Another Chance?
By Cedar1
Disclamer: Am just borrowing her characters for a while. Promise. oh and the basis of the courtroom and practices were taken from OOTP.
A/N Balloons galore this fic is now nearly a year old! WOO HOO! so would like to thank mesmer, thallion, Shaeya Sedjet, a, shimmering sparkles, vanilla26785, L.Malfoy, Vampiress-Alexiel, ellabelle1, magichappen11, Jene, Lana, draco2chexi4u, christine, princess of star, lastsuicidenote for reviewing the last chapter have never got so many reviews 4 this story and all those you have reviewed in the past!
As usual reviews if left would make me vvvvvvvvvvvvv ( u get the idea!) happy so just click that little yet v. important button at the bottom! Cheers!
Important note: Was originally gonna be one big chapter but have decided to split it up so sorry if this is a bit low on excitement or it just seems to stop. Definitely not one of my best but I'll promise to make up for it in the next chapter. Sorry..
Chapter 11: Trial and Errors (1)
00000000Previously
'"Do you believe that?" Harry asked.
'"That he's," Harry inclined his head to the prisoner, "changed. That he won't hurt again."
'Hermione suddenly looked more alert, her eyes widened in surprise at his enquiry and her answer came out strong and clear. "Yes."
Of course he had. Did he not kiss away all her pain yesterday? But then a voice within her reminded her who had caused her all that pain in the first place. Who had hit her so hard that she had marks that would not fade with simple wizard charms? It was that voice that uttered the shaky word that was next uttered from her lips.
'"No."
'She could feel Harry looking at her. His face confused at her contradicting answers. He wanted a definite reply. They always did. But she couldn't give one this time...
'"I don't know. Just go Harry."
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He could feel the guilt and pain that radiated from her. Part of him wanted to break the door down, grab hold of her and never let go – anything to stop her crying. The other part – the Malfoy part – wanted her to suffer. For wasn't it her friends that brought this on them, her inability to admit to their love. Her friends, her insecurities, her fault. The Malfoy way of thinking was never that complex.
'But instead he did neither, he didn't cry for her, he didn't rejoice, he simply stared blankly at the cracks in the grey stone in front of him; reflecting on the simple fact that all their hopes and desires in the morning had been a fool's folly.
'Why?
'Because nothing can last forever.
Chapter 11: Trial and Errors (1)
They stood on her toes and slammed their heavy elbows into her body in their rush to bag their own seat for what was deemed the case of the century. The Wizengamot was heaving, the wooden benches that were organised into neat rows groaned with the weight of the number of eager wizards and witches that attempted to squeeze themselves into their places. They whispered among themselves, their eyes widening as they heard new tales of wickedness conducted by the accused from their fellow gossipers. She had heard her name mentioned more than once, often accompanied by the solemn shake of the head - " Poor girl." "It must have been terrible." However it was in the words of those of her age and younger did sentiments other than pity reach her ears.
" Lucky bitch. Can you imagine, locked up with only Malfoy looking after you," had spoken one particular vapid witch, her tongue licking her lips at the tantalising thought. Her friend had simply laughed at her bold comment, whilst those of the older generation had clucked their tongues in disapproval.
Nobody saw her. Her robe was a colour that nobody would remember or be able to recall. Her hair tumbled messily below her shoulders, covering the majority of her face. Rarely did she go out in public with her hair loose, it was normally scrapped back into a bun or plait and with her glasses on no one had recognised the quiet witch in the corner to be the one that they spent so much time talking about. Yet she saw and heard everything and it sickened her. How could people be so flippant? They were treating this like some sort of quidditch match. Their eyes flicking back and forth from door to door almost as if they were expecting teams on brooms to come whizzing out. Their hands rubbing together in enthusiasm, like they were waiting for the players to enter and the game to begin. The heat and the sweat from their squashed bodies all lending to the atmosphere of sitting out in the summer sun of another world cup. But this wasn't a game. The players weren't fighting for some silly cup. Their prize was far more valuable, far more priceless than a trophy made of shiny silver. It was all a matter of life and death. Of guilt and innocence. Of truth. The witnesses, members of the order, families of the dead, even the ardent followers of the dark way of life, they were all caught in the web of this case, and like her were waiting to see what would happen, what would unfold. And yet here were these people acting like they were simply at a quidditch tournament and not at an event which would affect so many people's lives and souls.
