He sweat through his pajamas again.
Tonight, at least, he hadn't strayed far from his bedroom. He blinked back the dark to see where he was. The quiet drip of water. Some dim starlight from a half-shut window. Cool tile under his feet. He had wandered to the kitchen in his sleep.
He felt his pockets for his wand but found nothing. He must have left it in the bedroom. He made his way back, fumbling through the dark as he ran his hands over the walls. He heaved a deep breath and shut his eyes tight, trying to forget the images that churned through his dreams.
Now that the fighting was over, Draco's imagination had taken full control over his senses. Even when he was awake, walking down the halls of his own house, he couldn't help but feel as though he would turn each corner and see the Dark Lord himself waiting for him. When he slept, he would wander around the house like a possessed man, only waking up when he ran into a wall or the morning light came. Sometimes it felt like he was never alone.
After all, had it really been so long ago when Malfoy Manor had been the headquarters of the Dark Lord?
As well as my fucking crazy aunt, Draco added bitterly.
There were still rooms he couldn't go into, corners of the house he had grown up in that now seemed forbidden to him, lest he wanted to dredge up a memory of a screaming muggle or two — the memories were particularly bad when Bellatrix was involved for that reason. He shuddered.
"Lumos," Draco grabbed his wand from his bedside table and warily surveyed his room. The clock that hung near the door said it was four in the morning. Draco knew trying to fall asleep again would be useless.
He peeled off his sweaty clothes. Draco sighed with relief as the cool air made contact with his skin. He reached for a textbook. No use wasting time when he could be studying.
When the clock hit eight he put down his quill and looked out the window. He stretched, tilting his chair back to get a better look at the lawn. An Auror walked with a jaunty step along the perimeter of the black gates.
He reached over to draw his curtains shut. He didn't have to be reminded of their presence this early in the morning. By now, he knew the schedule of Aurors by heart and could pick them out by their defining features, which is how he chose to identify them because he refused to learn their names. Quite impressive, considering that they all came through the house with regularity. The only way out of Malfoy Manor was by using the Floo Network with the Ministry's own military-grade Floo Powder. A spell had been cast on their grounds that was similar to the one that was used on Hogwarts. Disapparating was only made possible if one walked several miles out from the border of the Malfoy's acreage.
Of the Aurors, Draco knew of Baldy, who was frequently on the morning shift, half-awake, and the Scotsman, a rather old fellow who only ever wore plaid robes. Square Boots was the meanest of them—a young woman who expressed her distaste for the Malfoys every time his mother asked her not to step on the shrubs that lined the garden. This squadron of Aurors switched off every four hours or so, with at least two on duty at any given time. They guarded the manor and kept the Malfoys from leaving, not that they had ever tried to make a break for it.
He pulled on a silvery robe and nudged his feet into a pair of slippers. Time to see if his parents were awake. He never saw them in one place anymore. There were days when his mother wouldn't get out of bed, and other days when his father would lock himself in his study, only emerging every so often to retrieve his meals himself.
A knock on the door. Draco's shoulders stiffened.
"Mother?" he called out.
A woman's voice came from the hall. "I have an appointment."
He unlocked the door and found himself face-to-face with a woman his mother's age dressed in sharp, expensive-looking business robes. A small, square golden pendant was her only jewelry. Her short black hair was pulled away from her round, pale face, which, paired with the darkness of the hallway and her clothes, gave her the look of a very professional full moon. She held out her hand.
"We haven't met," she said, her voice authoritative. "Opal DuBose. I'm from Valentine, Wandwell & Zhou."
He shook her hand wearily. She had a firm grip. "You're not our usual attorney," he muttered.
"That's correct," she swung forward her viridian briefcase, which Draco eyed carefully. It was worn but well kept-after, the kind of fine dragonskin that only good money paid for. If she was an impostor, she had done her due diligence.
"Why don't we step into the study," he stepped out of his room. "And I can fetch my father for you."
"No need," she said. "I've arranged this meeting with you, Mr. Malfoy."
"Right, and who did you arrange it with?" he rubbed at his temple.
"Your father."
"Ah," Draco sighed. His father had had a habit of letting important dates and meetings slip, leaving his mother and him to fend for themselves whenever a swarm of attorneys, Aurors, and houseguests descended. It was usually attorneys. "Pardon my state of dress," he gestured at his robe, not sounding very sorry at all. A year ago, he might have changed into something more seemly, but he found himself caring less and less about his appearance.
"Quite alright. I've seen far worse from my clients."
He ducked back into his room, grabbing a pair of trousers off the floor of his bedroom and pulling on the shirt he'd worn yesterday.
