"Bien," Monsieur Malecrit said. "Let's go over the strategy one more time."

Draco nodded, trying to pretend that he wasn't running on two hours' sleep and pure adrenaline. The solicitor had come into his Ministry holding cell an hour ago, and from the moment he arrived, had begun to pelt Draco with legal terms and Articles of Wizarding Law, clearly thrilled at the turn his most high-profile case had taken. Sometimes he switched to French in his excitement, and while Draco was fluent in the language, judicial terms and expressions were quite beyond him. Especially when he felt as if he might keel over with exhaustion.

"So," Malecrit continued. "There are three possible outcomes I can see: They may rule that your return to Azkaban was legally valid because you violated the terms of your parole, even though you were not given a hearing at the time. They may also decide that it was not, but that as a convicted criminal you must finish your rehabilitation program as intended. Or they may decide that your initial sentencing was nugatory as the case wasn't actionable in the first place."

Draco blinked. His eyelids felt like sandpaper, and Malecrit was making no sense. "Monsieur, I'm not sure I follow."

"Oh, excusez-moi. I mean to say that the prosecution did not provide sufficient evidence at your first trial to justify the sentence you received. You'll recall that my defense was based on that very fact."

Not very successfully, Draco didn't say. "I aided and abetted the Death Eaters, didn't I?"

"Under duress!" Malecrit pointed a finger at him, as if he had just proven a point. "The prosecution largely ignored this. Be that as it may, I do not believe that going for a fully revoked sentence is our best option. The Wizengamot is always susceptible to the public mood, and many out there would be outraged to see you go free. On the other hand, Mr. Potter's protest has been the center of attention for the past few weeks, and there's a crowd ready to riot if you're thrown back into Azkaban. I believe, or rather, I expect that the Wizengamot will decide to strike a happy medium and return you to your parole program."

"Okay." It made sense, encouragingly so. "What do I have to do?"

Malecrit smiled thinly. "The less you do the better, Draco. Keep your replies short, appear contrite and grateful. Let the witnesses do the talking."

"Witnesses?" Draco frowned. It was the first time Malecrit had mentioned that there would be witnesses.

The solicitor's smile widened. "Oh yes. I daresay the Wizengamot will be… surprised when I call them to the stand."

###

When Draco was led into the court dungeon, the first thing that greeted him were glaring flashes from dozens of magical cameras going off. The hall was filled with hundreds of voices talking and shouting at once, creating a pandemonium of sound. After the silence of his tiny holding cell, it was disorienting to say the least.

"…reporting live for the Wireless WBC," rang out a voice to his left, coming from the benches sectioned off for the press. They held more Wizarding media representatives that he had ever seen in one spot. "The accused, Draco Malfoy, enters the courtroom accompanied by Auror guards and his solicitor, Monsieur Auguste Malecrit, a well-known French law-wizard. His latest stint in Azkaban seems to have taken its toll on the nineteen-year-old, who looks pale and ill in his prison robes…"

"A statement, Monsieur Malecrit! Why do you continue to defend the Malfoy family?"

"Malfoy! What do you say to our readers who want you locked in the deepest, darkest dungeon in Azkaban?"

"We support you, Draco! Look this way for a picture for our readers!"

"…crowd of spectators in the gallery goes wild as Malfoy is led to the Seat of Judgment…"

"Old white wizards, you messed up, the Wizengamot is corrupt! Old white wizards, you messed up-"

"Death Eater scum, we'll see you rot in jail!"

"Your time is up, our time is now, the Wizengamot needs to go!"

"ORDER! ORDER IN THE COURT! Or I'll have you all removed!"

The Sonorus Charm cast by the judge boomed through the hall, effectively drowning out the chants and shouts. The Auror at his right pushed Draco into the Seat of Judgment, the elevated chair reserved for the accused. At once, the magical chains came alive, wrapping themselves around his wrists and securing them to the armrests. They were as cold as he remembered from his first trial, and reacted to every movement by tightening their snake-like coils. The ache in his side, always present these days, had become a sharp, insistent throb. Draco closed his eyes, fighting back the nausea that threatened to rise.

"It's alright," Malecrit said softly. "Everything is going as planned. Mr. Potter and his friends have made their presence known. The Wizengamot cannot ignore them. The media certainly are not."

At this, Draco opened his eyes. He looked away from the high seats that housed the Wizengamot in their plum-colored robes, away from Chief Magistrate Bitterbrew, the judge he remembered from his first trial. The benches on both sides of the hall were reserved for the spectators, and it seemed that every last seat had been taken. Some people even crowded the aisles or perched on conjured stools in the back. And in the very middle sat Harry, surrounded by Hogwarts students, Ron and Hermione at his side. When their eyes met, Harry grinned and raised his wand.

