Chapter Twenty Four- Can You Forgive Me?
Hermione had never been to a Wizarding trial. Though she had read all of the reports Harry and Ron had managed to get their hands on, sitting there in the stands, she realised that none of it could have prepared her.
The room was more of an atrium itself, with high, arching marble grey ceilings, held up by towering columns. The seating curved from one side of the room, dark grey benches stretching up in levels, open to the public. Hermione noticed a shimmer, like a curtain of magic, and realised there was a Shielding charm separating the stands from the floor. Opposite were the rows of the Wizengamot. There must have been about fifty of them in total, split into two halves, all in the same crimson robes and square hats, faces sharp and distant, raised from the floor. There was a box off to the side. A single chair sat in the centre of the room.
Draco shifted on it.
The two Aurors, one of them Ron, pointed their wands at him. Hermione frowned, sitting up straighter and craning her neck so she could see more clearly. The strand of magic was gold and translucent, encircling Draco's wrists, tying him to the chair. Another two glowing ropes slid round his ankles, turning the existing band green, then gold.
They left him then, alone, to face his future, his past of unatoned sins. Hermione wanted to be there next to him, just so she could remind him that he would never be alone, not really, that she was rooting for him, that it would all be okay, no matter the outcome.
A few minutes later, Ron sidled onto the bench beside her. Hermione whirled on him.
"You tied him up?" she hissed.
Ron's eyes widened, and then he stared at her, and Hermione didn't like the pity in his eyes, so she looked away quickly. He took her hand, his fingers rough, the sleeve of his Auror robe coarse and thick. She squeezed his hand tightly. He returned the gesture. "He's going to be fine," he murmured.
Hermione chewed on her lip.
"It's busy," continued Ron, turning round to stare at the stands. He frowned. "Looks like half the Ministry have turned up."
She didn't dare look, keeping her eyes firmly on the blond halo of hair in the centre of the floor. "Of course they have. He's a Malfoy. They're here to see him fall."
"Shacklebolt's here too."
Hermione glanced behind her, and realised that the Minister for Magic was sitting in the very back corner of the room, next to Professor McGonagall. Kingsley caught her staring and dropped his head in a nod. She nodded back. Hermione couldn't help but scan the faces of the other people who had come to watch: some, it was clear, were Ministry workers, attending to keep updated with the Death Eater Trials; others, were staring at Draco with hardened faces, cruel eyes, like a villager wielding a pitchfork at a witch burning; there were very few who looked nervous, who shifted in their seats, eyes flicking around the room. Vaguely, Hermione wondered if Draco's mother was there, hidden in some shadow like the Minister.
A sudden hush fell across the atrium.
Ottaline Warbeck stood from her position amongst the Wizengamot. She cleared her throat and her voice, magnified, rang around the room.
"All present for the trail of Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, for his crimes against Wizarding Britain and the Ministry of Magic."
A magical quill, not unlike the one that blasted Rita Skeeter used to carry around constantly, floated in the seat beside her, scribing the event.
The Chief Warlock continued, reading from a script in front of her, eyes now fixed on Draco, "Mr Malfoy, you are on trial for the illegal use of the Imperius Curse against one Madam Rosmerta; the attempted murders of Mr Ronald Weasley, Miss Katie Bell and Albus Dumbledore; and acting as accomplice in aiding and abetting known fugitives and Death Eaters gain access to Hogwarts School. How do you plead for the use of an Unforgivable Curse?"
Draco's voice cracked. "Guilty."
There was silence, apart from the scratching of the quill. Ottaline Warbeck straightened her papers, her eyes briefly looking down, then refocusing on him. "How do you plead for the attempted murders of Mr Ronald Weasley, Miss Katie Bell and Albus Dumbledore?"
He inhaled deeply. "Guilty."
"How do you plead for the aiding and abetting Death Eaters in their attack on Hogwarts School?"
It was little more than a whisper. "Guilty."
