He stared at himself in the mirror. The large, glass wall of his Slytherin bathroom allowing him the ability to check his attire over from head to toe, he smoothed the material of his jacket down; leaning to sniff it just in case. It was clean, thank Merlin. He combed his hair once more, making sure it's shine was bright and visible, his eyes wide and bright with fear.
He'd done everything he could have to be ready.
He'd bathed; a bath fit for deities was had. His clothes were fresh. His hair was neat. He smelt good. His shoes had been shined. He'd gone for a walk around the grounds with his mother after the service. He'd soaked in the fresh bright rays of sunlight that he may never see again. He'd kissed his mother goodbye. The he'd eaten; admiring the Great Hall's ceiling for what could be one last time. He'd eaten until he was full, then he'd eaten again; sitting in a bizarre comfortable silence with Granger, who sat at the other end of the table; a book propped up against a jug of juice.
Granger.
She'd been lingering in the back of his thoughts since he'd discovered that she would be at his trial. At night she'd visit, screaming. He'd stood close to her yesterday, deliberately to annoy the Weasel-King; over hearing her turn him down had been a wonderful way to find entertainment for his possible last day of freedom. It had been far too easy, just hovering so close he could touch her, making it look like she wasn't that close at all. The Weasels face had been a sight; he'd almost had an aneurysm. He smiled at the memory, but his brows furrowed with realisation. Ron's temper was far more explosive than he'd remembered it, and he couldn't figure out why. Most likely, it was the war. It had affected everyone. He relaxed his being for a moment, shaking himself off as if enjoying his ability to move before he sat before Potter and Granger in chains. Hermione's face floated into the forefront of his vision. He blinked, wondering where that sudden vision had come from. If any girls face was going to appear in his mind, he would have expected Pansy's pug dog features. Not the china doll, peaches and cream complexion of Granger. He sighed, momentarily deciding that if a girl's face was going to haunt him for the rest of his existence, Granger's wasn't the worst he could do. He shuddered, remembering Millicent Bullstrode; thanking Merlin that Daphne Greengrass and her unobtainable airs had been enough to balance the women of Slytherin out.
The wall of the Slytherin dungeon opened, and Professor McGonagall entered, two unknown aurors behind her. He stared, unmoving as she looked the room over, a small pleased glimmer in her eye as she saw his attempts to tidy his mess up without magic. He'd moved everything broken to one corner of the room, and swept up the shards of glass and quartz. He knew why she was here.
It was time.
He swallowed, and McGonagall sighed.
"I'm sure you know why we are here Mr Malfoy," she said emotionlessly, her eyes meeting her pupils unflinchingly.
"I'm not stupid." He found himself responding, and the aurors shifted behind McGonagall, readying themselves for his resistance.
"Well then; your wand." She said, holding her hand out for it expectantly. He withdrew it from his pocket; it hadn't been used in far too long, and gave it what could have been one last fond look. He walked slowly over to his headmistress, pressing the handle of his wand into her expectant hand firmly. His mouth parting as if to speak, but she got there first.
"I assure you, I will look after the wand. Upon your freedom, if from Azkaban or simply the trial ending, I shall return it to you." His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but her words supplied an odd comfort that he hadn't expected from the Transfigurations mistress.
"Thank you, but…that wasn't what I was going to say. I meant to thank you for…" He swallowed again, inwardly cursing the difficulty of his statement, "to thank you for giving me a chance to come back to Hogwarts." He finished, aware that it would have seemed garbled and incoherent; unfitting for a Malfoy. McGonagall looked slightly taken back, but she dipped her head as her lips thinned.
"If Hogwarts can give you another chance at life that you won't throw away; then you shall have it. Now. You cannot be late." She finished, stepping back and allowing the aurors forward. She slipped his wand into a case he hadn't realised she was holding, and watched him with sad eyes as he raised his hands warily.
The aurors flicked their wands, and chains 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?" The auror to his left said; a voice surprisingly high for the burly figure he sported. 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." The other auror said, and with the familiar, but now painful pull of apparition; he vanished.