And it sickened her.
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The door clicked open and the first glimpse of light that Draco had seen for ages began to flood the dark cell that had been his home for so many of the nights that had just past. His eyes closed in pain as more bright light hit his vision.
"Open your fucking eyes Malfoy."
The first word was enough for Draco to open his eyes in defiance and determination as he recognised the person the voice went with. Weasley who else.
"How nice of you to grace me with your presence Weasley. Did she finally tell you the truth?" His voice was cracked and husky from lack of use and drink. He withstood the pricks of pain that pierced his eyeballs as he gazed up at the red- haired man in front of him. Make that red - faced man. Draco smirked in triumph.
"Get up Malfoy!" The weasel commanded. However Draco noted the waver in the voice and the tremble that affected the fists that had curled up on either side of his body. The memory of being able to piss off his peer came flooding back to him and Draco wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into this opportunity and really annoy the hell out of the bastard in front of him.
"Did she tell you how we slept together? How we made love. How she screamed my name whilst she was under me."
The satisfaction that leaked from his voice could not be contained as he saw the man in front of him wilt, his strong posture crumbling under the anger that was no doubt spreading throughout his entire being. For the first time in days Draco stood up, his legs shook slightly but he didn't notice, he was too high on the pleasure that the other man's pain gave him. Like a snake going for the final attack he made his way towards Weasley. So close now that his mouth was just a few inches away from his ear. Draco wetted his dry, chapped lips, wanting to taste this moment to the fullest.......
"Do you remember what she tastes like? You must do. So sweet. So delicious. I can still taste her if I lick my lips. I can still see her naked when I close my eyes."
He watched in delight as the Weasel's eyelids closed in agony, the length of his lashes becoming wet from the fresh tears that leaked from his tightly shut eyes. So this is what pain tastes like, thought Draco as the tip of his tongue escaped his lips catching the aura that radiated from Weasley on his taste buds. It was addictive. Better than the food that was served in the most expensive restaurants, their delicate portions on big white plates were nothing when compared to the sensations that now rocketed his senses. And all because of one man's jealously. One man's unrequited love.
"How long has it been since she let you kiss her? And I'm not talking the friendly peck on the cheek but the full on kiss on the lips." Although Draco invited a reply he did not give time for him to answer before he was throwing yet more questions in the air.
"Did you ever sleep with her?"
It was at that moment that Ron's eyelids snapped open. His eyes glassy with tears, like a little boy who never got the toy he wanted on Christmas day.
"She never did, did she? She'd sleep with a bastard like me but not with a guy like you. It must hurt. Does it hurt? Is that why you came barging into my home and locked me up on charges that have as much weight behind them as a fucking feather. I'll be free soon you know. You and Potter have nothing. Then I can take Hermione home and fuck her as much as I please."
"Don't you dare talk about Hermione like that," whispered Ron, his voice thick with the tears that had collected in the back of his mouth.
"I'm sorry," replied Draco mockingly. "But you know its true. You have nothing on me Weasley. Nothing," stated Draco with a note of finality at the end.
It was up to that moment that Draco had been the one with the confidence, with the self assurance. But then there was a abrupt shift, a change in the situation that was signalled by the small smile that began to form on Ron's lips. The tears had dried and there was a glint in the pale blue eyes of the red head that cracked Draco's previously iron strong posture. Suddenly
Draco's legs felt weak, his head heavy, his eyes stinging with lack of sleep and his stomach churning from lack of food. Bile began creeping up his throat, clawing its way into its mouth spreading its sour taste over the surfaces of his cheeks, his tongue. He felt sick. He wanted to retch. Wanted to spit the disgusting substance that filled his mouth onto the floor. Get rid off the nerves and uncertainty that was building up within him.
What was it that Weasley had?
What lay behind the knowing smile that was blinding Draco with its glaring brightness?
" Maybe we don't Malfoy. But then maybe we do."
