Draco banged his head back against the brick wall. Not hard enough to cause pain. Just enough to break up the monotony.
He supposed he had the advantage in a place like this. No matter how foul the food tasted, or how cold the temperature dropped, it would never compare to the horror of his time serving Voldemort. He'd stay here forever before enduring those days again. The others weren't so lucky.
"How long has it been?" Pansy whimpered.
He couldn't see her. He couldn't see anyone. He'd only glimpsed his parents passing through the bars, escorted by a guard.
"We'll get you out of here," his mother had promised, a murmured whisper only he had caught.
Draco sighed. It had been at least a day since that, if not longer. And how many before then?
"Too long," he answered bitterly.
Pansy started crying again. He winced, curling his knees up to his chest. It was an awful howling sound. Like some bizarre form of torture, being forced to listen to somebody else in so much pain. He supposed it was because she hadn't known horrors like he had. She didn't yet know all the ways to cope.
He thought of Tori often, too often. He gave himself a pass — if it kept him sane in here, fuck the repercussions. The emotions running wild now he'd let the chain slack. He wondered if she'd had her appointment yet. Once or twice, he even murmured a prayer. Begging she could be well again.
Because if it was true, if she really didn't have long left to live, he'd refuse to leave her side. Fuck Daphne, fuck anybody who tried to stop them being together. His own selfishness outweighed any concern for her quality of life. If she'd be bed-bound and miserable regardless, his presence would hardly impact her for the worse. Unless she didn't want him there.
No, he told himself, as he did each time. That's not true. That's not why she did it.
But could he believe Daphne's words so easily? Did she truly know what was happening inside Tori's head, did anyone?
Iron scraped against brick as the cell door opened. Draco shot up to his feet at once, heart pounding. A guard held a lumos'd wand.
"Your trial's about to begin," he grunted. He threw a pail of water in, clattering and splashing half the contents to the floor. "Wash and dress yourself."
As Draco did, he considered all the ways he could escape. He had no wand. There was no apparition in here — of course he'd tried, futile as it had been. Perhaps he could knock out the guard, steal his wand. Steal his clothes. Go from there.
No such luck. Five more arrived to help escort him. Draco slumped sullenly between them, his entire body aching from so long inside one cramped room.
"Draco?" Pansy's voice was closer now. He could hear her scrambling, rushing to the cell door. "Draco, where are you going?"
He couldn't help but gasp when he saw her. She was unrecognisable. Her hair had matted and clumped around her neck. Her eyes were sunken, her cheeks hollow. Surely it hadn't been long enough to affect her so drastically.
"Get back," the guard growled.
Draco couldn't say anything, and then he was pushed free from the cell corridor. They emerged into a courtroom, large and circular and made of black marble. Rows of wizards and witches rose around them like a great amphitheatre. There were no dementors here — the new ministry had no tolerance for them — but the place felt just as cold and hopeless. Draco settled into the seat, glaring around with distaste. His mind began plotting an escape once more.
"Draco Lucius Malfoy, you are here today on trial for illicit activities. Included in these are campaigning for the abolishment of muggle rights and socialising with fellow death eaters, is that correct?" Gawain Robards was a serious-faced wizard.
Draco wasn't sure if he ought to agree, yes that's why you've brought me here, or disagree, no that's not fucking true. He settled on remaining silent.
"John Dawlish will be prosecuting, and who do you present as defence?"
That's rich. Dawlish had 'socialised' with far more death eaters than even Malfoy ever had, under Voldemort's ministry reign. But before he could do more than clear his throat, feeling totally alone and unprepared, the sun itself seemed to enter the courtroom and warm away all the misery.
"I will be giving testimony in defence," Tori said.
Draco stared at her, making her way through the stands. She'd tied her hair back high, the ends just grazing her shoulders. When she met his gaze, he found hope coursing through him. A feat he'd never have imagined possible in these circumstances.
