She walked, slowly and carefully, her face impassive to the podium in the centre of the room. An auror had come to meet her, and his battle weary face gave her a comfortable smile, his hand outstretched in an offer of help. She took it, grateful for the help as he led her through the courtroom and up on to the podium. She looked at Malfoy briefly, meeting his pleading gaze with a tinge of sadness, she would not show him any hint of what she really felt. His desperate plea for her help had alarmed her, and her insides churned violently.
He looked wrecked.
His hair, usually carefully placed was falling into his eyes; his face was ghostly white. His sharp, pointed features made him look like a trapped artic fox; there was nowhere for him to escape too. His wintery eyes looked haunted, and his long elegant fingers were playing with the seams on his trousers. Chains were snaked about his arms, the forearms bare; the faintest trace of a skull and snake visible on his left. Hermione thought if it weren't for the almost blinding light that was on him, she wouldn't have seen it at all.
She placed her hands on the wooden rest about the podium, turning to thank the auror quietly before staring up at the stern Miranda Coppergrove.
"You are Miss Hermione Jean Granger, Order of Merlin First Class?" She asked the familiar business tone surprisingly comforting.
"I am, yes, Madam." She found herself replying, an inner bastion of strength keeping her back straight and her voice free of any wavering. It was a relief, to be able to appear as though she wouldn't rather fall through the floor.
"You are here as Mr Malfoy's defence." She stated, yet still expectantly waiting an answer. The lights from above felt as though the sun had moved just an inch above her, blinding and unbearably hot under the eyes of the room.
"Yes." She said, sure and almost challenging.
"I am sure you are aware that anything you say as evidence that is found to be perverting the course of justice will reflect badly on you, and you may find yourself with a criminal record. This noted, will you agree to the use of veritaserum?" Coppergrove said, bored and business like. Hermione wavered, feeling ever so slightly trapped, realising there was no way she could refuse.
"Yes."
"Only half a drop." Coppergrove said, not speaking to Hermione but the auror from earlier, waving her forward. Hermione opened her mouth obediently.
"The use of Occlumency will not help you either."
:: :: ::
His heart had begun to beat a tattoo in his chest, the ritual riot becoming painful as he supressed the panic and fear at her speaking. The time had come to define if she really were his defence or not, she'd found his eyes on the way down, her expression had been so completely blank he couldn't determine if it were a good thing or not. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the words to come.
"Miss Granger, before attending Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, had you ever heard the term 'Mudblood', before?" Coppergrove asked, those bored, straight-to-the-point tones as clear as day.
"No." Hermione replied, her own voice steady and expressive. Draco's heart continued to beat painfully as he struggled to determine if it were for or against him.
"Do you believe that Mr Malfoy actually believed he was superior to you in anyway when he called you a mudblood?"
Hermione was silent for a while, and the chairs in the room creaked as bodies leaned forward, straining to listen. Draco opened his eyes, staring at her, as Coppergrove raised an eyebrow; obviously not used to being made to wait for an answer. Hermione however was deep in thought, and as he checked Coppergrove's expression once more realised that she had noticed this, and was giving her time to think. She really was Amelia Bone's protégé.
"Yes…and no." Hermione began, and his heart fell with such a drop he almost vomited; "at first, I think he did believe it. I think that's exactly what he thought of me. Do I think he would mean it if he called me a mudblood now? No. Two years ago, when we were in fifth year? No. Three years ago, when we were in fourth year? Maybe, but I think it's always stemmed from jealousy. From what was expected from him. I don't think Malfoy has genuinely believed in what he's said since he was thirteen years old. I say this as one of his favourite bullying victims." She said, her answer thought out and so clear Draco's heart took to the skies again.
She really was his defence.
"How victimised have you been by Mr Malfoy?"
"If I am alone, he does not tend to bully me unless he is either irritated by something, or with friends. I don't believe he goes out of his way to find me to make me feel upset. If I am there, and he needs to…keep up appearances, then possibly, but it is not that bad. I don't think his heart is in it, or has been in it for a long time." Her voice was clear, and seemed to take on siren qualities as she sang the song of his freedom.
"When was the last time he called you a mudblood?"
"I can't remember." Her reply was almost instant, the veritaserum forcing the truth out of her faster than she could contain it. Draco stared at her, her hair, usually in soft waves and curls down her back was tied up in an elegant twist; a dark blue dress revealing her subtle curves to the world. She looked respectful, but clearly ready for business and as if she wished to be taken seriously. She was shaking, ever so slightly as she stood, the questioning clearly terrifying, yet here she was.
