Mitzvahs
Chapter Three
by Capella
A/N: Sorry this is so late. You know the drill -- end of school.
Anyway, this is getting interesting. All the Wizengamot stuff I found at the HP Lexicon, bless their hearts.
Enjoy and review!
"Hell is when there is no reason to live and no courage to die."
-- William Markiewicz
His trial was held in Courtroom Ten. He was informed by one of the Aurors accompanying him that it was where Harry Potter's trial had been held. It was a kind of poetic justice, the witch had said with a laugh, the leathery skin around the corners of her eyes crinkling, but Draco didn't see the humor.
He twisted his hands, uncomfortably aware of the chains binding him to the chair that sat in the middle of the room, but besides that, he made no movement. He stared straight ahead, ignoring equally the flickers of torchlight on the dark stone walls and the fifty wizards in plum robes sitting in the judge's balcony surrounding him.
"Draco Malfoy," the Chief Warlock intoned grimly. Draco continued staring dully ahead, and there was a long pause, in which he assumed he was supposed to make some sort of response. "You stand accused for the attempted murder of Harry James Potter. How do you plead?"
Jesus. What sort of question was that? He wanted to explain, he wanted to say why he'd done it, but it was as if the only words his mouth could pronounce were "guilty" and "not guilty," and he could not make himself say anything else. So he didn't.
"Not guilty," he said softly, and the room was suddenly full of little whispered conversations, hissing like wildfire.
"Silence!" The Chief Warlock's voice cut through the whispers like butter, and they ceased immediately. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Draco dredged up the last bits of his pride and spoke.
"Excuse me," he said, and the Chief Warlock looked down sharply at him with cold blue eyes. "But don't I get a representative?"
Directly to the Chief's right, Cornelius Fudge gave a short bark of laughter. "You think you deserve one, boy? Do you think you deserve any rights in a trial to see if you tried to murder the person who will save the wizarding world? We should throw you in Azkaban now and --"
"Cornelius!" the woman to the Chief's right said angrily. "You will control yourself while in this courtroom, or you will be thrown out, Minister of Magic or not."
"Miss Bones, I hardly think --"
"Silence!" The Chief Warlock's voice was louder now, with a note of annoyance in it, and Fudge contented himself with throwing glares in Draco's direction that Draco largely ignored. Harry had told him that Fudge had sat in on his trial too, and had acting in mostly the same manner. Draco knew just how far Fudge's writ ran, and the man did not scare him.
The Chief Warlock peered down at Draco, his brows furrowed in irritation. "Is there anyone you wish to represent you, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked, not unkindly, and his question pulled Draco up short.
No, there was not. No one believed him now, not Dumbledore or even Snape, and the only person who trusted him was most likely almost dead. His father --
"No." He was proud that his voice did not shake.
"Good." The Chief Warlock looked around at the faces glaring down at Draco. "Do you wish to call any witnesses?"
"Could --" He had to stop and clear his throat. "Could I call Harry Potter?"
There were the little hissing conversations again.
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Malfoy. He is too ill, and moving him might kill him. Is there no one else?"
"There wasn't anyone else there," he said, a little desperately, in way of an explanation, and the Chief Warlock nodded.
"Does anyone wish to ask Mr. Malfoy a question?"
"Yes!" Fudge jumped in eagerly, his eyes glinting with malice in the flickering torchlight. "Is it true that in 1996, you delivered a death threat to Harry Potter, directly after your father's arrest?"
Draco's eyes widened. He had forgotten about that. Shit. A drop of cold sweat rolled down his face.
"Well, yes -- but I wasn't going to actually do anything, I was just angry --"
Fudge smiled grimly. "Were you angry when you stabbed him last night?"
"I -- I don't --"
"Mr. Fudge, that will do," the Chief Warlock said sharply, and Fudge subsided, still glaring down at Draco, and Draco was abruptly reminded of the many times his father had blackmailed Fudge into doing things for him, and wondered if maybe Fudge wanted some revenge.
They went on in that fashion for what seemed like hours, bringing up tiny little quarrels and things said that even Draco had forgotten. It was when they brought up his fight with Harry at the beginning of sixth year, when his father had been let out of prison, that Draco finally understood that he was going to Azkaban. Even though he was innocent he knew -- he could tell by their faces -- what the verdict would be. It felt as though an icy hand had grabbed his stomach and twisted it.
"My father," Draco whispered hoarsely when they paused for a moment. Chains jangled on either side of him -- a hopeless iron sound, heavy and echoing -- as Draco twisted his wrists in the cuffs. "Please. Can he come --"
The Chief Warlock looked surprised. "I thought you had been informed," he said, and cast an annoyed glance at the Aurors who had escorted him. His voice softened the tiniest bit when he spoke again to Draco. "Your father asked to sit on your jury, and we aquiesed." He jerked his head slightly to the right.
Draco looked, and saw a shock of blonde hair that he was surprised he had not noticed before. He wondered how many of the Wizengamot his father had blackmailed this time.
"Father," he said, fighting to keep calm. His father stared down at him icily, his blue eyes glinting like steel. "Did you tell them --"
"Tell them what, Draco?" His father's voice was soft and dangerous, but in his desperation Draco did not notice.