He scrutinised her. She was a little purple beneath the eyes, a little pale, but looked otherwise unharmed. It barely mattered that he'd be going to Azkaban. The fact almost didn't exist. It was as though the future, the past, the very people of this courtroom all vanished. Nothing mattered but Tori.
"Before I begin," she said, her voice magnified through the courtroom, "I call into question Dawlish's ability to impartially prosecute this case. He was a known associate of many death eaters during Voldemort's reign here at the ministry. He attacked, and even killed, innocent witches and wizards during that time. And with no proof of an imperius curse."
Draco saw Dawlish's cheeks pinken. He opened and shut his mouth a few times, but remained silent. Many members of the wizengamot frowned, a couple even whispering amongst themselves. His heart thudded quickly. Had she really managed to cast seeds of doubt so quickly?
"Dawlish was never prosecuted," Robards said from the highest seat.
"Was he ever investigated? Trialled, in circumstances such as these? That is supposedly the purpose of today, after all. To see if sufficient evidence even exists. Will we find, on record, the same for Dawlish?"
"I object!" Dawlish shouted, now bright red. "We are not here to cast aspersions on my character. We are here to trial Draco Malfoy!"
"Agreed," Robards frowned.
Draco felt the attention return to him once more. He couldn't look at Tori again, for fear the courtroom would all see the connection they shared. She seemed to be of the same mind. She strode past him as she spoke, but not once did he feel her gaze flicker to his.
"As I'm sure we are all aware, Draco Malfoy was arrested for being in attendance at a death eater protest in Diagon Alley. A gathering to protest muggle rights, of all things." Her voice dropped an octave. "Inexcusable. But, I fear that same awareness does not apply to the context of Draco's presence. For instance, the fact the Malfoys are Ministry informants. They have been personally asked to infiltrate the death eaters, and pass information back to the Ministry. They have been successfully doing this for months."
More murmuring started amongst the wizengamot.
"Is this true?" Robards asked Draco.
He nodded. "Yes."
"That is enough!" Dawlish shouted once more. Draco wondered why he was so worked up, so flustered. "The Malfoys are known death eaters. Just look at the boy's arm, for heaven's sake! Marked by Voldemort himself!"
"Voldemort is dead," Tori said, calmly as though Dawlish had never spoken. "Draco, and his parents, personally ensured that. They fought with the order at the Battle of Hogwarts. That aside, this new chapter of death eaters are not Voldemort's own. They are a new, unsanctioned group, promoting unsavoury ideals and with the potential to cause trouble. The label is practically a colloquialism."
"Dawlish," Robards said, doubt now in his voice. "Present your evidence. And then we will convene."
Draco slunk back in his chair as Dawlish strode forward. He tried not to glare at the man.
"Draco Malfoy was present, in the midst of a death eater crowd, destroying and pillaging Diagon Alley. He attempted to disapparate upon our arrival."
"Witnesses?" Tori asked.
Dawlish puffed his chest. "Plenty."
"To destruction and pillaging?" Tori continued. "On Draco's part?"
"I… Well… I…"
"Draco?" Robards asked.
He shook his head. "No."
Gawain Robards sighed. "Frankly, Dawlish, I think this has been blown completely out of proportion. A warning, a fine, perhaps. But a full trial for imprisonment in Azkaban?"
Draco stayed silent. Was he really getting out of this so easily?
"Wizengamot, do you feel we need to convene, or will a vote be satisfactory?"
An older wizard, clearly chief, stood to speak in a squeaky voice.
"No convene necessary," he declared. "We'll cast a vote."
"Very well." Robards cleared his throat. "All those in favour of prosecution for Draco Malfoy?"
He couldn't believe it. Less than half the hands raised. He tried to count, and estimated around a dozen.
"Those in favour of Draco being cleared on all charges?"
More hands went up. Draco's stomach swooped in elation. He couldn't help sitting upright on the seat, his mouth slightly open in surprise.
