1. The Wizengamot's Verdict.
Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect of Harry Potter. I do, however, take Draco and Hermione out to play sometimes.
A/N. This new project is set in the same universe as my Dramione oneshot collection, Procrastination. It can thus be read as a continuous backstory for Procrastination. The tone of this, however, will be much darker. Those who may be triggered by either suicidal ideation or eating disorders may want to proceed with caution. That said, there will be no explicit description of either. Any triggering material will, I expect, be relatively mild, and will result from descriptions of the thoughts of characters who, in the aftermath of the war, struggle with the will to keep going and with eating as a coping mechanism. I will warn accordingly at the start of chapters.
There may be explicit descriptions of violence. I will warn for violence at the start of any particularly violence-heavy chapters and will, if necessary, change the rating accordingly.
On a lighter note, this fic draws much of its inspiration from the brilliant 8th-year fic Muggle Studies by theangelsarecoming (which you can find in my Favourites list) which, in my view, creates an exceptionally realistic picture of what an 8th year at Hogwarts could look like for Hermione, Harry, Draco, and the others in their year. Rather than reinvent the wheel, I have, with her permission, borrowed heavily from theangelsarecoming's conception of 8th year. My heartfelt thanks to her for letting me do so—I am excited to get to play in her (and Rowling's) world! You should also check out the original fic—it is unfinished but a very enjoyable read.
Sorry for this long author's note—there was much that needed saying. A fairly mild warning for this chapter: Draco struggles with hopelessness and the will to live.
The Wizengamot gave the Malfoys half an hour to say their goodbyes. Narcissa remained pale and proud, her back straight. To Draco's astonishment, it was Lucius's face that seemed to be streaked with tears, though in the dim lighting of the prison it was hard to tell. He seemed to have aged twenty years overnight. His hands shook and his movements had the hesitancy of an old man.
It could have been worse. If the overthrow of Voldemort had happened under Fudge's leadership, Draco knew it certainly would have been. But Kingsley Shacklebolt believed that the best way to help Britain heal after the ravages of war was to take a largely merciful approach. The trials of former Death Eaters had taken up most of the spring after the war. Most were sentenced to Azkaban for a number of years, but only a handful were given life imprisonment, and all of them got to keep their souls.
Lucius got fifteen years in Azkaban, seven without the possibility of parole. Narcissa was sentenced to ten. They were fined several thousand Galleons, and upon their release would each be required to undertake a hundred hours of service to the Wizarding community.
Draco's trial came last. He knew, by then, that it would not be death; that it would, at most, be a short period of imprisonment. He found himself thinking that perhaps death would be more merciful, after all, if it was quick and painless.
Crowds had followed the Malfoys on the way to the trial—reporters yelling questions; enraged members of the magical community who threw eggs and yelled obscenities. Many had lost family members in the War. Some had lost limbs. Draco would never forget the woman who had grabbed his sleeve, her teeth bared in rage, one eye socket scabbed and empty. "You killed my son!" she was screaming. "You monster!"
Which son? he'd wondered. The fifteen-year-old who'd been caught and tortured for information, close to the start of his service with the Dark Lord? Voldemort had forced Draco to lead the interrogation, and, once the boy had told all he knew, to execute him. Or the two brothers, a few weeks later, killed for the same reason? The younger one could not have been more than seven years old. Or any one of a half-dozen other deaths. All brutally young. Scared. Screaming. I am a monster.
If he was sent to Azkaban, Draco thought, he would have their faces for company. The Dementors made you relive your worst memories, over and over. By now, Draco had too many of those to count.
And once he got out? The world would not forgive him, he knew. The press wouldn't spare him. He would be a hunted man until the day he died. If he was lucky, he might find a friend as broken as he was. Finding someone to love would certainly be out of the question.
Kill me, for my punishment is greater than I can bear.
As he stood before the Wizengamot, Draco felt only numb. Here, at last, was the end of life as he knew it. But what had his life been before that? He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt unafraid.
He watched the witnesses come and go without emotion. The ones that looked at him with blazing hatred in their eyes. The few that showed compassion. Harry Potter. He had promised to testify for all three Malfoys in their trials, because Narcissa had saved him.
"And finally, the defence calls… Miss Hermione Granger!"
What?
Granger's statement was brief and to the point. She spoke of the terrible night that she, Potter, and Weasley had been held and tortured in Malfoy Manor. "He recognised us. I know he did. And he chose not to reveal us. I am convinced that Mr. Malfoy's heart was not with the cause he served. He may not have had the power or the courage to free himself from Voldemort's service, and he did terrible things, but he was an unwilling participant in his crimes. Due to this and to his young age, I believe that the Wizengamot should consider him as more of a victim than a criminal."
