The unfortunate victims of my rage didn't return to school. Without access to magic, what would be the point? And word quickly spread. Needless to say, no one dared lay a finger on Draco after that. And at this point, I was more used to being treated like a freak than a hero. So it didn't bother me all too much when the stares I earned were horrified.

I was more worried about the retrial. If Draco was as terrified as he seemed, I couldn't help but feel a pit of unease in my gut. Honestly, I wished it would just come already so we could get it over with. He did open a few new scratches on his arm from the anxiety, but I only helped clean him up and held him until he'd stop trembling.

With the way all my friends were putting on brave faces all the time, it was a relief to see someone as broken as me, and I started to understand what Draco had meant that he'd liked that I was broken, too. Neither of us were alone. And while I knew my friends were probably acting like they were fine for my benefit, I'd much rather be patching Draco up after a relapse than force a smile onto my face for the ones walking on eggshells around me.

Maybe I'm not such a convincing actor, I thought blithely as Hermione asked for the seventy-millionth time if I was alright at dinner. Of course, she was the only one who would dare ask. It twisted my heart to think my friends pitied me, but it was even worse to wonder if they were… Afraid of me. I tried not to dwell on it as I gave my seven-millionth half-hearted answer and left.

As clear a message as it sent, I couldn't be bothered to care as I dragged my arse across the Great Hall and slumped in the bench opposite Draco where he sat alone at the Slytherin table. And with a great sigh, I dropped my head onto one bicep, folding my other arm to rest my hand beneath my cheek.

"Third degree?" he guessed, and I nodded with a groan. "You could try, y'know… Talking to them."

I shook my head and leaned a little further toward him, hand outstretched. His fingers laced with mine a moment later, and I peered up at him to see him resting his chin in his other hand with a small smile on his lips.

"'S hard enough talking to you." As soon as the words were out, I winced. "N-not that it's hard to talk to you. It's just… Hard to talk."

He hummed empathetically and swiped his thumb against the back of my hand. And I loosed another sigh. "One more week."

My fingers tightened on his as I lifted myself onto my elbows to meet his solemn expression. There was the underlying fear, but more than anything, he just seemed tired. As tired as I was.

"Wanna go to bed early tonight?" He flicked an eyebrow up at me, and I smirked. Whether we'd sleep immediately or not, the stress of anticipation was making the prospect of bed more and more inviting.

"Sure."

Both in the blink of an eye, and after seemingly an eternity, the date of my retrial rolled around. Harry, obviously, was granted permission to accompany me to the Ministry, and it was in our best-pressed suits that we paused before the phone booth that would descend into the underbelly. And with a sideways glance and a reassuring nod, Harry took my hand and led me into the small lift.

I always somehow seemed to forget that he was a celebrity. The attention we earned from witches and wizards alike only served to make my palms sweat, but Harry didn't let go of my hand. Only side-stepped reporters like a professional and led me toward the courtroom. It wasn't my first time here, but the first time I'd been tried flashed behind my eyelids as I clung to his hand like a lifeline as we waded through the gathering crowd.

Once we were alone again the antechamber to the courtroom, Harry paused. Turned and took my face in his hands, turning me toward him. And he wore fierce determination on his brow.

"You'll be fine. We'll walk out of here together." I swallowed with a nod, and he returned my nod with a burning kiss. I desperately wanted to pull him into my arms and Apparate away, but knew there were anti-Apparation wards on the entire Ministry. So I only fisted my hands by my side and watched him open the doors for me.

The courtroom was dimly lit, like it always was, (fucking melodramatic idiots) as I emerged into the large room hedged with benches. They were empty for the most part, but I recognized more than a few faces in the civilian audience, and dropped my gaze to the polished marble floor as I approached the single chair in the center of the room. Directly facing the towering judge's stand where sat Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic. Harry quietly sidled into the sparsely populated benches, just within my peripherals as I felt a cold sheen of sweat accumulate on my brow.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," I winced. "You are called before the Wizengamot within accordance of our six-month retrial laws concerning minors of their first offense." Scrimgeour leaned forward over the edge of his stand, eyeing me critically, and I wiped my sweaty palms on my lap a few times and cleared my throat.

"Y-yes, Minister."

"Of course, you're not, in fact, a minor anymore, are you?" My heart dropped into my gut as several members of the robed Wizengamot exchanged whispers and glances. "There exists a procedure for adults you're invited to participate in, should you consent."