"In which case," the Chief Warlock announced. "Under normal circumstances, a guilty plea would get the accused an automatic reduced sentence. However, this trial has been brought forward in light of new evidence and witnesses and the Wizengamot will take the plea into consideration, as well as the aforementioned evidence and witness testimonies. We will begin with the first witness, Madam Rosmerta."
Hermione's eyes widened and she shot to look at Ron. He caught her eye and shook his head almost imperceptibly, ducking close so he could whisper in her ear. "She found our notes when she was cleaning our room. Said she wanted to help. Was pretty adamant about it too."
The barmaid was led to the box by Aurors, and Hermione almost didn't recognise her. She wasn't wearing her usual face full of makeup. Her curls were flat, her hair bland, her cheeks pale. She looked to be shaking slightly as she shifted in the stand.
"Madam Rosmerta," said Ottaline Warbeck kindly. "You are here on your request to testify in the trial of Draco Malfoy. Do you have any recollection of the accused using the Imperius Curse against you?"
Madam Rosmerta fiddled with the rings on her fingers, leaning forward in the stand. "Yes," she said, then cleared her throat when her voice echoed. "Some."
"What do you remember?" the Chief Warlock asked. "Try not to leave any details out but only voice those you are certain of."
Rosmerta nodded anxiously. She'd never looked older, the lines of her face deep and worried. "I- I remember the day Mr Malfoy first… used the spell. We'd run out of Butterbeer and I'd gone into the back to restock the bar. It was busy, a Sunday. I heard someone crying… I called out but nobody answered, so I followed the sound and found Mr Malfoy.
"He was behind a barrel, crying- no, sobbing. I'd- I hadn't ever heard anything like it. My heart broke for the boy, it did. I started forward and I-I asked him if he was alright and if I could do anything. I think I startled him- he looked like a deer in headlights and then… the next thing I remember is seeing the- well, His mark above the school and feeling like I'd just woken up."
Rosmerta stopped twisting her rings and finally looked at Draco. There were threads of grey in her hair and sorrow in her eyes. She looked just as quickly away, at Ottaline Warbeck instead.
She said quietly, "I don't want you to punish him. I know it's not what you expected and that an Unforgivable should be- well… but I can't rest easy at night knowing that a boy would rot in Azkaban if I didn't help him." Rosmerta sat up straighter, spoke more clearly and adamantly. "He never hurt me. He could've done a number of things to me! And he did nothing! He's hardly a Death Eater and he's not a criminal-"
"Thank you, Madam Rosmerta," an older man on the Wizengamot interrupted her and she fell silent, shrinking back into the stand.
Ottaline Warbeck stared evenly at the man. She then looked at Madam Rosmerta and offered her a small smile. "We are striving to take victims' opinions and testimonies into utmost consideration in our verdicts. Justice is for the victims-"
"Oh but I don't want justice!" Rosmerta said in her high voice. "I offered to speak because I wanted to help Mr Malfoy, not condemn him-!"
"Thank you for your time. Your testimony will be valued."
Rosmerta sat there in the stand, frozen to the spot, clearly recognising the dismissal for what it was. She cast a frantic glance over the stands and Hermione realised she was looking for Ron. Her lips trembled, mouth open, before she snapped it shut and nodded, following the official who led her out of the atrium.
The Chief Warlock flicked through her papers. "I would like to remind the Wizengamot not to interfere or interrupt with witness testimonies so as to not hinder the trial proceedings. If you have a question to ask the witness, refrain from doing so until the witness has finished speaking."
Hermione's eyes flitted to the man who had interrupted Rosmerta and felt a vindictive glee at the shade of plum he was turning, and an even sharper burn of approval for Ottaline Warbeck.
"The next witness is based on a memory submitted. Before the Wizengamot watched the memory, a team of Unspeakables tested it for any tampering. The memory was proved pure. Could the second witness be brought to the stand."
Harry appeared then. His hair had fallen loose of its low bun, falling in his eyes, but he had scraped it back enough that his scar was clearly visible. It stood out, stark against the white of his skin. The audience broke into a murmur, each whispering about the Boy Who Lived. Hermione very nearly rolled her eyes but she couldn't deny her gratitude to him; they needed him to milk his fame for all it was worth. He was wearing his dark grey Auror robs.