Defending him for reasons he couldn't fathom.
"You may leave until called to speak again Miss Granger." Coppergrove dismissed her, a thoughtful expression upon her wrinkled face as she stared Draco in the eye. He paled, and bowed his head to her respectfully, turning to watch the auror almost run to Hermione's side to lead her back to the door. He suppressed an eye-roll; Granger had a fan already.
"Thank you Madam," Hermione said, stepping down and taking the aurors arm kindly, her warm brown eyes flicked to Draco, and he looked back, drowning in the hopeful emotion she bathed him in.
"Continue the memories." Coppergrove said, as Hermione was ushered out the door.
:: :: ::
Ava collected her, studying her conflicted and confused expression seriously. She pressed her fingers to her lips, signifying she couldn't speak whilst outside the courtroom, and Hermione nodded, walking beside Ava in a comfortable silence. They walked past what seemed like only a few doors until slipping back inside their room; and Hermione sighed, the use of her voice seemingly comforting as if she hadn't been able to speak at all for weeks.
"All good?" Ava asked her, as she slumped into a chair.
"I don't think I was questioned about a memory I submitted," she admitted as Ava nodded, the tell-tale sign of her not being able to speak further slipping on to her features.
"At least it's underway, and you'll know the outcome soon." She tried to comfort, setting up the chessboard for another round.
:: :: ::
They stood about him, hoods up, masks on.
His own dining room had been turned into some kind of altar.
He was the sacrifice.
"Your arm Draco." The cold chilling voice of Voldemort demanded, his long twisted but somehow elegant fingers reaching forward.
"Draco." His father warned, as he made no move, a sneer developing on the snake like visage of Voldemort. Still he remained put, hoping, hoping with all he had that the deathly green light would come. A sudden; vice like grip, snapped about his forearm.
Voldemort's wand was stabbed onto his bare flesh.
The pain exploded in his skin. An itch. A burn. A rendering of his very being. He screamed twisting on the spot as Voldemort pinned his arm still. His laughter loud and echoing as his magic marred the pale white skin of the youngest Malfoy. He let go, and Draco panted, unwilling to look at his arm.
"Look Draco." Cooed Voldemort, an unrestrained cackle behind his lipless mouth. Draco remained staring, his eyes on his mother's distraught features.
"I said look." Voldemort hissed, fury bubbling on the surface, and Draco found himself turning his head and raising his arm. His skin was red; an angry black scrawl was beginning to sharpen into distinctive lines. A snake bursting from a skulls jaws.
The Dark Mark.
Bellatrix cackled, laughing hysterically.
"Cissy! Aren't you proud?" She cried delighted, throwing off her mask and running to embrace her sister as Voldemort turned to speak to Lucius.
"You fail me, and I take your family." He said dangerously as the memory faded.
Draco fought against the rising bile in his throat, the wish to vomit becoming uncontrollable. He gagged, and lost; vomit splattering his legs and the floor about him, dribbling down his chin as he retched.
"Disgusting," an unknown voice commented as someone languidly flicked their wrist, vanishing the stench and sight of his stomach from the room.
"Silence." Coppergrove shot, staring down at Draco with an intrigued hint in her hazel eyes. She waited a moment, determining the room was quiet enough and that Draco wasn't going to vomit again, spoke once more. "Explain to me what Voldemort meant by 'you fail me, and I take your family'." She said clearly, as if reading a piece of parchment.
Shakily, Draco began, the story of how his father had failed Voldemort in his fifth year spilling out of him like a dam had broken. The tale of how he never would have been a Death Eater if it weren't for his father being unable to take the prophecy from Harry Potter. He was being punished, and everything from that point on was with the aim he would fail; and be murdered by Voldemort, then the rest of his family. The room listened quietly, unsurprised and unmoved, and many he realised had been there at his father's trial. Listening to the Malfoy heir's point of view wouldn't be anything new.
Coppergrove spoke in that magnified voice once more and Draco started with horror.
His mother.
Of all the people he had expected to speak for him, his mother had been one of them, but now, the idea of her speaking in his defence humiliated him. He knew how she'd been stripped bare of everything that made her who she was in a room like this not even a week ago; now she'd come back to speak for him. To defend her pitiful son.
