For the past few weeks, Draco had gotten little sleep. The small amount of rest he did get was interrupted by bouts of sleepwalking, and the awakening charm he had cast on himself today was making him jittery. His hand bounced on his knee, one eye trained on the snowy hair of his father in his drab grey prison clothes, a thumbprint of white in a room furnished entirely in warm wood.

He had barely spoken to his mother since the night of his father's attack. Today, she sat to his right, wearing simple blue robes and a dash of pale lipstick on her otherwise bare face. She looked ahead, her posture straight. They were a study in contrasts, Draco slumped in his chair, his black robes slightly oversized due to his nonexistent appetite, all made no better by the past week, full of meetings with DuBose wherein she would detail each day of jury selection to the minute.

Though his father was no longer at Malfoy Manor, nothing had changed. Draco still took his meals alone and rarely saw his mother, and the Aurors who kept guard over their house looked the same as they ever had.

The jury ambled in, and then the judge. He was a tall, middle-aged man with good posture and the longest wig Draco had ever seen. A name placard that said JUSTICE SINGH glowed blue. The gavel sounded, causing a hush to come over the room.

"The court calls Harry James Potter to the stand."

He thought Potter was looking straight at him. But if such a thing happened, it was only briefly. Potter placidly surveyed the crowd, his glasses obscuring his eyes as he rose up the steps that led to the elevated platform of the witness stand.

The year since defeating the Dark Lord had done something for Potter's demeanor—where Draco had lost weight, Potter looked healthier, and the rough beginnings of a goatee were beginning to form on his face, making him look older. His clothes, too, seemed as though they had some more deliberate thought behind them. The details caught his eye. A flash of color over there, a slight detour in the curve of his glasses here. Errantly, he wondered if Potter was still with Ginny Weasley. He didn't quite trust the Boy Who Lived to also have developed taste in the year that Draco had been under house arrest.

Jonathan Coracks, the Malfoys' counsel, was a skinny man with long black robes (and a far more demure wig than the judge's) rose to his feet and walked over to Potter. They both acknowledged each other wordlessly.

"Mr. Potter," he began, "Where were you on the first of May between 5:30 in the evening and six o'clock?"

"I was attending the Memorial Feast in the Great Hall of Hogwarts."

"And can you describe what happened while you were in attendance?"

"I heard an explosion—"

"Find the beginning, Mr. Potter."

"I-I walked in and spoke to a few students. I said hello to some of the professors."

"Who were you talking to at the time?"

"Neville Longbottom," Potter said, causing Draco to tense up once more. Was everyone in Gryffindor going to come out of the woodwork now?

"How did the attacker make his way into the Great Hall?"

"An explosion. It sent glass everywhere and exposed the ceiling of the Great Hall. Some people were hit by the impact alone. I could see someone descend into the room. I then saw that Lucius Malfoy had broken into the castle. He pointed his wand at me and threatened me."

"Threatened you? Were you the primary target of the attack?"

"I seem to have a knack for getting myself into trouble."

The judge cleared his throat. "Please answer the question, Mr. Potter."

Potter sighed. "I couldn't tell you. Malfoy looked like he was angry, not just at me. He hurt a lot of other people that night too."

"Did he carry out the threats against you?

Potter shook his head.

"Please note that the witness answered in the negative. And were the injuries from the impact of the explosion or from any spellwork Mr. Malfoy carried out?"

"Both. I wouldn't be surprised if we looked at it and nonverbal spells—"

"Alright. Why don't we surrender the court to the memory for now? We can continue with follow up questions after that."

The barrister looked back at Lucius and then nodded at the judge. "Perhaps that would be most wise."

Potter raised his wand and a silvery memory fluttered out of his temple.

The judge turned towards the jury. "We'll now be seeing what Mr. Potter saw on the evening of the attack on Hogwarts. If you could please deposit your memory."

A slender tube slid its way to where Potter was standing. On closer inspection, this tube was connected to a great many slimmer tubes that fanned out from the center of the room, lining the floor where the walls connected to the floors and then slithering up towards the ceiling, meeting in the middle of the ceiling as a starburst. It was almost like being in a strange, giant bird cage. Potter dropped the memory into the tube, and the entire contraption glowed white, brighter and brighter until the courtroom was replaced by something more familiar.