"Mr Harry Potter," said Ottaline Warbeck. Her eyes never once moved from his face. "The Wizengamot thank you for your memory. If you don't mind, we'd like to ask you a few questions about what happened the night of Albus Dumbledore's murder."
Harry's throat bobbed. "Of course."
The Chief Warlock nodded, and motioned for the woman on her left to begin. "Where had you been prior to the Astronomy Tower, Mr Potter?"
Harry pushed his glasses up his nose. "Dumbledore had taken me to a cave. I couldn't tell you where it was- he Apparated us there and back." He took a deep breath and Hermione realised quite painfully how hard it must be for him to have to relive that night. "Dumbledore had just told me about Voldemort's Horcruxes." The sound of the name elicited a sharp reaction, but Harry continued as though it fell deaf on his ears. "For those of you who don't know what Horcruxes are, they're the reason Voldemort came back. You see, from a very young age, Tom Riddle was obsessed with immortality. He found that storing a piece of your soul inside of an object came the closest to ensuring you couldn't be killed. There was only one way to split a soul: murder. Tom didn't just create one, no, that would be far too easy for him… he created seven. Unintentionally, eight.
"I'd already destroyed one without realising it, in my Second Year. And Dumbledore told me he thought he'd found another, but he couldn't get to it alone. So we went to the cave and we retrieved the Horcrux- or what we believed to be the Horcrux. I'll spare you the details," he flashed a strained smile. "If you don't mind. I still have nightmares about it sometimes… The process of getting the locket- that's what it was- was hard. Blood magic, inferi, poison. Dumbledore drank the poison. That's why he's so weak he's barely standing in my memory."
The woman nodded slowly, watching him over her glasses. "Why did Albus Dumbledore call for Severus Snape if the man was to kill him?"
Harry took a moment to ponder the question, eyes thoughtful, eyebrows furrowed slightly. Then he sighed, and said, "I'll have to tell you the whole story. I'll try keep it as brief as I can. Dumbledore was dying."
The audience broke out yet again into a crescendo of whispers. Ottaline Warbeck demanded silence before tilting her head, regarding Harry carefully. "What do you mean?"
"Dumbledore had found another Horcrux in the summer. It must have been then because I saw him in August and his hand was shrivelled and black. When he'd tried destroying it, it had cursed him. He shouldn't have lasted the year, really, but Snape had been making him some potion that delayed it-"
"Severus Snape was a known Death Eater," said the man who had interrupted earlier loudly. "How can you be sure he wasn't poisoning Dumbledore in case the Malfoy boy didn't succeed?"
Harry stared at him, then he shook his head vigorously. "Snape was never Voldemort's. He was Dumbledore's man. He was a double agent and Dumbledore made sure Snape gave Voldemort enough information to keep him valuable." He stopped and took a quick, sharp breath. "I know you saw Snape killing Dumbledore in my memory, but it's not the whole story. Dumbledore knew right from the start that Malfoy had been tasked with killing him. He also knew Voldemort didn't expect him to succeed- it was just punishment for the sins of the father. Lucius had failed him. And he was going to take his only son and heir as punishment.
"Dumbledore knew that Voldemort wanted the Elder Wand. Yeah, it's real, and Dumbledore had it. He'd won it off Grindelwald. Voldemort's plan was for Malfoy to do his dirty work, killing his only real opposition, and then he'd kill Malfoy for the Wand."
Harry looked at Draco then. Hermione had almost forgotten he was there; despite having heard the story before, and having helped him plan what information he was going to give the Wizengamot, the intricacies of the war both horrified and amazed her, especially when he told it as though he was reliving it still. She wasn't even sure whether Draco had known that, for he had gone a deathly shade of white, and his fingers were shaking violently in his lap.
"So Dumbledore made Snape promise that he'd be the one to kill him. In the end," finished Harry quietly. "Snape sacrificed his life for Malfoy. Dumbledore might have been already dying but he physically died to save Malfoy. You can see from my memory he's not willing, he was just scared. Dumbledore saw that. Dumbledore always saw the truth in people… Even if he kept it to himself."