She speaks well, Draco thought. Potter had been articulate enough—but this—from a girl little older than he was!
"Stick to the facts, Miss Granger," a voice said coldly from the Chief Warlock's seat—a wizard Draco did not know. "Mr. Malfoy's sentence is at the discretion of the Wizengamot, not yours."
Granger's eyes darted fire, but after a moment she nodded stiffly.
"Mr. Malfoy, is this true?" the cold voice addressed him.
"Yes." Draco had been numb and withdrawn throughout his trial, barely answering the questions posed him; but something about the surprise of seeing Granger on the stand let loose a flood of words.
"I regretted every moment of—of being a Death Eater. But everyone knows that once you join you can't go back. I was afraid he'd hurt my family—he tortured Mother once. He—he crucio'd me if I didn't do what he wanted. Believe me, I hate myself for the things I've done and I'd give anything to take it all back."
Draco was gasping by the time he finished. A sudden cold trickle inside his nostrils took him by surprise and he realised he'd been crying as he spoke. When he brought his hand up to wipe his nose it came away slick with tears and snot. So I've lost my dignity, too.
But his outburst had had an impact on the Wizengamot. He saw them turning towards each other, whispering. He was led from the room while the Wizengamot deliberated; he sat numbly on a bench and stared into space. The two Aurors escorting him didn't seem to know what to do. They stood stiffly on either side of him and didn't make sudden movements, as though anything unexpected might cause him to break.
When, after an eternity, he was called back into the courtroom, the female Auror tapped his arm and murmured, "Chin up. You'll probably get to walk free."
The face of the woman who had screamed at him on his way in came into his mind. Was she still out there? Waiting for him? He didn't want to go back and face her—face all of them.
Monster.
He stood stiffly before the Chief Warlock and tried to focus on the words coming out of his mouth.
"…suspended sentence… fifty hours …wand restrictions…free to go…."
"You're free to go!" When Draco still stared straight ahead, the Auror tapped him sharply on the shoulder. "But you'll have to let us escort you out. The press will probably be still swarming about," she continued darkly.
Draco moistened dry, salty lips. "W-where am I going?"
"Your parents leave for Azkaban this afternoon. You have half an hour to say your goodbyes. Warlock's orders."
Then, as his face paled even further and he staggered,
"Chin up," the Auror said again. "Kingsley's relaxed the rules on visiting. You'll be able to see them as much as twice a month, and they'll be eligible for parole in a few years."
A few years? He knew it was merciful, but the voice inside his head was a little boy again, and it was screaming, Don't leave me! Oh God, please, don't leave me alone here!
"And you get to walk out of here. They've revoked your Apparition license so international travel's out, except by special-arrangement Floo, and you won't be able to perform certain spells—you're allowed Third and Fourth Class, basic everyday magic and basic self-defence, but no curses or Transfiguration—but who needs those, anyway? Unless you're an Auror, of course, but you've probably seen enough of combat for a lifetime…."
Please stop talking, Draco thought.
"…they're opening Hogwarts again, too, I hear. Headmaster McGonagall is going to offer a special eighth-year program for everyone who didn't get to graduate last year because of…you know. I wouldn't know anything about it, only I keep in touch with Pomona—Pomona Sprout—every now and again…anyhow, the owls will be going out Thursday. Give you something to look forward to…."
He caught a glimpse of Granger's face as he was swept out the door. She mouthed something. Would she be going back? What a silly question. Of course she'll be going back.
The faces of the dead boys swam before his mind. They wouldn't get to walk out of this. Regardless of what the Auror had said, he wouldn't either.
I am driven far away, a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth, and whoever finds me will seek to slay me.
As he stepped outside of the courtroom, a roar of sound assailed him—reporters shouting questions; the angry yells of the populace. A tomato sailed through the air and hit him on the forehead before the female Auror grabbed his arm and the world contracted into the hurtling, gut-wrenching feeling of Side-along Apparition.
The crowds could not follow, but the whisper in his mind did.
Monster….
A/N. So, what did you think? I'd love to hear in a review. I'd also really appreciate any feedback on whether I am doing trigger warnings correctly, and your views on what needs to be warned for.
I have of course slightly adapted Cain's speech from Genesis chapter 4 to represent Draco's thoughts.