"Very well," Robards said, looking straight at Draco. "Some advice for you, boy. Be careful. You are free to go."
He stood shakily to his feet. Everybody else seemed busy fussing with parchment or their robes, chatting about their schedule for the rest of the day. Tori walked slowly over to him. Draco fought the instinct inside him to hold her and never let go, to kiss her like he never had before. Not here, he decided. Not in this courtroom.
"Tori," he said softly. "How… Why…?"
"Shacklebolt worried you'd need a defence," she said. All her power and confidence in commanding the courtroom had quieted now, softening to a vulnerability. "I didn't have much time to prepare."
"Shacklebolt?" he frowned. "Why would he care?"
Tori's cheeks pinkened. "I went and spoke to him. He agreed to a last-minute trial. He didn't give Dawlish any time to prepare at all, no wonder he was so flustered."
Draco could only stare in disbelief. She'd gone to the minister of magic directly, asking for a trial?
"Why?" he asked.
It was stupid. But he needed to hear it from her, needed the reassurance after what happened in St. Mungo's. His heart slammed against his chest, his stomach writhed with nerves. This was it.
"I sort of owed you, didn't I? Daphne told me what you did."
And all his hope and elation came crashing down once more. The self-loathing sneered at him, rearing its ugly head. She was only repaying a debt. Nothing more.
"Right." He swallowed.
There was an awkward pause. He wanted to flee, run as fast as he could and hide. France wouldn't be far enough, not anymore. He'd get rid of the stupid fucking 'castle' and fly as far as his broom would take him. Maybe Asia, or South America. Somewhere fresh. Somewhere far, far away from his pain.
"Well, I'd better go," Tori said.
"Wait."
He thought quickly for a moment. In planning his freedom, he realised it wouldn't be right to leave Pansy in the cells. If she didn't get a trial soon, she'd fall ill… or worse.
"Pansy's still in there," he tried to explain. "She's not coping. Could you talk to Shacklebolt again?"
Tori's face hardened instantly. "Oh," she said coldly.
Draco frowned. "I mean it. You ought to see her."
Tori swallowed. "Goodbye, Draco."
What the fuck? Was it too much of an ask? Was she keeping tabs on the estimated net worth of favours? 900 galleons per prisoner?
"If it's the money," he called, "I'll pay you for it."
Her eyes narrowed in fury. Her voice turned to a low hiss. "Are you fucking joking, Malfoy?"
"What? I don't see the fucking issue?"
"You're absolutely unbelievable, you-
A redheaded man burst into the room, his tortoise-shell glasses askew. A fucking Weasley.
"Stop!" he cried out, dropping parchment from the bundle in his arms. "You're still here!"
"We were just leaving," Tori glowered.
"No, no!" He scrambled at the pages. "You mustn't leave! I need to escort you to a room."
"What?" Malfoy spat.
"We've received a death threat," he gulped. "You must stay here until we can assess the validity."
"Where?"
"Come with me."
He led them through a series of corridors, winding upwards. Draco refused to look at Tori, which seemed to suit her just fine. She marched with her arms folded across her chest, her head tilted back. Draco had compartmentalised his emotions once more. He wondered what effect the practice was having on his mind.
"Here," the Weasley finally said, opening a door.
The room inside was barely larger than a broom cupboard. One blue sofa had been squeezed in, pressing against three of the walls.
"I want separate rooms," Tori quickly said.
"And I don't have my wand back," Draco scowled.
The Weasley sighed. "Please, get in, I'm needed up on floor two."
Tori caved first. Stomping just a little, she squeezed in past the door. Draco would have found it endearing if he wasn't so hurt.
"How long will we be here for?" he asked.
"I'm not sure." Weasley shoo'd him in, squeezing the door behind him. "It could be ten minutes, it could be a few hours. I'll be in touch soon."
Draco heard the lock click into place. Sighing, he turned to face the very beautiful, and very angry, woman.