To his left, as though the room had extended upward and outward, the Great Hall was draped in a luxurious purple paired with a rich, somber black, the Hogwarts crest emblazoning them both. The long tables they were used to seeing had been replaced with small circular tables that each had ten chairs around them, and tall, skinny tables were dotted around the room holding a constantly replenishing supply of food and drink. A luminescent string quartet made up of ghosts played in the background, giving off a surprisingly robust sound despite their their translucent instruments.

From his seated position in the corner of the room, Draco could see everything. He watched the professors who were standing near the memorial plaque that was to be unveiled. He could see a group of Ministry officials reminiscing about Hogwarts, looking up every so often at the enchanted ceiling as he had done eight years before.

The entire courtroom craned their necks too, searching for Potter in the midst of the crowd. Draco scanned the room, stopping when he caught a glimpse of a mess of black hair near the nearest end of the hall. Potter was being mobbed by younger students.

"Neville!" It was eerie to glance back at the real Potter, who looked nearly the same. The Potter in the memory jumped up, apologetically pointing at his old classmate before excusing himself from the crowd of children. Longbottom stood and hugged him. "How are you?"

"Alright, considering the occasion," he eyed the black and purple tapestries. "Thanks for pulling me out of that," Potter said, jerking his head in the direction of a group of fawning fourth year girls who were now enviously watching them speak. "Maybe they'll leave me alone if they see me snogging Ginny, what do you reckon?" Potter scanned the crowd.

The courtroom tittered. Draco glanced over at the real Potter, who was looking pointedly at his hands.

"She was with her parents last time I checked, so maybe refrain from that."

Upwards, what sounded like a thunderclap shook the floating candles. A murmur ran through the crowd. They watched the ceiling for a few more moments until people returned to their conversations.

"How's Iceland?" Potter asked. He gave the ceiling a final look of puzzlement before looking at Neville.

"Er," Neville said, his eyes still trained upwards. "It's cool, they have me researching moss samples, and there's an entire industry in the potions ingredients unique to their land — I won't bore you with the details," he blushed. Even from a few paces away, he could see that the undersides of Longbottom's fingernails were blackened with dirt. The telltale, striped burn of a Venomous Tentacula scarred scarlet on his neck. Draco considered the newfound knot of hair he noticed at the nape of Longbottom's neck that was tied with a piece of thin leather string. Longbottom looked more like a wayward, muggle bohemian than a wizard doing herbology research.

"I'm jealous of you. I've never even left the country," Potter said.

"You should visit me! I'm in Iceland until the end of the year." Longbottom said.

"Maybe sometime soon. Work is taking up most of my time."

"How are you liking training?"

"A nice cover for the fact that I'm technically a drop out," he laughed. "I'm alright. Just finished training, actually."

"Excuse me, but I find the niceties Mr. Potter and his friends exchanged during the feast hardly evidence for this case," the barrister sighed over the conversation.

"I'm sorry, your honor, but I don't want to leave anything out," Potter said, reddening.

"And when, exactly—"

The strange rumble repeated, this time louder than before. From the center of the ceiling, a few candles went out, their smoke trailing upwards, then the rest followed, the room darkening. Beads of light appeared throughout the crowd as people whispered Lumos.

Something came crashing through the glass of the enchanted ceiling. McGonagall whipped her wand out and in the din of the screaming students, she pointed her wand upwards and shouted, "Protego maxima!" The shards of glass disintegrated some fifty feet above the crowd. Where there was once music, screaming filled the air.

The hood came off of the man and a gaunt Lucius Malfoy stepped into the light. A collective gasp ran through the crowd, both real and from the memory. His eyes were wide and sleepless, and he was almost unrecognizable without his long hair. Draco stirred. When had his father done that to his hair? Lucius raised his right hand and everyone could see the remainder of his Dark Mark.

"Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall sputtered, her wand still aloft. Behind her, professors and Ministry officials sprung into action, the Great Hall doors shifting open as students ran towards the exit.

"THE DARK LORD WILL BE AVENGED!"

A gasp went through the crowd. "Not today!" Potter yelled, a spell missing Lucius by inches.

Lucius shot a spell back, and it grazed Harry's head. A look of pain crossed his face as a trickle of blood flitted down over his nose and across his cheek.

