Miss Greengrass. Overruled."

Astoria fell silent. Pansy ground her teeth once before speaking.

"It wasn't the same for girls. Being a Death Eater was… unladylike. And my family had other concerns at the time… there was too much at stake. My father never threw his loyalties with the Dark Lord. Neither did I."

"We were all there, the night of the battle, when you tried to turn Harry Potter in."

Astoria tensed beside Draco, her arm pressed against his as she leaned forwards slightly. But Pansy hardly missed a beat.

"That isn't a question."

Macmillan ignored her. "Do you have any justification?"

"The school was about to be overrun with Death Eaters. I didn't commit a crime."

"Would you take it back?"

The questions were shot back and forth. It was turning personal. Astoria couldn't even hope to get a word in edgewise. Pansy looked downright furious.

"I just wanted us all to escape alive. Do you know how many students were in the castle at that time? Over eight hundred, I don't know. It's a lot. I wasn't a hero. I was a child. So was Draco."

"Minister!" Astoria was nearly breathless.

"The trial is for Draco Malfoy, Mr. Macmillan, not Mrs. Prince."

Macmillan nodded shortly, saying nothing more, his eyes still on Pansy. She straightened in her seat, reaching up to smooth a lock of her hair. It seemed to Draco that she was breathing rather heavily, and he wondered just how scared she really was. With the secrets she had, the questioning was hitting rather close to home.

But if Pansy was anything at all, it was stubborn. She recovered quickly, and launched into the rest of her speech.

"I knew Draco was coming, and so were many others – people I grew up with. I didn't want to see a massacre. I didn't know how many of my classmates were going to stay. I didn't want to be forced to kill my own friends."

It wasn't really relevant to the case, not anymore. But Macmillan had wanted to hear it, and Astoria seemed to know better than to stop her. Pansy was setting a precedent, and establishing sympathy.

She had always been good at getting out of punishments.

Suddenly she drew in a breath, and it seemed to Draco that she shuddered slightly. Her eyes were fixed on a point on the ground, away from Macmillan. "Draco and I…" she swallowed. "We were close. We've… we've always been close."

Something changed abruptly, and in the silence of the room, Draco could almost hear her heartbeat. Or maybe it was his own, like the running pulse of all the years that they had spent together as children, like all the times he had wanted to speak to her about what was hurting him, but didn't, out of pride.

Her eyes were glistening.

"Draco was to me, always, the family my own family couldn't be." She drew in a shuddering breath. "I should have helped him – I should have. I was just too young, too stupid. I didn't know what to do."

Pansy's voice broke, and her eyes met his. And it felt like it was just the two of them in the entire courtroom, her voice an apology. It was for more than just the War – it was for everything that had happened afterwards.

Draco gave a short nod.

"That will be all," Macmillan said dryly, returning to his seat.

Pansy's mask remained off for only a few seconds. As soon as she was crossing the stone floor to return to the audience seats, she was, once more, Mrs. Julien Prince – immaculate glamour charms and a gait that could rival a queen's. Her eyes did not meet Draco's again, but they didn't have to. She had already been more honest and open with him than she had ever been since they were ten years old.

Warmth spread on the crook of his arm, and he turned to see Astoria's hand there, her eyes fixed on his with concerned tension. She couldn't have understood the real depth of Pansy's apology, but she had heard their past exchanges, and probably guessed the rest of it.

He hadn't realized just how hurt he had been by Pansy's refusal to help him, until she had finally apologized for not doing so.

"Draco."

"What?" he snapped under his breath, trying to force his emotions into neutrality.

"It's your turn."

It was so that Draco found himself seated, finally, on the very same throne-like chair that had held so many convicted Death Eaters, the place where so many of them had begged for mercy. It was one of the last remnants of the ridiculously archaic Ministry practices that must have held some sort of sentimental value to the Wizengamot, though all they reminded Draco of was father's trial and the stories he had been told about chains and bloodthirsty juries that brought in Dementors to administer the Kiss in front of the Council.

He sat completely still, trying his utmost not to fidget, the stares of the Wizengamot fixed on him in a manner that was eerily reminiscent of vultures.

Astoria had ensured him that there would be no need to give a long speech; but now he almost wished there was, because Macmillan was clearly frustrated by the way things were going and now had the opportunity to make up for.

Draco met his eyes with the coldest stare he could muster without looking rude.

"I don't know what you expect me to say," he said, and it was mostly true.

Macmillan glanced at the Wizengamot. "I believe the Council is hoping for your version of events."

Taking a deep breath, Draco crossed his fingers in front of him and steeled himself for the inevitable humiliation. But he didn't look away from Macmillan – he wouldn't give the idiot the satisfaction. "I was just trying to protect my family."

"Your father, the Death Eater, who is currently in Azkaban?"

Draco swallowed down the angry shame he was now used to feeling every time someone like Macmillan so much as mentioned his father. "Yes. Regardless of what he may have done, he's my father."

"He was responsible for many murders."