The tinge of bitterness didn't go unnoticed, and her breath left her lips as a ragged sigh. Ron heard the way it caught in her throat, and pulled her hand onto his knee so he could hold it more tightly.
"Then why did the Malfoy boy not ask Dumbledore for help beforehand?" the older gentlemen continued irritably.
Harry's face twisted in incredulity. "Did you not listen to Dumbledore in my memory? Voldemort was a Leglimens! He'd have murdered Malfoy at the first suspicion Dumbledore had cottoned onto his plan! It might be difficult for you politicians to understand but there was a bigger, more intricate game at play outside of your Ministry bubble, where it was life or death! Where one foot wrong could kill everyone you loved. It was never as simple as asking for help. There was no help! There was nothing because nobody in the Ministry with the power to do a goddamn thing did anything!"
"Mr Potter," Ottaline Warbeck's voice was a calm stone sinking to the bottom of Harry's ire.
Harry's breath was long and heavy. He stretched his neck. "I'm sorry. It's just-"
He paused. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the stand, interlocking his fingers. Pushing his glasses further up his nose, a nervous tick, Hermione noted, he began to speak, "I was never close to Malfoy at school." Hermione's breath stopped in her throat. Her grip on Ron's hand tightened, knuckles turning white, nails leaving crescent scars in his skin.
"He's going off script," she whispered. Ron squeezed her hand back but said nothing.
"We were always against one another; in the House Cup, in Quidditch, in lesson, and then we were fighting against one another in a war. It didn't make sense to me. It never did, how we could go from a rivalry on the Quidditch Pitch to war. I never wanted him dead. I wanted to beat him at Quidditch but that was it. We were just kids, we were never meant to be in a war...
"I always thought it was unfair, what I was burdened with. This," Harry motioned his scar, pushing his hair out of the way so the jury and audience could see it. "I thought it was unfair that I was the only kid in the world who never had a choice. It was prophesied and how could I argue with that? How could I tell people that I wasn't the Chosen One, that I was just Harry and I was scared? I never noticed at the time because I was too worried with my own life, my own lack of a choice, but Mal- Draco never had a choice either. He was born into a world he didn't understand, not fully. He was fed a prejudice like most of you here. He was trained for slaughter, to be a loyal servant to something bigger than a 16 year old kid. He wasn't given a choice for that.
"There was one choice he made, in that war. Hermione, Ron and I had gotten complacent whilst on the run- we got ourselves caught and taken to Malfoy Manor…" Hermione closed her eyes so the room wouldn't sway. "Bellatrix Lestrange thought it might be us. She wanted to summon Him. But Draco bought us some time. He lied, said he didn't recognise us, that he couldn't be sure. We're only alive because he did that. I owe my life to him."
Harry looked at each member of the Wizengamot in turn. "The only crime you can find Draco Malfoy guilty of is doing what he had to to survive and even then, he didn't kill anyone. It was kill or be killed and he still survived the war, able to say he's not a killer. How many of you can say that? I can't. Your Chosen One can't."
It was so silent, Hermione swore she could hear every breath rattle in her chest. She looked at Draco, seeing the straightness of his spine, the desperation with which his eyes clung to Harry, as though he needed to hear him to believe it.
It's true! she wanted to tell him. All of it. You're not a killer, not like me. You've never had blood on your hands. You've never killed. There were so many deaths but you did not cause a single one of them. Your only crime is that you weren't one of them.
"I know what you all think of me," said Harry tiredly. It was deathly silent, so silent Hermione swore she could hear everyone holding their breath. "But the truth is I'm not courageous. I'm just trying to do right. So is Draco. And sometimes, that takes all the courage in the world. I might never have been able to see eye-to-eye with him at school but Draco Malfoy is one of the most courageous men I know. And if you make an example of him after a war you sat back and let happen then I can't support your government because that's not justice. It's cowardice."