He waited in the moments it took for the aurors to ferry a witness to and from a point, with a building dread, his breathing increasing until he began to almost pant. The door opened, and Narcissa walked in, her back straight, a dignified air about her. Her pale blue eyes were sharp, but the faintest glimmer of nerves danced behind them. Unlike Hermione, she took to the podium as if she belonged to it, and stood waiting to be spoken too.
Coppergrove read her the same warnings as she had Hermione, and Draco found he was unable to tear his eyes off his mother. Veritaserum was applied, and Draco stopped breathing.
"Explain how your son came to have the Dark Mark." Coppergrove said in her familiar bored tones, barely looking at Narcissa as she dipped her quill in ink. Narcissa gasped, and tears welled up in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks before she even managed to speak. Yet speak she did.
Her voice was strong, clear and precise, the tears she shed unnoticeable if it weren't for the silver light they gave. She told of her husband's failure, and recounted the day; almost exactly to how they'd just seen. Coppergrove didn't react, but whispers spread like flies about the spectators.
"Silence." Coppergrove demanded again, peering down at Narcissa carefully. "Do you think your son would have become a Death Eater if he had his own choice." She continued, and the air became electric. Draco stiffened.
"No." Narcissa replied, her voice firm. "He never had it in him."
"You may leave." Coppergrove dismissed her, as Draco began to breathe slowly, amazed at his mother.
A memory was forming once more, his sixth year began to blur past his eyes, his focus wavering as he knew what was coming. His hardest years. He watched himself struggle. Watched the threats from his father arrive in the post. Watched his hand tremble as he cast the imperious over Madam Rosemerta. Watched as he sobbed after. He watched as he failed over and over. Forcing people to do things they didn't want to do. Watched as he lived in the Room of Requirement. He watched himself crumble. He was expecting them to stop, but it didn't. Seventh year rolled on, his entrapment in his own home. His experiences at Hogwarts now over run with Death Eaters. His feeling of being caged began to swarm him. He moaned quietly to himself, as the memories came to an end.
"Now for memories from Mr Harry James Potter." Coppergrove said, as his memories were removed from the pensieve. He braced himself, curiously wondering what Potter would have submitted.
His stomach dropped as his sixth year began to play again, only from Potter's point of view. He watched himself sneak about the castle, his visage frail and grey from stress. A jolt knocked him back into his senses as he realised there was no way he looked dangerous from this point of view. He looked desperate, afraid, and weak.
The astronomy tower began to appear, and Draco looked on in shock. He watched himself tremble as he pointed his wand at Dumbledore, and looked on as he almost took the offer of protection before the Death Eaters joined him. Then Snape killed Dumbledore. Once more, his head hung in shame.
"Explain why you did not kill Albus Dumbledore." Coppergrove said immediately.
"I can't. I'm not a killer." Draco admitted, his voice quiet, a crack seeping into the edges of his voice. Her magnified voice boomed once more, and he knew who was coming this time.
Harry Potter walked into the courtroom to audible gasps and rounds of applause, the outburst of talking almost thunderous in a once quiet room.
"Silence." Coppergrove demanded as Harry took to the podium, not even once looking at Draco.
"You are Mr Harry James Potter, Order of Merlin First Class?" She asked, almost seeming kind when Harry was on the podium, her attitude slipping. To his shock, Harry sighed, and pushed back his fringe, revealing his scar. He would have snorted with laughter if this wasn't his trial; but the worn, almost humiliated expression on Potter's face sobered him up as Coppergrove read the same things to Harry as she had to his mother and Hermione – with the exception of Veritaserum.
"Do you think Mr Malfoy would have succeeded in killing Albus Dumbledore?" She asked him, an almost interested tone coming out of her mouth.
"No." Harry replied, straight to the point.
"Why?"
"He's capable. Could have done it with the ways he tried, the necklace, poisoned mead. I just don't think his heart was truly in it. Especially after…"
"After what."
"The astronomy tower. If he was going to do it, he would have done it, that's how killers behave. You have to mean it."
Harry sounded clinical, and his words brought back the howling screams of Bellatrix as she taught him the unforgivable. 'You have to mean it Draco!' she screeched in his head, as he fought to keep himself in the present.
"You don't think he meant it."
"No."
"Do you think Mr Malfoy would have taken the offer of protection Dumbledore was offering if he had the time."
"Yes. Even though that would have been hard for him."
"Hard for him how?"