:: :: ::
Hermione had taken the same amount of care with her appearance as she had the day of the press conference. The Daily Prophet had gone wild; a doubly thick issue had been released stuffed full of pictures with them looking bored. Focus had been on an apparent love triangle between them, but had declared she was single, and then went into detail about how she'd helped bring Voldemort down. Witch Weekly had focused on her appearance, what she was wearing, how she'd done her hair; and had paired her with both Harry and Ron. The result of which was that Mrs Weasley had once again stopped being as kind to Hermione as she usually was; until Ginny loudly threatened to move into Hogwarts with Hermione, bringing Harry with her, if her mother didn't regain the sense to listen to them; and not a gossip rag. All in all, the conference had been somewhat useless; but Shacklebolt had been right, there were no owls trying to squeeze information out of them.
She 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. 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." He told her, picking up a croissant.
"Do you know who the judge is?" Harry asked him this time, between mouthfuls.
"Shacklebolt wanted Amelia Bones…but she's obviously…instead he has Miranda Coppergrove presiding. She was the protégé of Bones, so just as fair, and just as much someone you don't want to mess with. She's just a little inexperienced." Arthur told him, but the confident expression on his face told Hermione everything she needed to know. The outcome of the trial wouldn't be likely to be fixed with someone with a reputation for fairness at the helm. An unexpected dribble of relief streamed down Hermione's throat as she drank.
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." 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.
:: :: ::
They'd changed his chains, thank Merlin. He could just about stand, but he knew that that much effort wouldn't be needed; he'd be chained to a chair, his arms behind his back. It wouldn't be comfortable, but he wouldn't be on his feet.
Draco prowled his holding cell like a caged lion. Despite his enclosure being surprisingly bearable, a non-ratty blanket for one, and a passably comfortable make-shift bed, the idea of staying still became anathema. He stalked, listening to the aurors gather outside his pen, hearing them prepare for his arrival.
:: :: ::
"Shacklebolt," Arthur said quietly, his voice low and the keeper of such a serious urgent tone that Shacklebolt's head whipped about immediately. He smiled fondly at the sight of Arthur, and began his short walk to them, followed once again by aurors. He held his arm out in greeting, grasping Arthur's forearm in a friendly welcome, his eyes flicking between Harry and Hermione before settling back on Arthur.
"You have any problems?" He asked Mr Weasley seriously, his gaze stern and searching as he met Arthur's blue stare.
"None," he replied, moving to encourage Harry and Hermione forward.
"Good man, I'll see you after all this," Shacklebolt said as a friendly dismissal, gesturing with his other arm for the aurors to settle into the shadow of each Harry and Hermione. She bristled slightly, feeling ever so slightly intimidated by the two wizards standing behind each of her shoulders. Harry looked mildly annoyed. Arthur turned, nodding to both his son's friends, and vanished with a crack as Shacklebolt held his hand out for Hermione's bag.
"I'm sorry, but it's got to be searched before you go to the set waiting rooms." He apologised as Hermione handed him her schoolbag, filled with several books. Harry looked slightly stunned, as if the realisation that he'd not be in the same room as Hermione had hit him.
"Did you want a book or something Harry?" Hermione asked him with an amused twist of her mouth as she saw Harry's expression, he grinned at her, relieved and she laughed as Shacklebolt finished casting his spells. Finding nothing he passed it back to her with an approving, slightly proud smile, and Hermione smiled back.
"Got anything on Quidditch?" He asked hopefully, as Hermione snorted.
"No, but I think you'll enjoy this." Hermione said, pulling a tome out of her portable library. She handed it to Harry, who looked confused until he spotted the title. She'd handed him a book on the latest defensive magic, and had planned to read it to stay up to date with both Harry and Ron once their auror training began.
"You're not wrong," He replied with a grin, as Shacklebolt coughed politely. They shuffled, slightly embarrassed, and they began their walk down the corridor; past an intimidating pair of oak double doors.