Harry sat back in the stand. "Anything else?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
Ottaline Warbeck dropped her head to peer across at him. "No, Mr Potter. We thank you for your testimony."
Harry nodded, dragging a hand across his face as he was led from the stand. He glanced at Draco as he passed, and pursed his lips, before looking down at his feet and disappearing from the room altogether.
Hermione's heart was racing.
"It needed to be said," was all Ron could manage.
She shook her head and looked at him, seeing him more clearly all of a sudden. "Have we just condemned Draco Malfoy?"
Before he could open his mouth to answer, the room took on a chill. Goosebumps erupted along her arms, and Hermione frowned, rubbing her skin to try and warm up. Her breath crystallized in the air. Her fingers ached from the cold. She turned to Ron, question on the tip of his tongue, when she noticed how pale he'd gotten. She followed his gaze.
"I thought they were getting rid of them," whispered Hermione.
Ron's mouth was set in a grim line. "Shacklebolt couldn't find a big enough force to replace them. There aren't enough Aurors as it is. He's still working on it."
Hermione hadn't seen one in months. There was only one, moving like a shadow had somehow crept from the ground and solidified, a figure of pure darkness gliding along the floor. It turned its hollow face to Draco, and she saw again its soulless eyes. The Dementor's breath rattled like chains being dragged along the floor as it led someone across the room.
"The third and final witness, Mr Lucius Malfoy."
Hermione froze. She felt Ron stiffen beside her. Eyes shooting to him, she saw Draco stare at his father as though he were seeing a ghost, resurrected from the dead, dredged up from his past.
"Did you-?" she started to ask but Ron cut her off.
"No."
He was unrecognisable. His hair was still long, though it was greasy and so dirty it almost looked brown. He wore the Azkaban robes, and they hung from his narrow shoulders, dangled from his sallow ribs. Lucius Malfoy's face bore no shadow of his former arrogance; his cold eyes were dull, his cheeks hollow. Hermione almost felt sorry for him.
The Dementor led him over to what looked like a larger and longer bird cage, though each bar groped inwards as well as out. Two Aurors fastened him inside, making sure to keep their distance from his shrouded guard.
"Mr Lucius Malfoy," said Ottaline Warbeck. "Thank you for agreeing to testify today."
The elder Malfoy dropped his head in a nod, but his eyes clung desperately to his son's face. Draco could barely even look at him.
"Mr Potter claimed earlier that your son was only given the task of killing Albus Dumbledore to punish you," began the Chief Warlock. "Is this true?"
Lucius tried to speak, then had to clear his throat. His voice remained sore and underused. "Yes."
"Can you elaborate on why he thought you needed to be punished?"
"I had failed him," said Lucius weakly. "The Dark Lord was… most displeased that I had failed to bring him the Prophecy and that I should allow myself to be imprisoned."
"Why would he choose to recruit your son as punishment?" asked the woman sitting on the left of the Chief Warlock. "Would it not be an honour to have your son initiated into your ranks?"
Lucius winced harshly. "He knew Draco would not succeed. He aimed to mock me, to watch me lose my son- my only heir-"
He broke off. His head lolled forward, resting against the metal bars. Hermione thought she heard him sob quietly.
"Very well, thank you, Mr Malfoy," Ottaline Warbeck's voice was softer than the other woman's. "What about the day you failed to identify Harry Potter? Can you tell us about that?"
Lucius drew himself up and nodded once. "I knew, if only Draco could say for sure that it was him- then it might restore us in the Dark Lord's favour but he- he could not… He said he couldn't be sure. The Dark Lord punished us for hours when they escaped-"
The man on the Chief Warlock's right spoke up again. "Were you proud when your son took the Mark, Malfoy?"
Lucius' eyes fell on him. His lip curled ever so slightly, his voice bordered on his old drawl. "Hawkworth," he greeted. "I'm surprised you're still allowed on the Wizengamot, after what happened with your son…"
Hawkworth's mouth tightened. "Answer the question, Malfoy."