"…Harry Potter baffles the crowd and the Wizengamot alike as he produces a corporeal Patronus for all to see, a Patronus that no longer seems to be his famous stag, dear listeners, but – is that a fox? Indeed it is, but its meaning is anyone's guess…"

Something happened then to Draco that hadn't happened in a while. He suddenly found himself, not in a courtroom facing the Wizengamot, but in the den in Grimmauld Place, curled on one of the squashy couches.

"…your Animagus? Not a ferret, no. No need to look at me like that. You'd be a fox, I think. Yes, an arctic fox. Sleek and mean and a survivor…"

Harry's Patronus leaped into the air, bounding past the judge and the startled council members. It circled the hall and finally descended, sniffing at Draco's feet before it sat, tail coiled around its paws, between him and the Wizengamot.

At this, Draco almost laughed, feeling as safe and warm as he'd felt on that day in Grimmauld place.

Subtle as always, Potter.

"I will have order!" Judge Bitterbrew banged his gavel. At once, the murmur of voices that had risen died down again. "Mr. Potter, you may rest assured that your message has been received. Let us begin, please. Official hearing of the thirteenth of June, into offences committed under the Revised Parole Act of 1999 by Draco Lucius Malfoy, transferred here from Azkaban Prison. Prosecutor: Isadora Wraid of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; counsel for the defense: Auguste Malecrit, of the Ordre des Avocats Magiques. The prosecution may proceed with the charges against Mr. Malfoy."

Wraid, a tall, black-haired woman dressed in the plum robes of the Wizengamot, tapped her wand to her throat, amplifying her voice so it could be heard throughout the hall.

"Mr. Malfoy, you are accused of disorderly conduct, disturbing the public peace, taking illicit possession of a wand and using it to threaten passersby in Diagon Alley on the fifth of May, hoc anno. All of the above is in breach of the Revised Parole Act of 1999, paragraphs 4, 5, 19 and 23. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty," Malecrit snapped, his voice augmented by his own Sonorus. "My client was attacked and acted in self-defense."

"Self-defense?" Wraid raised an eyebrow. "I do not think so. Mr. Malfoy pointed a stolen wand at several innocent bystanders."

"Your evidence?"

Wraid turned. "The prosecution calls Adolarius Thomas to the witness stand."

A wizard in blue robes and horn-rimmed glasses climbed the steps to the stand, a determined frown etched into his plump features. Draco recognized him immediately; the last time they had seen each other, Thomas had tried to knock his head off with a Holy Potter sign. The fox at his feet flattened its ears at the sight of the wizard.

"Mr. Thomas," Wraid began. "Please describe the events in Diagon Alley on the fifth of May."

"Certainly," Thomas said. "We – that is, my prayer circle – were gathered in the name of the Savior and praising His glory when this fiend sprang at us like a demon straight from hell–"

"The witness should keep his preaching to the pulpit, s'il vous plait."

"So noted," Judge Bitterbrew said. "Please, Mr. Thomas."

Thomas sniffed. "When this Death Eater came running at us, grabbed my wand and threatened to blast us into oblivion."

"And you did nothing to provoke the attack?" Wraid asked.

"As if his kind needed any reason to go berserk! I assume he heard our songs of praise and could not contain himself – what on Earth – "

Harry's fox had ambled over to the witness stand, raised its hind leg and proceeded to sprinkle Thomas' robes with a spray of silver Patronus pee. Laughter rang out from the gallery, and even Judge Bitterbrew seemed to bite back a smile.

"Mr. Potter. Urinating on witnesses may be seen as contempt of court. Please…"

The fox yawned, lowered its leg and began to clean its silver fur.

"Thank you." Bitterbrew looked at Thomas, who was staring at the Patronus as if it had eaten his breviary. "Please just answer the question the prosecution asked, Mr. Thomas."

Thomas seemed to give himself an inner shake. "Er, no, of course not. Of course we did nothing to that – to Mr. Malfoy."

"I beg to differ." Malecrit's tone suggested he had been waiting for these exact words, ready to pounce. "With your permission, Your Honor, I would like to call George Weasley to the witness stand."

Bitterbrew inclined his head. "Granted. You may step down, Mr. Thomas."

Thomas flounced off, the hem of his blue robes dripping and leaving a trail of silver behind. Draco paid him little mind. George Weasley had climbed the stand and Malecrit was smiling at him, as if this wasn't the very person who wanted to see Draco in Azkaban for good, or better yet, turned back into a ferret and made into a nice fur cap.