"You'll be in separate rooms, like all the witnesses, and an auror will be there to keep you company. When you're needed, you'll be summoned, and your auror will help you from there. Hermione; here we are, don't be nervous." Shacklebolt explained as he stopped by a much more welcoming wooden door, placing his hand on the handle of it and pushing the door open in a gentlemanly way.
"Thanks," She replied quietly, giving him a small smile and walking in. She turned, giving Harry an encouraging nod before Shacklebolt closed the door with a gentle click. She sighed, and turned to look at the room properly this time, realising it wasn't the most unpleasant of places to be kept in for the duration of the trial. It was small, certainly, but the walls were a pale tan colour, and a thick creamy coloured carpet made it seem larger than it actually was. A pair of chairs were either side of a chess set, a shelf just above it with a water jug and two glasses upon it.
"Miss Granger," A voice greeted, making Hermione jump slightly, "Oh, gosh, I'm sorry!" The voice instantly apologised as Hermione turned to face her guarding auror. A young woman had just entered the room, her eyes a deep stormy blue over 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 Hermione suspected was muscle, and a friendly smile.
"Don't be sorry, my fault" Hermione smiled, placing her bag by one of the chairs, "But yes, I'm Hermione Granger."
"Ava Brett," she replied, pulling out her wand and tapping the door handle. It rattled slightly, and Ava smiled, seemingly pleased with herself. It was now Hermione noticed a small sheathe like object attached to the wall by the door, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. Ava noticed her gaze, and gasped, slapping her hand to her mouth.
"I'm going to be honest with you Miss Granger, because Minister Shacklebolt said I could trust you to not be difficult." Ava began as Hermione looked confused, "I've only just passed all the schooling to be an auror; hence why I was assigned to guard you in this room, little chance of you giving me trouble. Usually, we take your wands before you enter, and they go in this case. Only an auror can take them out afterwards. I'll get in trouble if your wand isn't in there; it's really unusual to let you keep your wand, It only happened because…"
"I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione finished, pulling her wand out of her pocket and handing it to Ava, handle first. Ava looked relieved, and nodded, taking Hermione's wand and placing it carefully into the sheathe. Nothing happened to Hermione's chagrin, but Ava smiled once more obviously pleased.
"You'll get it back at the end of today, but there is no way you can go into the courtroom with your wand on you, just in case." Ava explained, and Hermione laughed pleasantly.
"I understand. So…chess?" She asked, even though she hated the game, but being in the tiny room made everything far too real. The idea of going into the trial to speak was making her entire being shake with nerves, and she desperately needed something to do with her hands. She studied Ava, who was setting up the board and smiled to herself, thinking that mindless chatting with one of Harry and Ron's future colleagues wouldn't be too bad either.
:: :: ::
The door to his cell opened, and with more of a rush than he'd anticipated, his arms were pinned behind his back by two of his guards.
"We're running a bit late, so play nice." An auror hissed at him, and the desperation in that hiss told Draco everything he needed to know. They weren't trying to make him look bad at his own trial; they actually were a bit late. He nodded slightly, enough for the auror to notice and leaned forward a minute amount, hoping they'd take the lead and drag him to his world's end.
The cell door stayed open, and another auror walked in with a tall legged wooden chair. Chains were attached, and it looked anything but comfortable.
"On," The new auror demanded, placing the chair down in front of Draco. He moved immediately, feeling his legs pinned into place by the shackles at his ankles. His arms were pinned to his sides, his elbows thankfully bent, and he rested his hands on the sides of his thighs. His fingers picked at the fabric of his trousers, as a chain went about his middle and chest, pinning him dead straight to the chair. Hands pulled up his shirts sleeves, and then rolled them so they wouldn't fall, and he gritted his teeth at the shame of it, thanking Merlin he didn't say anything.
"Ok, good, now just get him into place." The aurors said, and he found himself levitated, carefully rushed out of his cell. They brought him into a room that was large and circular with a small set of four dents on the floor. He fell with a thud, and the chair clicked with an unnatural sound that could not belong to wood and stone colliding. An auror to his left muttered something, his wand out and pointed at Draco, but his attention was on a pocket watch.