"Yes," he replied, almost boredly. "I was proud. It was what I had been steering him towards his entire life." Hawkworth looked smug, a vindictive disgust dawning on his broad face, before Lucius added, "And then I was terrified. Because I knew my son had become just another pawn in His game. And I was powerless to save him. What father can't protect his son?" Lucius cocked his head. "Were you proud, Hawkworth, when your son ran away to join the Death Eaters? I can say hello to him for you if you'd like."
Hawkworth's face flooded crimson, and a vein jolted in his forehead, as he leaned forward. He spat, "We are nothing alike. My son was coerced- seduced!- when it was dangerous to do the right thing! Your son was groomed for that life. He was a Death Eater in training! Who's to say he still isn't! Tell me, Malfoy, did you help him pick out the mead that would've poisoned Dumbledore or did you send it him yourself?"
Lucius Malfoy stared at him and he grappled desperately for something to say. Hermione glanced between the two, eyes lingering on the smug satisfaction drying on Hawkworth's face. She mustn't have been thinking- she really couldn't have been thinking- but she shot to her feet, clambering hastily over Ron, who tried to reach for her to hold her back, and running down the steps until she was on the very bottom stand, leaning against the bannister.
"Stop!"
Her scream echoed. Then it fell silent all too quickly. Hermione could hear every one of her breaths, loud, ricocheting. Her knuckles were turning white, she was clutching the railing so hard.
"Why are you doing this?" she demanded. "He's just a child!"
Lucius Malfoy's eyes flicked between her and his son.
Hawkworth sat up straighter in his seat, face turning putrid behind his bulbous moustache. He spluttered indignantly. "He is of age and will therefore be treated as an adult in a court of law!"
"He might have a Dark Mark but he never earned it! He never killed anyone! He used an Unforgivable-" Hermione laughed but it was unhinged and panicky. "So have I. So has Harry. So did everyone in that war! You know what his crime is! It was being on the losing side."
"Miss! Will you please sit down or I will have you removed from the courtroom!" the man had leapt to his feet, voice a roar.
But Ottaline Warbeck simply watched her curiously.
Hermione turned to her. She licked her lips because they were dry, shook her head because there was a buzz inside her temple like a little, nervy bee that wouldn't sit still. Her heart was beating so hard in her chest, and her voice shook but she made sure it was still loud, still firm and resolute so that they could not question her.
"There's no blood on Draco Malfoy's hands. There's only necessity and my God, is there goodness that has been blackened by the badness of those he was forced into serving and the hypocrisy of those who survived under different circumstances. If this is the way you treat victims of war, of dictatorship and dark magic- if this is the way you treat children who were just trying so desperately to survive and to deserve survival, then I want no part of your new world, because you're just as bad as Voldemort was. You might just even be worse." Hermione took a final, shuddering breath. "At least he didn't pretend he was doing the right thing."
The Chief Warlock straightened her papers and said, "Trial adjourned. I do believe we can stop there."
The world fell away. Ron reached her just as her legs gave way, catching her so she didn't fall completely. She slumped against him, letting him walk her back to their seats. Hermione could feel eyes on her, so many eyes, but none of it mattered. Ron's breathing was ragged and hot against her hair but it didn't matter. They'd spent weeks trying to come up with a case, getting Harry's speech just right, making sure the memory was fine, recruiting Madam Rosmerta, and in just a few seconds, she had shattered it all.
Lucius was led away, back to his 5 square meter eternity. His eyes clung to his son's face, perhaps knowing it could be the last time he ever saw him, and he whispered something, the words dropping from his lips over and over again, heavy and remorseful: "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm-"
The Wizengamot filed from the room next, standing row at a time and leading out of the opposite door. Ottaline Warbeck looked back once.
"It's over," Hermione whispered, clenching her eyes shut. Her head throbbed. Her eyes stung. She wanted to leave, to be anywhere else- she wanted to be in Hogsmeade, looking over the mountains and lake as the sun kissed the world goodnight, feeling Draco by her side, his fingers through hers, the lightness of his voice as he said something sarcastic- "It's over. What have I done?"