"He would be abandoning everything he knew, to join people he had bullied. I don't think he would have had a welcome reception from any of us, but we would have kept him safe."
"You may leave Mr Potter."
Harry left, this time giving a slight nod to Draco as he turned to the door, the action heartened him somehow. The first, begrudging seeds of respect settled in the base of Draco's spine for Harry, realising that if the tables were turned, he might not be here for him. Nor would have speaking in his defence have been easy.
The door clicked shut, and Coppergrove continued, her magnified voice booming once more.
Ollivander had been summoned.
"We have a short statement from Mr Ollivander to hear, and then we shall break for lunch," Coppergrove spoke, almost pleasantly, as an auror left the room, presumably to tell the others of her wishes.
He hadn't known about this one, and Draco paled again, wishing he could be anywhere but here. A lifetime seemed to pass in silence. Complete silence. He knew Ollivander would take some time in reaching the courtroom, but this stretch of time seemed to be an eternity. Finally, the door opened, and Ollivander hobbled to the podium with the aid of two aurors. He looked like he'd aged a hundred years in a day. He leaned heavily on the two burly men guiding him to the podium, his hair whiter than the purest slab of marble, his skin full of wrinkles so deep Draco thought they could lead to an abyss. His eyes were haunted, but that odd sparkle of his own brand of wisdom flared as he sighted Draco in chains. Draco blinked, wishing himself to smother his fear, and look back with some semblance of dignity. Coppergrove was already speaking as he held himself up on the wooden support. His rights were read, and he agreed.
"What is it you wish to add to this trial Mr Ollivander?" Coppergrove asked kindly, respect dripping from every word she spoke.
"Mr Malfoy's wand is Hawthorn, with Unicorn tail core. Unicorn tail wands are notoriously difficult to turn to Dark Magic. You would have to really mean it to manage a sufficiently strong enough spell of the Dark Arts." He said, as if that was all he had come here to say, knowing Ollivander, it probably was. Despite being held within his families wine cellars the past few months.
"Thank you, you may go back to 's now." Coppergrove said gently, as Ollivander left at the slow pace he had arrived in and Draco reeled. His appearance had probably been planned carefully. She'd asked him what he'd wanted to add to the trial, not how he was standing. Ollivander's appearance was the greatest mystery. The fact he had chosen to say that of all things confused him. His wands core wasn't something he'd expected to come into the fray; and what did it mean? Was Ollivander for or against?
The members in the room had begun to stand up, shuffling away, talking amongst themselves. A tap on his shoulder shocked him, and he found himself in the empty room he was in before. He blinked, several times, and ignored the aurors swarming about him releasing him from the chair; dragging him into his cell. He couldn't pay them any attention; they were just doing their jobs, his trial was far too important to mess it up by hounding the ones set to guard him. A plate of sandwiches had appeared, and Draco began to eat them slowly, mulling his future over with a stunned and far away gleam in his eyes.
:: :: ::
An hours lunch break had been announced, and Ava had stood at the news, ordering them a feast fit for a king Hermione thought, as she summoned a table. Moments later, a massive pile of sandwiches and various picnic foods had appeared on her brand new furniture, and Ava had dived in almost like Ron. Hermione picked up a sandwich that looked to contain some salad in it at least, and dug in, relaxing in her chair more now that she knew roughly what time of day it was.
"So tell me about this guy," Ava said, striking up a new conversation, a devious look on her face. "You seem to be distant, thinking about something, or someone – I don't think it's this trial taking up all your thoughts."
Hermione started, looking at the friendly sparkle in Ava's eyes with suspicion and curiosity. She'd been thinking about Draco, hoping that whatever happened would mean his freedom, feeling like he deserved a second chance at life. Why he'd been in her mind so much, she couldn't quite figure out; but the idea of him set butterflies fluttering for some reason. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, but not quite finding the words to say.
"He's a complete dick," she began, and Ava's eyebrows rose; the beginnings of a smirk starting on her face. "He's inconsiderate, thinks of nobody but himself, he's spiteful, nasty and an overgrown child. Only…lately…he's started to; be on my mind all the time. He's not behaving in a way I'd expect. He's almost…bearable." Hermione conceded, as Ava snorted back a laugh.
"So you like the bad guys."
"I…" she attempted to respond, as a curious thought slipped into the back of her head. Did she have the start of a crush on Draco Malfoy?