"Three; two and one." He muttered, as he tapped Draco on the shoulder.
The light was beyond bright.
It was as if a floodlight was placed in front of him only a foot away. He blinked, desperately trying to see where he now was. The room was silent save for the odd rustle of someone shifting their foot, and the scratching of a quill upon parchment.
"Mr Draco Lucius Malfoy; you will be under the effects of veritaserum throughout the trial." A voice from above said in an abnormally bored tone. Ice sliced through him, and he realised with a sickening jolt that his trial was starting. He couldn't disagree.
He looked up and realised he'd entered a circular room; seating began almost at once from the lone double doors he knew was behind him. The chairs rose high up to the ceiling, and the view to the top-most seats wasn't possible; as if Draco were seated in a theatre, and not a hall of justice. Opposite the doors was a slight balcony, a desk placed upon it; a woman with navy blue robes sat behind it, the grey in her hair so entwined with the fire red of her youth, that it was a soft peach colour that contrasted violently with the wrinkled stern face she wore, and the sharp hazel of her eyes. It was this woman he assumed had spoken, and a hang gripped his neck from behind. His eyes widened with shock. The auror behind him now cupped Draco's chin, tipping his head back until his mouth opened; her grip firm. She pulled a small phial out of her robes, and with her thumb, took out the stopper, tipping several drops of the liquid on to his tongue.
"You will confirm you are Draco Lucius Malfoy," Coppergrove spoke again as he moved his mouth, running his tongue about his teeth, as if savouring the taste.
"I am," he replied, his voice magically amplified with no magic from him.
"You will not use Occlumency throughout this trial. Any attempt to do so, and you will find the outcome of this trial most likely worse than it could have been. Understood?" She continued, in the same bored tone.
"Understood."
"You are here under the charges of attempted murder, aiding and abetting the dark wizard Voldemort, and the use of unforgivables. How do you plead?" Her tone was business like, and she'd barely looked up once from her podium, her quill in hand and ready. The one she'd charmed earlier scribbling away as the scribe to her right struggled to beat it. At the sound of Voldemort's name, so casually said, shocked whispers exploded. The murmurs almost welcome in the otherwise tense silence.
"Let us begin, the first evidence we shall see is from Mr Malfoy himself." She said, raising her hand and flicking her wrist to the two unspeakables by the door. He grumbled silently to himself as he felt the weight of the gazes of everybody in the room. Two people were moving behind him, shifting something into place. The heady tinge of magic seemed to skitter upon the floor, tickling the bottom of his feet. The gathered Wizengamot began to talk to each other quietly, their eyes on the movement behind him. Something cool began to muss his hair on his head, chilling the back of his neck, and he realised the pensieve was being modified again. A giant wall of liquid would show the memory evidence to the room, and he would be forced to watch.
He carefully schooled his face into an expression he hoped was dread and regret the moment he felt the chair move. He was going to have to watch everything people said for and against him. He refused to shift, no silly fidgeting, nothing that could be construed as not taking this Merlin forsaken event like a joke. He swallowed; his sandpaper like mouth so dry it pained him, his eyes dead set upon the silver surface in front of him.
An unspeakable began to feed a memory into the pensieve, and he tensed, bracing himself for the onslaught of his childhood.
The face of Lucius Malfoy shimmered on the surface of the pensieve; young and magnificent, he seemed to be peering down. Draco watched the pale blue eyes of the Malfoy patriarch glitter dangerously, determined to meet the gaze of a man now a shell of himself, a man that had ruined him.
"Draco," he said, "you are forgetting; you are far more special than anyone else. You're a wizard, a pure-blooded wizard at that. A true wizard Draco; and a Malfoy. Suggesting we ought to pity…muggles…it's laughable. Don't suggest that to me again." A woman's scream ripped through the memory from somewhere behind Lucius, and slightly out of view. Raucous masculine laughter overpowered the desperate shrieks as the memory fizzled out.
"The screams were from who Mr Malfoy?" Coppergrove's business like tones clipped the ear of everyone in the room back into their senses, her wand at the ready.