After he had dressed, he smoothed his hand through his hair, untangling the knots as best he could. This was the longest his hair had ever been—nearly to his chin now. He shut his bedroom door behind him and gestured to the hall. "And what is it that you need to tell me that can't be done in a letter?" they hadn't gotten any substantial news from the Ministry in months, save for the Auror detail schedule changing every few weeks. Whatever this woman had for him, he hoped for her sake it was good. He led her into the study. They sat in the two leather chairs in front of the oak desk. He turned to better face her, his hands placidly in his lap.
"You gave your testimony six months ago at the Ministry, yes?" she said.
"Yes. Our other man, Jonathan, was there," he said. "Are you working with him?" He had grown to like Jonathan, a young man only a few years older than himself who seemed to have moved quickly enough up the ranks at Valentine, Wandwell & Zhou to take on such a large case. It would be work to get to know someone else entirely.
DuBose nodded. "He will stay on your father's case, rest assured. But I've been assigned to your case as a result of what the judge decided yesterday. I have some very good news for you, Mr. Malfoy," she said, her expression still not giving much away.
He almost laughed. There wasn't anything to look forward to, save for the end of the Malfoy family house arrest. But even that was depressing, since his father was almost certainly going to Azkaban again. He repressed a shudder, meeting DuBose's gaze once more.
"Well then, go on," Draco sniffed.
If DuBose was put off by his rudeness, she didn't let on. "You're being tried as a child. Your sentence will be far less severe than we had thought—"
"—I was of age last year," he interjected. "How could I possibly be tried as a child?"
She set her briefcase on her lap, the silver clasps clicking open with a wave of her wand. The green sheen of the dragonskin caught the light. "Your sixth year is what is of interest to the Ministry, Draco."
"Mr. Malfoy is fine," he said, his teeth gritted.
"Apologies. As I was saying, Mr. Malfoy, you testimony aligned well with what other eye witnesses gave in their statements. We'll be arguing that you were too young to understand the full scope of your actions, and you were blackmailed by the Dark Lord—"
"Eye witnesses," he said flatly. "Who?" he thought, briefly, of Professor Snape, who often floated in and out of his dreams without saying anything, blood only gurgling at his lips. But Snape was dead now.
She smoothed down the front of her blouse. He shifted uncomfortably as he waited for her to answer. "It was a very compelling witness, as you can imagine."
"I couldn't possibly," he snapped. He hated being baited like this.
"Harry Potter," DuBose replied.
"Potter?" he sputtered.
She pulled a file out of her briefcase. "I'm happy to provide you with the transcripts of his statement and questioning. I think if we can make sure to highlight the things he said in your testimony, we should be able to have a far less harsh sentence for you," she closed the briefcase and set it carefully on the floor. "Mr. Malfoy, if I were you, I would count this as already won. This is the difference between spending the entirety of your youth in prison and a handful of years on probation."
"Remind me why you're on this case now?" Malfoy said slowly, processing this information. He felt his throat tighten. He gripped the sides of his chair.
"I represent minors at Valentine, Wandwell & Zhou."
There were so many things racing through his mind that he couldn't decide what to linger on. Perhaps it was the fact that he owed Harry Potter for his life not once, not twice, but now, for a third bloody time. There was also the part of him that had believed he would brave prison alongside his father. And then, crucially, the part of him that believed he deserved to go to Azkaban for all he had done. All he hadn't done. All he had intended to do. This, he didn't admit to anyone.
Malfoys do not admit their wrongs.
Well, at least, not unless it was in the presence of several expensive attorneys and the ever-dangling threat of a dose of Ministry-ordered Veritaserum.
"And what," he swallowed, "is it that you need from me today that warranted meeting in person?" he said through gritted teeth.
"You have a court date," she plucked an envelope from her case. "I've begun compiling your defense, and we'll need to go over your questions extensively until you're ready. Thankfully, Mr. Potter's done most of the work for us. Reiterating his perspective will go a long way in persuading the judge to be lenient. I'm sure I don't have to tell you twice that his name carries quite a lot of weight in this part of the Ministry, nowadays."
"I'm aware," he said.
"Well, I recommend studying his statement front to back," she said, opening a file and pointing to a small stack of papers she had clipped together. "It would be helpful if you could know Mr. Potter's words as well as you know the back of your hand."
Draco shuffled together the papers, ignoring the strange twinge in his heart that felt something like hope for the first time in many months. He dared not entertain it.
Author's note: You know, in the middle of writing this I realized that while I really have to make the characters work for it re: Dramione, but the Drarry is effortless! SO much inherent tension there. Oh well. Find me hexameterswrites on tumblr, btw. Like comment and subscribe 3