:: :: ::
The hour went faster than Draco could have handled, and he soon found himself shepherded into the wooden chair again, only this time he could have sworn the aurors were slightly gentle with him; as if they knew he wouldn't fight. The blinding lights had returned, and so had the onslaught of memories.
Another memory came into view as Draco inwardly battled his thoughts, and he realised with a shock that this one must be from Hermione; only he hadn't heard her be announced. It had to be her.
She was looking up at him from the floor of his mansion. He looked back at her. Disgusted. Afraid. Distraught. The tight white grip of his father puncturing the flesh of his shoulder.
He did nothing.
Her screams echoed, rebounding off the walls of the courtroom, drumming itself into his bones. He gritted his teeth, and breathed in roughly.
The memory faded, and Draco squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get the vision of himself pretending to be dignified as she screeched on the floor of his home out of his head. The room was completely void of any noise at all. No one fidgeted. No one dared to breathe. He could feel the eyes on him pin him to the floor; as if his restraints didn't exist. He'd never been more scrutinised in his life.
Of all the memories he'd expected to see, that one was not it. That memory didn't seem to belong. Not as defence. Betrayal boiled his insides raw.
:: :: ::
The booming voice of Coppergrove entered the waiting room in which Hermione was currently playing the third game of chess with Ava. They'd been chatting amicably, Ava had been eager to learn about Harry and Ron as they'd be her future work mates, and Hermione had been happy to comply. They'd struck up a tentative friendship; Ava seeming genuinely disappointed that Hermione wouldn't be joining her as an auror sometime in the future.
As Hermione was announced once more, they both stood; Hermione with a sense of foreboding that she knew what memory was to be discussed this time.
"Come," Ava said, guiding her to the door, walking quietly beside her back to the oak double doors. She tapped her knuckles upon the door; and it opened, whisking Hermione away to discuss her torture.
:: :: ::
She was back, her elegant figure striding into the room with the rosiness of her cheeks slipping from the surface of her skin with each step she took. Her auror lap-dog by her side, eagerly helping her up a single step on to the podium. Again, she thanked him politely, despite her lips betraying the slight hint of irritation at his gesture.
"Miss Granger," Coppergrove began in those bored, clear tones, "you are Mr Malfoy's defence, are you not?"
"Yes."
"Then you will need to explain to the court why the memory submitted shows yourself clearly being tortured, and Mr Malfoy doing nothing about it." Coppergrove sounded slightly mad, as if she had been betrayed, lied too, just as Draco struggled to keep his rage from burning him up inside out.
"I think it was the one memory I had that showed his situation perfectly. Did it look to you like he wanted to be there, like he wanted to join in, was he watching it eagerly? To me, he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but there; he couldn't leave, he had his father holding him in place. If he had done something, he'd have been killed. I don't think Mr Malfoy has ever been in any situation where he could consider himself to have been safe throughout the war. I think given the chance he would have remained neutral in the war. Or; maybe, and this is a long shot, join the Order." Hermione spoke, clean and clear, almost willing for her to see her point.
"I would have." Draco found the words leaving his mouth before he knew what he was doing, the uncontrolled words tumbling into a deafening silence.
"Explain," Coppergrove demanded, as she peered forward, seemingly forgetting Hermione.
"I would have joined the Order, if…Snape hadn't…"
"Understood." She turned her gaze back to Hermione, narrowing her sharp hazel eyes slightly, "Why are you here as Mr Malfoy's defence."
It was a statement neither of them expected, and Hermione jumped slightly, before returning the gaze with her own steely glint.
"I'm here because despite him bullying me, despite him being a literal nightmare for me, I don't think he has ever had a chance to be himself. I think he needs time to discover who he really is. If that's a blood-purist bastard; then he'll find himself in Azkaban before long. If it's someone who could do some good in this world, which I think Malfoy is capable of, even if he isn't aware of it, then he needs to find it out."
Those words again. The ones she'd said at the press conference. The ones he'd read in the prophet.
Maybe she was right.
"Understood, you may leave Miss Granger."
Hermione nodded, and the sound of her footsteps leaving was the only noise in the room for a while, as the Wizengamot looked at each other; curious expressions on their faces, and Coppergrove stared at him, twisting her mouth about. She seemed to be mulling her words over, but she pulled a piece of parchment from one of the stacks, and looked at it, her eyebrows rising in surprise.