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The heavy oak doors at the opposite end to where Hermione was sat were flung open, and the torches that were placed at either side of the entrance sparked to life. Silence descended on to the courtroom, with each and every pair of eyes transfixed on the open door. Breaths were held and mouths were agape. Hermione was no different, her heart was pounding and her right foot was tapping nervously on the stone floor beneath her. Was it him?
The sound of footsteps marching down the dim corridor that lay beyond the door echoed in the dungeon. The dull thump of sensible, black, flat shoes bounced of the walls, providing an accompaniment to Hermione's racing heart.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
It was getting louder and louder, and Hermione was practically falling off her seat in her desire to see if it was him.
THump.
THUmp.
THUMp.
THUMP.
It was a sea of the deepest purple that emerged. Wizards and witches in uniform lines of five passed through the grand doors, row after row. They walked as one big unit, their foot falls in time with each others, their expressions of indifference identical to one another. They flowed into the high benches that stood at one end of the dungeon, a mass of colour parting into smaller streams of plum. Fifty in all, the intricate silver W sewn in the left hand side of their chests branded them as the judges, the Wizengamot. In the centre of the front row was the stony face of Morgillius Frickin, the Minister of Magic. The man that had organised the chaos that had been left over from the war, the only other person other than Harry Potter that had secured a place in everybody's heart. He was admired, respected and the only man Hermione trusted to make an unbiased, fair decision. Using the silence their entrance had produced to his advantage Morgillius began to speak, his clear loud voice reaching each corner of the dungeon.
"Behavioural Hearing of the sixth of August into offences that break the International Statute for the Freedoms of the Magical Folk, the Decree for the Appropriate Conduct of Persons During Times of War, the Law concerning the Use of Magic Within Muggle Areas................"
The list went on, the decrees, the laws, the statutes all of which Draco was accused of breaking at one time or another during his twenty eight years. At some point in his speech Hermione had stopped listening, in her head Frickin's voice was reduced to a gentle humming that whirred on in the background as a voice started to scream increasingly at her. Why the hell was she here? Why the fuck was she so eager to see him? He had help destroy one of the most beautiful and amazing things that had ever happened in her life - her friendship with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. The ties of years of love and companionship shredded to tattered threads of memories because of the affect this man had on her. Ron hadn't talked or even looked at her since Draco's arrest. His blue eyes would pass over her like she didn't exist, like she was just an empty space. As for Harry, well it wasn't as bad. He looked at her, he tossed her the odd remark or a polite greeting. But that was all. It wasn't that he was in agreement with Ron's hot- headed attitude but because she couldn't give him the answers he needed. She couldn't say that Draco had changed and she couldn't say why that in spite of this she still loved him. He didn't understand her and so he had distanced himself from her, from the mad woman that had taken the place of his once wise, stable friend.
She hadn't slept in the past ten days. Every night she would toss and turn trying to figure out what she would do if Draco was found guilty, whether her friends would ever take her back. And each morning she would find her face damp with the tears that had soaked through the cotton of her pillow. They were tears of hopelessness, for there was no way that Draco would be found innocent. She had seen the mark that was burnt in his flesh, she had even kissed it. And even if he had escaped the first set of trials that had taken place straight after the war, there appeared to be no loop hole he could crawl under this time. The arresting aurors were far more prepared, and they had something under their sleeves that Hermione had been kept in the dark about. There was something, she could tell by the confident swaggers and the easy smiles that were on display in headquarters. They were definitely hiding something. And then what would happen if he was found guilty, years of imprisonment...death. Call it selfish but wouldn't she need someone to be there for her if the worst happen, didn't she need her friends? But the problem was she no longer had any best friends.
On the other hand if by some weird twist of fate, call it luck, Draco was found innocent would she just go running back into his arms, into his bed. Of course she loved him. She loved him so much it ached. Yet he always seemed to hurt her everytime she thought everything was going well. If she went back to him there were no guarantees he wouldn't do it again. No definites. However she couldn't live without him. She wouldn't just be able to return to her normal routine, not when he was in her mind every second, of every day. It'd be death by memory. But then what's the alternative? Run off. Live happily ever after in some fairyland that didn't exist. Her friends would never forgive her, there would never be the slightest chance that she would be forgiven for her sin. Hell, even mere acquaintances wouldn't be able to look her in the eye. Just because a court declared you innocent it didn't mean that everybody would. Where ever she would go there would be whispers trailing behind her. No they would have to go far, far away, disappear from everyone and everything they were familiar with.