"I was seventeen when the War ended, fourteen when the Dark Lord returned. I hadn't even begun studying for my O.W.L.s when my family sided with the Death Eaters. Everything I did was just to try and stay alive."

He was starting to feel his throat closing up, like enough air couldn't reach his lungs. But he kept his gaze firmly on Macmillan, refusing to cower under it. Where was Astoria? Sitting at his back, he tried to remind himself. She had a plan. He only had to speak.

"The things that happened during the War – they happened. But I never killed anyone. I never wanted to."

"Do you deny wishing that Severus Snape had not killed Albus Dumbledore, so that you could murder him yourself?"

"I deny it," Draco said through gritted teeth. "I was seventeen." He bit back a curse.

"You were legally an adult at the time."

"I didn't want to be a Death Eater," Draco snapped. "But when he's living in your house, breathing down your neck, torturing—" he stopped short and swallowed, his teeth grinding against each other. "You don't just say no to the most dangerous Dark Wizard who ever lived."

"So you hold that you were coerced by Voldemort to commit crimes in his name?"

"I was."

"But did his principles not coincide with your own? As the heir of a powerful Pureblood family, it was to your advantage to side with Voldemort." Macmillan's tone was calm and carefully measured, and it made Draco's blood boil. "And if you were so against it, why not ask for Albus Dumbledore's help, when you were in such proximity to him during the school year? He would have protected you."

"It wasn't that easy—"

"It was a matter of picking a side, Mr. Malfoy, something many of us did during the War!" Macmillan exclaimed, his face tense with barely contained anger. "The opportunities were there; but instead you decided to put hundreds of lives at risk, and gave way to the murder of the greatest wizard that ever lived!"

"Objection, argumentative!" Astoria's voice rang loud from behind him.

But Macmillan was finished, and Draco couldn't seem to find his voice. It was hidden under the heavy weight of the truth Macmillan was spitting out, and he could only remain silent. Dumbledore's eyes were shining at him from the stone floor, reflected on Macmillan's spectacles, burned into his very eyelids…

"It's all right, Minister. I'm done here."

He could feel Macmillan walk away, and felt the burning shame rising into his head, pulsing against his eyes, hot tears welling there, acutely aware that he had been the first to look away. Acutely aware that Macmillan was right. Acutely aware that he had probably lost the case Astoria had worked so painstakingly to put together.

And then he was being walked back to his seat, his jaw aching from the pressure of keeping it clenched.

He never had picked a side, had he? Even now, nothing had changed.

He thought of Nott, sitting somewhere in the courtroom, hateful evidence of his own failure. He wondered if Nott was laughing now, if Pansy was regretting ever testifying on his behalf, if Blaise, somewhere, was wondering how to keep the business together during the years Draco spent in prison…

"Draco." It was Astoria again.

He couldn't speak. He couldn't.

He felt, as if from a distance, the pressure of her fingers against his wrist – reassuring, still mostly professional, but warm. He looked up into her eyes and saw the warmth there.

He breathed.

Daphne's testimony was a blur, in which he could only seem to focus on the way Astoria's blue eyes remained on her sister, her apprehension clearly visible as Macmillan delivered question after question, as Daphne's blonde head remained tilted down to avoid making contact with the watchful audience. What little awareness remained in Draco, he directed to subtly pulling his wrist from Astoria's grasp before anyone noticed that she had forgotten to remove her hand.

She was afraid for her sister.

Draco didn't dare look at Nott. If his choice hadn't been made the night before, it most certainly was now.

When Daphne left, almost running back to the comfort of her seat, Draco finally felt himself begin to relax. It was over. Now he could go home and fall asleep somewhere where no one would care to ask any questions. He was so damn tired.

He wryly thought that he might as well enjoy his last few naps on the sitting room sofa.

It would all soon belong to Nott, anyway.

"Minister, I have one more witness."

Draco's head shot up. He wasn't the only one who looked surprised. Kingsley Shacklebolt frowned, and Draco saw Percy Weasley give his notes a hasty examination. Macmillan's face was turned away from Draco, but it was clear that he had miscalculated. By betting on Nott's testimony to sway the Council, he had left more space for Astoria to display a wide assortment of testimonies on Draco's behalf.

The Minister gave a short nod. "Very well, then. Where are they?"

As the room turned to look at the next witness, Astoria met Draco's eyes, and he saw a strange emotion there – as if she was daring him to react, while simultaneously being apologetic.

He didn't understand why, until he saw the witness.

Potter's expression was perfectly composed as he stepped forwards. He must have arrived later, because Draco would have noticed him immediately if he had been there the whole time. He thought he caught sight of the Weasley girl's red hair in the crowd. So he had brought his posse along with him.

There was the same flurry of reactions as there had been when Potter had appeared at his mother's trial; necks craning in the audience, Council members murmuring amongst each other. But Potter ignored everything; he was probably used to it at this point.

Astoria rose to her feet, no longer looking at Draco, as if she was afraid of what she might see in his expression. She pressed the tips of her fingers to the desk momentarily, as if steeling herself for what was to come.