Ron didn't say anything. He just held her close, arms around her, holding her together as she came undone.
They felt to be waiting hours.
Draco was left in his chair. He hadn't moved since the trial had started. Ron kept checking his watch and swearing, mumbling, "They shouldn't be taking so long. They've never taken so long."
Harry joined them at some point, sitting beside Hermione in silence, not replying when Ron clapped his shoulder and told him he'd done well. He simply stared at his shoes, and Hermione numbly wondered if he thought she'd ruined it too.
"I'm sorry," he said after what felt like forever.
Hermione looked at him in surprise. "For what?"
"For losing control like that." Harry swallowed, blinking quickly, looking up at the ceiling. "I didn't mean to. I'd practised what I was going to say, what I was going to talk about, so much but- in the moment, when they're asking me all these questions, trying to get the answers they want to hear from me, I just- I snapped."
Without warning, he kicked the seat in front of him, burying his face in his hands. "They're hypocrites, Hermione. All of them. How can they judge us for fighting in a war they were too cowardly to fight themselves?"
She wanted to offer him something, a shred of comfort, a pat on the back, but everything fell flat. So Hermione just slid her hand into his and ran her thumb over his knuckles, hoping it might calm him down. Sure enough, his shoulders slumped. His breath escaped him.
The door reopened. The Wizengamot filed in, reclaiming their seats, sitting like crimson vultures circling their prey. Ottaline Warbeck was the last to sit. She cleared her throat and the room was devoured in silence.
"The Wizengamot has reached a verdict," she announced. Her eyes never strayed from Draco's face. "The Wizengamot find Draco Malfoy guilty."
Hermione let out a sob. She started crying, pushing the palm of her hand against her lips to smother the noise. Harry tugged her to him, holding her tight, his regret sighing into her hair. She clutched his arm, his robes. Ron put an arm around them both. The world was falling to pieces and Hermione just tried to cling on-
"However," Ottaline Warbeck continued. "The Wizengamot is a vehicle of justice. And there would be no justice in sending a child to Azkaban. Mr Malfoy's involvement with the Death Eaters is undeniable. However, he committed no serious crime; his attempts on Albus Dumbledore's life lacked real intent, and even when his life, and the life of his family was in utmost danger, Mr Malfoy still found the courage to defy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in small ways that ultimately changed the course of the war, the saving of Mr Potter's life being just one of them."
Hermione held onto Harry tighter, sitting up, not daring to breathe, hardly daring to look, just in case the fledgling hope fluttering in her chest, reborn from the ashes of her despair, would burst into flames once more. But the air had changed. Harry breathed her name. The Chief Warlock continued.
"In which case, the Wizengamot can only reach the verdict that whilst Mr Malfoy is guilty of such crimes, he was a child exploited in a terrible and unforgiving war." The Chief Warlock's lips pursed together and she cleared her throat before she continued, laying her papers down. "And the world needs a little bit of forgiveness now more than ever. Consequently, Mr Malfoy is sentenced, under Ministry Orders and the power of the Wizengamot, to complete his NEWTS and remain at Hogwarts School for a minimum of five years on probation under the care of Minerva McGonagall to help with its healing. I will ask for regular reports to ensure the sentence is suitably carried out. In the meantime, the Wizengamot is adjourned."
She stood then, and the trial was over.
Hermione collapsed on Harry. She could finally breathe freely. The world was so loud, so hypersensitive. Everything was echoing and clear and euphoric. Her heart was loose, rapidly beating, beating so fast she thought it might slip through her ribcage and do a lap of the room. The audience burst into chatter. Ron let out a victorious yell, punching the air. Harry hugged her tightly.
She disentangled herself, getting to her feet, clutching the railing so she wouldn't stumble, and almost numbly descending the stairs. She had to get to him. Her legs carried her quicker, until she was all but running. Hermione had to get to him.
The Aurors had released him from the chair, the golden strands of magic falling away like cut ribbon, the strand around his ankle disintegrating into nothing. Draco turned to face her.