But then could she do that with a man who destroyed her as much as he loved her?
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Draco struggled to keep up with the pace that his guards chose to walk at. Of course the fact that his feet were shackled together by a string woven from iron and the additional problem of them gripping his arms that he felt they were going to be broken from the joints, meant that he was not in any state to be walking so damn fucking quickly.
"Why don't you boys slow down a bit. Trust me, you have all the time in the world to sentence me to death."
No reply. Their grip merely intensified. Obviously graduated from the same school of intelligence as Goyle and Crabbe Draco thought scornfully.
After Weasley had left with that smile still plastered on his bloody face time had passed down a spiral of dread. Only one question, one thought burned in his head. What the hell did Weasley have? He had be so sure in his belief that by the end of today he would be walking out, laughing in the faces of his accusers. Ten years had gone, and not even a blemish on his record. They always had nothing. He was so careful, there was no way they could have got any evidence. He prided himself in the way he played with their surveillance teams and there could be no one brave enough to stand up against him. Malfoys weren't called bastards for nothing. Yet even if they did not fear him, they would certainly fear the rebelling dark side. They would be as soon as dead if they were to help imprison one of the key members of the resistance. Who would be foolish enough to do that?
Hermione?
No. She had obviously told her friends that he hadn't raped her, and she loved him too much to testify against him. Call it overconfidence or egotistical but it was the truth and at a time like this it was no point lying to himself. No. She loved him. It was in her eyes each time he saw her, even when she had nodded her head in agreement to Potter's rapist accusation - which Draco had still not fully forgiven her for. But right now he had more important things to worry about. Possible death being one.
Head full of possible theories, which seemed as ridiculous and as impossible as the next, Draco had been slow to realise that they had reached the big oak doors that stood between him and the Wizengamot . One of the guards politely knocked on the door and it immediately sprang open. Had him being on trial not been an issue Draco would have loved this exact moment. Hundreds of eyes were on him, stripping him from head to toe. He had never felt so naked, so exposed. He was practically dragged to the simple wooden chair in the centre of the room, where he was then pushed onto its hard seat.
"Have fun Mr Malfoy," mocked one the guards.
"I'm sure I will," he retaliated, smirking back. However the smirk was cut short as chains appearing from the legs and arms of the chair began to wrap around his limbs. The tight metal cutting through his flesh and Draco had to bite down hard to stop himself from screaming at the pain. All he could hear was the sound of his teeth cracking against each other. Eventually he lost any sensation in his extremities and gradually the pain subsided, leaving only numbness.
The guttural chuckle from one of the guards was reverberating in his head. He looked up to see a mass of faces. They were all smiling, revelling in his torture. Well fuck them, and Draco flashed the best smirk he could. His grey eyes trying to make eye contact with as many people as possible. They would immediately look away in discomfort, their smiles vanishing off their faces. That was until he came across a familiar set of deep brown eyes. It was her face only that showed something other than enjoyment - disappointment.
Hermione.
The words of old Frickin were saying - "The trial of Draco Malfoy now begins. The prosecutor calls forth their first witness....." barely registered in his head. He could only see her now, everybody else had blurred. The corners of her mouth slanting downwards, her skin pale against her hair and her eyes hard, staring straight through him. Draco wanted to say something, anything and his mouth was parting unconsciously.
Then he heard it - " Mrs Pansy Flint."
And the words that came from his lips were not the ones that he had planned...
"Oh Fuck."
A/N please review if u've read till here. Ta!
I know Hermione is sounding completely selfish, and thinking about herself a lot, but she can't be completely perfect. So sorry if that is OOC. And she cries a lot, but with her friends being mean to her and Draco being trailed I thought she kindof had a right to cry.
oh and 1 more plea I wrote a songfic- Don't Speak - a few days ago, angsty stuff, quite short, if u fancy it please check it out and review, only got 2 comments, one for, one against. I really wud like to know what more people thought of it.
Thanx luv cedar1