"Mr. Weasley," Malecrit began. "You were present at the incident Mr. Thomas described, were you not?"

"Yes, I was."

"Please describe what happened on the fifth of May."

Weasley nodded. He didn't look any better than he had on the day in Diagon Alley – there were deep shadows under his eyes, giving his skin a pallid, sickly look. But he wasn't glaring murder in Draco's direction, which, if anything, was a welcome change.

"I… I went to my shop – to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes – to check up on things. Malfoy was there because he was taking Harry's and Ron's shifts."

"In accordance with the Revised Parole Act of 1999, paragraph 25," Malecrit added, clearly speaking for the benefit of the court.

"Uh, yeah. So, I saw him there and kind of… lost it. I wasn't feeling myself at the time… hadn't been for a while, to be honest. I… attacked Malfoy and threw him out of the shop."

"What happened then?"

"The Potternuts were out there, and they heard me call him a Death Eater. That's when they started coming after him. They hit him with their signs and hexed him."

"When you say 'Potternuts', you are referring to Mr. Thomas and the Church of the Vanquisher, n'est-ce pas?"

"Uh, yeah. Them."

"Did you attempt to help Mr. Malfoy?"

George's pale cheeks reddened slightly. "Um, no. I didn't. I… was angry at him. I thought he deserved it if they beat him up."

"Why did you agree to testify in his defense today? What changed?"

"Well, it's the truth, isn't it?" His voice grew firmer. "Harry's right. The Wizengamot can't just go on ignoring the truth as soon as facts become inconvenient. We've had enough of that. It doesn't matter if it's a tosser like Malfoy this time. Might be any of us next. And…" He bit his lip. "A good family friend asked me to testify. I owe him. He's a Muggle healer, and he's referred me to a colleague of his who's been really helpful."

"That is good to hear, Mr. Weasley." Malecrit inclined his head in polite acknowledgement. "Could you recount to us what happened after Mr. Malfoy was attacked?"

"He ran, but he didn't get very far. One of them cast a Tripping Jinx and he fell down. They got around him and started kicking and hitting. Then one of them shouted "He's got your wand, Addi!" and they moved away. Malfoy was on the ground and had a wand in his hand. He tried to cast a Shield Charm but it didn't work."

"How do you know he was going to cast a Shield Charm rather than a hex?" Wraid wanted to know.

"Because I heard him say the incantation," Weasley said. "The wand sparked a little, but it fizzled out before the shield could form."

"What happened then?"

"An Auror arrived at the scene and arrested Malfoy."

Malecrit nodded. "No further questions for this witness."

Bitterbrew looked at Wraid, who shook her head. "The prosecution rests at this time."

The judge nodded. "You may step down, Mr. Weasley. Yes, Councilman Schroeder?"

One of the robed members of the Wizengamot had raised his hand. When the judge addressed him, he got to his feet. "We've heard two versions from two witnesses, but we've yet to see any evidence that they're telling the truth. Were either of them questioned under Veritaserum?"

Malecrit smiled. This, too, seemed to be a question he'd been waiting for. In a gesture that was quite dramatic (if Draco said so himself), he reached into the folds of his robes and withdrew a small glass phial. Inside, a white mist twisted and swirled.

"This," he said, presenting the phial to the room at large, "is a memory George Weasley allowed me to extract of the events he just described. The Wizengamot may take it to a Pensieve and review it at their leisure."

Judge Bitterbrew nodded. "Can the prosecution provide similar evidence from Mr. Thomas?"

Wraid cleared her throat. "Er, unfortunately not. The witness refused to have his thoughts extracted, quoting religious reasons. He also refused Veritaserum."

Draco saw several Wizengamot members put their heads together and whisper. Harry's fox settled back at his feet, its eyes half-closed. It looked quite pleased with itself.

"Be that as it may," Wraid continued, "the fact stands that both the Head Auror of Azkaban and Lord Brittlenut, a longstanding member of the DMLE, reviewed the evidence gathered at the scene and decided that Malfoy deserved to be taken back to prison. Surely we're not questioning their professional authority based on a single witness account?"

"A good point, Madame Wraid." Malecrit turned back to the judge. "The defense would like to address it right away and question another witness."

Bitterbrew nodded. "The defense may proceed."

"Merci beaucoup." Malecrit turned, robes swirling. He looked happier than Draco had ever seen him. "I would like to call Mrs. Molly Weasley to the stand."