Casting a panicked glance sideways at Harry, I saw his brow knit in a deep frown, but his attention was torn between me and Scrimgeour. So I turned back to the Minister.

"Er… W-what sort of procedure?"

One of the aurors stationed at the foot of Scrimgeour's stand stepped forward and presented a small glass vial. "Veritaserum."

Motion out of the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I glanced again to see Harry gripping the railing before his bench, eyes bright and features stony. He didn't give any indication what I should do, though, just… Watched me. So I turned back toward the Veritaserum and swallowed.

"S-sure," I hesitantly agreed. I have nothing to hide. Besides, this way, they have to believe me, right…?

Without another word, the auror approached me and uncapped the vial. I reached out to accept it, but he only took my chin, deftly forced my head back, and upended the potion into my mouth. I squirmed in my seat slightly as I fought back the urge to choke, but once it'd slid down my throat, I was released and a cough burst through my lips. And another one.

"Excellent. Shall we begin?"

Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I resettled in my seat as the auror returned to his post, folding his hands before his hips and watching me dryly. Scrimgeour shuffled through several sheets of parchment for a long, tense moment as I wiped my palms on my lap again. Don't act so nervous, you idiot! They'll think you're guilty of something!

"I have reports here that you've been involved in some… Tiffs at school?"

Involved in some tiffs? I gaped at him for a moment before the Veritaserum kicked in. "Y-yes."

A stream of curses wove through my mind, but just as outraged voices began rising from the Wizengamot, Harry stood and my attention snapped back to him.

"May I, Minister?" he began. Of course, if it was anyone but him, Scrimgeour wouldn't allow any interruptions. As it was, Scrimgeour leaned back in his chair, eyeing Harry with interest, as he waved a hand to allow him to speak. "I've been at Hogwarts with D-Draco this whole time, and I've seen firsthand what these 'tiffs' are that you speak of."

Harry glanced back at me, pain in his eyes, but I just stared and struggled to keep my mouth shut. Bloody hell, when I asked if he'd come with me, I didn't think he'd actually speak up to defend me. I was asking more for emotional support.

"Go on," Scrimgeour invited.

"He's been the victim of relentless bullying until… Until recently. Never the perpetrator."

Until Harry turned four of our peers into Squibs. Shit. I turned back to the Minister as he leaned forward on his elbows. "I have no reason to doubt you, Harry, but might I ask what recently happened to change this?"

He turned back to me, panic in his eyes for just a heartbeat, before his expression softened and a corner of his lips twitched. "I… I guess you could say I stood up for him."

The Minister deliberated in whispers with the Wizengamot members closest to him for a moment, and I dragged a hand through my hair. Jesus Christ, I think I might go bald from this retrial alone.

"And… What, pray tell, is your relationship to Mr. Malfoy?" I winced again at my father's title. "Why have you chosen to join us today?"

I saw Harry swallow and blanch slightly, and it was like a load of bricks that I realized if they learned of our relationship, they might count him a biased party. And discredit everything he'd said.

"H-he and I…" I began, hoping to spare him the burden of admission. All eyes turned back to me, and I felt a trickle of sweat drip down the back of my neck. "W-we're d-dating."

Shit. I couldn't lie, even if I wanted to soften the blow, to misdirect. I'd only meant to excuse Harry of any responsibility, but I'd just-

"I see." My eyes snapped back up to Scrimgeour, who was eyeing both of us curiously, seemingly oblivious to the whispered gossip that had erupted amongst the many robed members of the Wizengamot. My face burned. "As great as our appreciation is for Mr. Potter, I believe we're still waiting on your testimony, Mr. Malfoy. What guarantee can you grant us that you've recognized the error of your ways?"

The error of my ways? I turned to Harry again, still standing, and he caught my eye grimly. And pointedly glanced down at my arm, and back up. When comprehension dawned on me, he nodded infinitesimally. Encouraging. A grimace twisted my face as I looked down at the arm he'd gestured to. I… I really don't wanna show this. But… If it'll convince them I'm nothing like my father…

With gritted teeth, I shed my blazer onto my chair and pulled my wrist up to my chest, unbuttoning my left cuff. And shoved my sleeve down to my elbow. With a deep, stuttering breath, I laid my arm out on the armrest and left my body momentarily. I was in some quiet, peaceful, remote place in my mind as I barely registered the reactions around me to the mutilated skin on my Dark Mark.