"I don't know her name, she was a muggle woman from one of the villages near my home, Father had friends over and she was the entertainment." He responded sounding ever so slightly strangled despite the lack of restraint about his neck.
"Next memory." Coppergrove said, as the scratching from her quill dropped, and the next memory began to form on the surface.
An onslaught of memories assaulted his senses, the timeline of his childhood displayed for them all to see, the shadow of regret as he watched himself growing steadily older burned in his chest, his father repeating the same things to him over and over. He was special. A wizard. A pure-blooded wizard. A Malfoy. The undertone to each memory an overwhelming feeling of regret and sorrow, things hushed up on the outskirts of Draco's hearing, only once in a while the sentiment would be heard. Disappointment that Voldemort had fallen to a young boy. Disappointment Draco would not watch when his father brought home a muggle. Disappointment that Lucius was forced to use 'crucio' on his only son and heir. Disappointment. He was special. Disappointment.
The memories kept coming, until he realised the halls of Hogwarts had become visible. The Slytherin common room was shown, the children of Death Eaters looking to him, expecting him to do something towards the 'mudbloods.' Then herself, and the Gryffindor Quidditch team and he knew what was about to happen.
He called her mudblood; and the team exploded. His head fell, the shame becoming unbearable, and powerful, too much to watch. The overwhelming flood of emotions swelled about everyone in the room and Coppergrove signalled a halt as the memory stopped.
"Explain this one to me." She ordered, and he swallowed.
"Miss Granger-,"
"Miss Hermione Jean Granger, Order of Merlin First Class?" Coppergrove interrupted as if to confirm who they were talking about.
"Yes, that one," he said, opening his mouth to continue, "She implied I had bought myself onto the team instead of getting on by pure talent. I did what was expected of me, I threw her the worst insult I knew. She confused me however. She didn't seem to know what it meant. It had to be explained to her. You saw how I was raised. That muggles were beyond inferior, that muggle-borns were only just as inferior, but beyond all of that; everyone was inferior to me. I expected her to know what it meant. I had been raised to believe that they knew that they were inferior to me and to other witches and wizards. She didn't. She hadn't a clue." He explained, as Coppergrove leant forward.
"Explain further. This evidence is rather damning of you otherwise." She said, unsympathetic, but the faint crease of incomprehension marred her features.
"Everything I was raised to believe began to be shattered at this point, even though it looks otherwise." He said his voice stronger as he began to almost plead with her to understand. "My father drilled into me that everyone would know they are below me. I am the best. She said I wasn't talented enough to get on the team without buying my way on. She was wrong. Yet I am surrounded by a group of people who have been brought up with me, and my family hammering it into them that they are below the Malfoy's, that they should just follow what we did. The whole blood purity thing was constant in this group, within Slytherin, at home, the company we kept. I was expected to despise muggle-borns by my family, and by the people who I was surrounded by at school. Right at this very moment they expected me to say something awful. She'd insulted me by implying I wasn't good at something; everybody knew the Malfoy's were the best at everything but…her, so I called her a mudblood. She didn't know what it meant. I was told by my father, by the people I was surrounded by that muggle-borns would know what it meant when I told them, that they'd learn their place when I told them that they were that word. She needed to have it explained to her. She confused me. If what my father had been saying was right, then she should have been in tears, not picking up her friend of the floor as he leapt to her defence." He finished, and the room was silent for a few moments as Coppergrove rustled parchments about her desk. The quill she'd charmed and her scribe both writing away as if nothing else in the world existed. Finally she found a piece of parchment with what appeared to be a list on it, and she ran her wand down the items until she found what she was looking for.
:: :: ::
Ava had just about pinned her into check as an odd hum broke the sound in the air.
"Miss Hermione Jean Granger, Order of Merlin First Class, please stand." A voice boomed in an authoritative tone Hermione had never quite encountered before. Ava looked at her, concern and surprise in her deep blue eyes.
Hermione felt the blood pool in her feet.
She rose, and Ava stood with her, striding to the door, her brand new auror's behaviour settling about her as the drill set in.
"Please take to the podium."