"Morsmo—" Lucius pointed his wand upwards, and tufts of glowing smoke billowed out from the tip of his wand, swirling up to conjure an image Draco knew well. Instinctively, he ran his fingers over his right wrist, where he could feel the end of his own Dark Mark.

"—NO!" a blur of red hair darted by and ran up to him, knocking Lucius Malfoy over and causing someone's wand—he wasn't sure which, in the commotion—to arc upwards and clatter to the stone floor. The Dark Mark, still in its amorphous beginnings, dissipated.

"Ron!" a voice came from behind the viewing gallery. It was the real Mrs. Weasley, who Draco hadn't noticed until then. She was sitting near the front of the room, tears coming down her face.

Draco resisted the urge to stand and run as Weasley and Lucius were entangled in a mess of limbs. He glanced at his mother, whose eyes had glazed over. She could have simply been looking out the window, her face was so serene.

On one end of the memory, a crowd of students were being shepherded out of the Great Hall by Professor Flitwick. Draco found his eyes lingering on these children. He stared at a student making his way through the crowd, a boy with a look of sheer terror on his face.

A rainbow of spells whizzed past in a wild attempt to attack Lucius. Longbottom had a welt over his eye from a stray spell, pus dripping down over his shirt. Potter was running over to Weasley when a bright purple blast filled the hall—it had been Weasley's wand that had fallen earlier.

A body flew across the room and hit one of the little tables, a tray of champagne flutes crashing to the floor. A loud, sickening crack rang through the room. Narcissa winced. It was the first sign of movement she had made since they sat down.

Lucius steadied himself, triumphant, his wand up and pointed at Weasley's still form. A hush fell over the crowd as Lucius threw his head back and laughed. A wall of Aurors were crushing in now, just as Draco's vision blurred. He closed his eyes at long last. He already knew how it ended.


After the jury had been ushered out of the courtroom through a separate door, Draco followed the crowd out into the hallway, dodging a few reporters who were hounding Potter.

"Draco, Draco! Have a minute to comment?" a man waved a notebook at him, a levitating quill following him. Someone from the Prophet, no doubt. He avoided eye contact and looked for an exit in the dense crowd. DuBose strode up to him, beckoning at both Draco and his mother. He mumbled something about finding a restroom. He ducked behind a corner, then another corner. He leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, relishing the feeling of the cold floor against his hot palms. He clenched his fingers together, the trembling of his hands only worsening. The quiet would do him good.

But someone was coming down the hall.

He scrambled off the floor. "Granger," he said.

Hermione pursed her lips, her pace not slowing down in the slightest.

"Hold on," he pressed on.

She made a very big show of looking around for other people he could be speaking to before looking meeting his gaze. "No thank you," she made a move to pass his left side and turn into the hall he had just escaped.

"I wouldn't go that way if I were you," he held out his hand. "Reporters are hounding everyone with a pulse."

"I advise you to move," she said, her voice low and threatening. He eyed her wand handle, which was poking out of her front pocket of her robes. This was a different Hermione Granger than the one he had known at Hogwarts, or even during her brief foray into Malfoy Manor on that fateful day last year. Outside of the walls of their school, he could see what had changed. Her hair was less wild, a middle length now above her shoulders that framed her face. It brought her features into focus, no longer were they obscured by hair. Out of her school uniform, she looked as though she could be a Ministry employee with her dark, simple robes apparel with muggle clothes—mixing and matching was all the rage now as young people spent more and more of their time in muggle London instead of Diagon Alley. Another effect of the war. Some wizarding locales still had a hush over them, a remnant from when being out in public could cost you your life or blood status depending on the Death Eater you ran into. In the muggle shops and bars, nobody was any the wiser.

Or, at least, that was what Draco had heard. He wouldn't know firsthand.

He raised his hands, palms facing her. "Thank you for telling the Ministry that I was with you during the attack," he said in a rush. "It was the only thing that kept me from rotting in solitary confinement."

She paused. She clearly hadn't been expecting this. "I'm not a liar, Malfoy. No need to grovel."

"I'm not groveling," Draco said. He was thankful that the hall was empty. "I repay my debts, no matter who they're owed to."

She closed her eyes, and he could see a muscle twitch in her neck. It looked as though she was concentrating very hard on breathing evenly. "I don't want anything you could offer me."

It was the first time she had shown anything but contempt for him. But before he could say anything more, she had already turned the corner.