He caught her just in time. Hermione launched herself at him, holding him to her, hand at the back of his head, one wrapped across his shoulders, breathing him in, relishing in how warm and solid he felt against her. His arms came up to encircle her, holding her tight, almost squeezing her, refusing to let her go. Draco's breath was shaking in her ear. His chest racked. He was sobbing. They both were.
"Hermione," he murmured, but she shushed him. She nestled her head against his neck, feeling his pulse flutter.
This was what freedom felt like, she thought dazedly. His heart by her ear, his arms around her, his sweet relief pounding in time to hers.
"You did it," Draco murmured into her hair, holding her tighter, squeezing her to him.
Hermione borrowed deeper into his neck, standing higher on her tiptoes. "No," she said. "We just helped them see the truth."
Ron squeezed Hermione's shoulder and she stepped back, wiping her curls away from her face. He stood in front of Draco and the two stared at each other for a long time.
"Weasley," said Draco, holding out his hand.
Ron laughed nervously, scratched at his neck and said, "Ah, what the hell," before pushing his hand away and pulling him into a hug. It was only brief, but it was tight and it was brimming with their relief and their gratitude and a foreign sense of commonality.
They parted hastily, sharing a closed-lip smile. Harry stepped in then. He clasped Draco's shoulder and Draco's face melted a little. His grin was soaked in relief, in a lightness Hermione thought strange on his features.
"I can't thank you enough," said Draco. "I can't thank you all enough. I- I couldn't have done any of it without you."
Harry shook his head. "I owe you my life. Twice over. You don't need to thank me."
Harry embraced him, gripping his shoulders tightly, screwing his eyes shut. Draco hugged him back with the same ferocity, the same wild, unspoken gratitude.
Hermione laughed a little, wiping her eyes and looking around. She caught Professor McGonagall's eye and sent her a watery smile. The older witch was dabbing at her eyes, and Hermione spotted the knowing curve in her pursed lipped smile.
She closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath. When Hermione opened them, she caught sight of Ottaline Warbeck, the Chief Warlock, watching them from the doorway. She was still in her crimson robes, holding her hat in her hands; she looked younger in person, without the hat shading her face, and she smiled softly when she found Hermione staring. Hermione couldn't help but smile back. She wanted to say thank you. But Ottaline just dipped her head in a nod, eyes flicking back to Draco a final time, before she turned and left.
Draco reached out. Hesitated. Then his fingers brushed Hermione's. She spun to look at him.
He stared down at her, enraptured in the pink under her eyes and the golden sparks in her hair, by the constellations freckled across her cheeks. There was so much faith in her eyes, unwavering, solid, and Hermione stared at him like she believed in him. His heart was beating wildly, but it felt apart from him; Draco knew it had slipped from his bones the moment Hermione had screamed at the Wizengamot, risking everything, calling the world out for its cruelty. His heart belonged to her. That, and his life, his hope, every second of his freedom. He would dedicate himself to her, and as Draco stared at her, pondering on how he might never have seen her ever again if only the result had been different, he wondered how much sweeter euphoria would taste on her lips.
AN: The much anticipated trial. I hope this was everything you hoped it would be! I know JKR said that after the war the Malfoys bought their freedom again but I honestly find that lazy writing. Post war governments DO NOT act lax enough to accept bribery from key enemy figures; Lucius Malfoy was one of Voldemort's top men. His son was literally commissioned to murder Dumbledore. Sure, the reader knows that the Malfoys pretty much abandoned Voldemort at the end of the battle but the only way that can stand up in reality is through law; that's why I tried really hard with this trial to make it seem feasible. Draco is a war criminal in the Ministry's black and white world, but it's the testimonies and witnesses that make the difference and inject a bit of humanity into the case. That's why Harry is so pivotal- Harry's word is more important than the Minister's in this post-war world because he's the "saviour." So this trial, whilst you might see it as optimistic maybe(?), I would say is more realistic based on post-war attitudes, propaganda and patronage. I really wanted to show the humanity in this post-war world. AND FINALLY- A BIT OF HAPPINESS IN THIS ANGST.