"You have only one person willing to speak as your prosecutor. They have a statement here. You have had seven people submit memories on behalf of your defence. A further three people submitted statements, and Mr Ollivander simply wished to add to the trial. Your case is…most unusual Mr Malfoy." Coppergrove mused aloud, as the Wizengamot shifted in their seats, as if anxious about something.
"I shall read the statement now, so that we have heard from both sides of the argument before we question you." She continued, as she shuffled her parchments about and Draco wondered desperately as to whom it would be hoping for his incarceration. It had to be Weasel-King, the other members of the Golden Trio had spoken, but not him.
"The statement of one Miss Millicent Bulstrode." Coppergrove interrupted his thoughts, and he started with shock. A member of his own house, not a Weasley! His eyes narrowed, as Coppergrove in her clear speech began to read the statement, telling of all her encounters with him in the Slytherin common room. How he boasted, bullied and bragged. How he ranted, raved and rambled on about his dislike of the Golden Trio. How he treated his equals like his inferiors. How he treated everyone. How deep down, being locked away would be good for Draco, because he was just too awful to be around people. The statement came to a close, and Draco reeled. Panic beginning to bubble up once more.
"I have a question for Mr Malfoy," A different voice spoke clearly, his arm in the air, his strong voice giving away to the first tremors of age.
"Ask it," Coppergrove agreed, gesturing towards Malfoy in a permissible way.
"What side would you have joined in the war Mr Malfoy, in your own words. What side did you agree with?" The question was asinine, he thought, as he mulled the question over in his head.
"Neither, I wanted to be neutral."
"Neutral doesn't look good for you. You said earlier that you'd join the Order if you had the chance."
"Yes, for my mother's protection, for my own protection. Not actually join it. Some things are too ingrained you understand. I don't like Potter, I don't like the Weasley family, I don't…like Granger. I respected Dumbledore, even though I said he was past it, and a lunatic. He wasn't. I never wanted to be a Death Eater, but I never wanted to be part of the Order either."
"Do you believe in the ideals of blood-purity?" Another person asked, the moment he had stopped speaking, and Draco reasoned they would be attempting to switch subjects, fast. Give him no time to think, to slip up. To condemn himself.
"I don't know." He replied, and the honesty burnt him.
"You don't know?"
"I don't know, I was supposed to be the best! I'm a Malfoy! I'm a pure-blooded wizard! Then Hogwarts happens and I'm bested in all classes by a muggle-born. I'm not as good of a flier as a half-blood. I'm not as famous as a half-blood…I don't know anymore." He spat, his insides quivering with the effort of admitting humiliating things.
"If you wanted to be neutral, why did you become a Death Eater?"
"Because there was a lot of choice involved in that one. I'd have died if I said yes, died if I said no. I like being alive." He retorted, feeling the sarcasm build. The Wizangamot shifted, muttering to each other, unimpressed with the answer. "I was supposed to never be involved in this war. It was my father's fight. Not mine. You saw how all choice was removed from me. You saw my memory of my Dark Mark. You think I asked for that? I wanted nothing to do with the war!" He almost shouted, his voice raised and irritated, desperate. He strained against his chains, leaning out of the light to look at their faces; pleading mentally with them.
The questions kept coming, some inane, some in depth. Who he had fought with during the final battle? Why had he been there? What had he done? Did he try to protect anyone? Did he feel loss over his friend Crabbe? Would he be friends with Potter now if given the chance? Would he elaborate on why he didn't do anything during the torture of Miss Granger?
He answered them all, angrily, desperately, sorrowfully. His mind burned, and he could feel himself falling into the depths of insanity. He could be free. If only he could persuade them.
"The Wizengamot would like to vote." A man finally petitioned Coppergrove, and she nodded, as Draco drew in a ragged breath.
"All in favour to press charges?" She asked, watching the Wizengamot carefully, and a few hands rose, their faces angry, spiteful; and Draco assumed they must be friends of his fathers.
"All in favour to drop the charges?" The majority of hands rose, and Draco stopped breathing.
"It seems you are a spiteful boy who has grown up being as vile to those around you as you could. I hope you listened to Miss Granger earlier. Should you find yourself arrested, in the next two years you will go straight to Azkaban for ten years, no more no less. You will pay one million galleons to each Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry of Magic, and St Mungo's in reparations. You will also be released back to Hogwarts; as the current Headmistess has agreed to allow you to return for schooling. Consider yourself lucky Mr Malfoy." Coppergrove said, and closed the court.
He was free.
He sobbed.