He had no idea how she had managed to contact Potter, when no one else had been able to do so, but there was clear recognition in Potter's eyes as he faced Astoria for questioning. It was obvious that they had spoken before, beyond his quick appearance at Narcissa's trial.

"Mr. Potter," Astoria began, her voice not betraying the exhaustion she was bound to be feeling after everything that had already happened that day. "The Wizengamot has heard multiple testimonies regarding certain key moments in my client's life – yet there have been few first-hand accounts of his time during the worst part of the War, when it seemed that Voldemort was nearing victory. I believe you had an encounter with Mr. Malfoy, only a few months before the end of the War."

Potter straightened his glasses, face impassive. "I did."

"Do you recall the exact date?"

"I don't… but it was sometime around March."

Astoria was holding a parchment in hand, looking down occasionally to read notes, though it was likely that she already knew what she was going to say by heart. "You, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were captured by Snatchers and taken to Malfoy Manor, which at the time was serving as the Death Eater headquarters."

"That's right."

"Was Voldemort present?"

"No," Potter shook his head. "The head of operations at the time seemed to be Bellatrix Lestrange, though Lucius Malfoy didn't seem too happy about that."

Some members of the Wizengamot nearly smirked.

"What exactly happened at the Manor?"

Draco kept his eyes firmly on the desk in front of him, nails sinking painfully into his own palms.

"We were taken along with some other prisoners of the Snatchers. We were lying about our names, and Hermione had jinxed my face so that it wasn't easily recognizable, since, you know…" he waved a hand vaguely. "But they suspected us, of course, and Lucius and Narcissa recognized Ron and Hermione immediately. But they weren't so sure about me, since my face was disfigured by the jinx. So they called Draco."

Draco wanted to get up and leave; wanted to run, wanted to vomit on the courtroom floor, wanted to pass out and not wake up in order to not have to hear Harry fucking Potter defending him – saying what he was about to say, phrasing it in a way that would sound so much better than any intention Draco had actually had that night.

"He stood right in front of me, with his father practically forcing him to examine my face." Potter paused for a moment. "He looked scared. When they asked him questions, he never answered definitely. I knew he recognized me; we made eye contact. But he didn't say anything.

"He knew that they would summon Voldemort immediately if the Death Eaters knew they had me, and he omitted the truth on purpose. Even though his whole family depended on Voldemort's praise to get them back into favor, even though they were already afraid for their lives, even though he knew they would pay if they let me get away… he didn't tell them it was me."

There was another pause, and Draco had a sick mental image of Potter looking around the room dramatically, watching his point sink in. "It was thanks to him that we weren't murdered then and there, and that all three of us were able to escape the Manor, taking the other prisoners with us. If he hadn't stayed quiet for our sakes, we would have lost the War that night.

"If Lucius Malfoy hadn't been a Death Eater in the First War, if they hadn't been so afraid of going against Voldemort, if they hadn't instilled prejudice in their son… maybe Draco would have had a chance to make his own choices." His voice was low, pensive, but the whole room held on to his every word. "I hope he gets a chance to do so now."

Astoria didn't bother asking any more questions. "Thank you, Mr. Potter," she said, and turned to the Minister. "That is all."

Draco finally brought himself to look up, to find the Minister looking at Macmillan.

"Mr. Macmillan?"

But Ernie Macmillan was exactly the person Astoria had known he would be; a righteous wizard who had once been in Dumbledore's Army, who had followed Potter's orders like a soldier follows a general. He was a man who owed Harry Potter his life, and was acutely aware of the sacrifices that Potter had made.

And so, Macmillan shook his head.

"Trial adjourned. The verdict will be pronounced tomorrow."

And it was over.

As the courtroom rose, Draco could feel his heart pounding in his chest so violently that he felt his ribs might crack. His limbs felt numb, and he couldn't seem to be able to move.

"Malfoy."

His neck complied, then. He lifted his head to meet Potter's eyes, so identical and yet so different from the ones he used to glare at in Hogwarts, when they had shot insults at each other, sometimes even curses. He didn't have the words to reply.

Potter swallowed, looking uncomfortable, but his tone was one of conviction. "I didn't do it for you, if it makes you feel any better. I did it for your mother, and all the other poor idiots that got roped into working for him."

Draco didn't know if it made him feel any better. His tongue was tied and his mind seemed frozen in place.

"But I meant it," Potter continued, his eyebrows drawn together. "What I said about choices. If you win this case – now's your chance."

Draco couldn't feel his arms or legs, and the pounding in his chest had faded into deadly silence. He had nothing to say, and it didn't seem like Potter expected him to answer anyway, because he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd that was abandoning the courtroom.

He looked up to see Astoria, and then his limbs finally seemed to respond. But he ignored the fingers that brushed against his, and found himself making his slow, numb way out of the Ministry.

These last few months have been crazy, and I now find myself living in Tanzania, so it's been really difficult to dedicate enough time to writing! And this chapter was extremely complicated to write. Thank you for your reviews! I hope to have this story wrapped up by the end of March.