"What you told me to do -- you know it was not my fault --" He looked up at his father, bewildered when he did not answer, only continuing to gaze down at Draco with that blank expression. "You said you would protect me," he said dully.
Lucius raised one eyebrow. "If you wish to speak nonsense, Draco, do not waste the Wizengamot's time. I hope you are not suggesting with your -- ramblings -- that I protect you from your righteous punishment. I will not shelter you from justice."
"Father," Draco gasped desperately. "Please!"
"I suggest you being talking sense, Draco," his father said coldly. "And I also suggest you produce some reason for your actions."
You told me to do it!
God, how badly he wanted to say it. But the expression on his father's face kept him from it, and the hope that his father would somehow save him made him press his lips together in a tight line to keep the words from escaping.
"If no one has any other questions for Mr. Malfoy?" the Chief Warlock asked, and the other Interrogators shook their heads almost as a whole. The Warlock sighed. "Bring out the first witness."
Witness?
His heart stopped when he saw Mandy Brocklehurst walk in. She gave him a cold look before planting herself to his left.
"Miss Brocklehurst, please introduce yourself and give your relationship to Mr. Potter."
"Mandy Brocklehurst, seventh year Ravenclaw, parents Tim and Cathy Brocklehurst. I'm Harry's girlfriend." Draco almost rolled his eyes at her clipped introduction.
"Please explain what you saw the night in question."
"I was on my way up to Gryffindor Tower to visit Harry. I was going up the stairs to the portrait hole when Draco came out of the hole and knocked me down the stairs. He was crying and he had blood on his robes." She gave Draco a brief, pointed look. "He told me to fetch Professor Snape and bring him to Harry's room. I went and got the Professor, and when I got back, he was gone. The Professor made me go back to his room for some potions. I think while I was gone, Harry told him who did it, but no one told me anything. That is pure idle speculation on my part." Draco bared his teeth at her when she gave him another cold glare.
"Anything else, Miss Brocklehurst?"
"Yes. I found this --" she held up a plastic bag delicately "-- in Harry's room, lying on the floor next to Harry with blood on it. It was steaming. I'm positive that it was how Harry was almost murdered."
Oh, shit, Draco thought, staring at the bag containing the knife as one would a hissing snake.
"Please bring it forward."
Mandy gave the knife to one of the Aurors, who walked up and placed it before the Chief Warlock. He lifted it up close to his face and inspected it. When he placed it down and looked at Draco, Draco felt a faint trembling start in his hands. There was condemnation in those blue eyes. The Chief Warlock passed the knife to the woman, Bones, and said, "Mr. Lucius Malfoy, please confirm that the crest on this knife is, indeed, your family crest."
"What?" Draco said, his breath exploding out of him like he had been punched in the stomach. Lucius recieved the knife and barely glanced at it before speaking.
"Yes," he said slowly, looking down at Draco. Draco felt a few betraying tears trickle down his face. "This is our family crest."
Why had he not noticed? His father had given him that knife. His mind shied away from what that implied.
"Please, Father!" he said, desperate. "Please!"
His father did not even look at him.
He was numb to the rest of the trial. He was faintly aware of Dumbledore, Blaise, Pansy, Ron, Hermione, a small second-year -- all testifying against him. Blaise was the worst, refusing to meet Draco's eyes. Draco considered pleading to his innocence, telling the jury what his father had told him to do, but he knew it wouldn't work. They already had their minds made up, and his father probably blackmailed them all anyway. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he blinked it away. He could feel it running down his neck, making his hair stick to his skin.
"Mr. Malfoy!"
He glanced up at the Chief Warlock, startled, and found the Warlock looking down in annoyance. He realized that he had been trying to get Draco's attention for a while.
"You have been found unanimously guilty."
"No!" he tried to scream, but his voice cracked and it came out as a barely audible whisper.
"You will be expelled from Hogwarts and your wand will be broken. You will spend next twenty consecutive years in Azkaban prison."
His mind was full of a strangely white, fuzzy noise that felt suspiciously like fear.
"Can I see Harry?" he asked hoarsely, and was ignored. He wanted to know why Harry had betrayed him. Did Harry hate him so much?
The head of the Wizengamot continued as if Draco had not spoken. "You will not be allowed contact with any witch or wizard," he said. "Permission to visit will be granted only by the Wizengamot, which will be allowed no more than twice a year. Draco Malfoy, your sentence begins now. Take him away." The chains on Draco's arms disappeared, and Draco shot up from his seat.
"Let me see him!" Draco screamed, jerking his arm away from the Auror who grabbed it. "I want to see him!" He punched the witch in the nose and managed to land a kick on another Auror's shin, fighting like a wild thing, only falling after an Auror became exasperated and cast a Stupefy. Draco crumpled to the ground, stunned, and one of the Aurors took the opportunity to chain his hands and drag him to his feet. His face burned hot with shame and anger, and tears streamed down his temples and onto the floor, but he could not move his arms; they would not obey him. Someone behind him pushed between his shoulderblades to get him walking. His feet felt filled with lead.
Azkaban. Harry. "Father," he whispered, and one of the Aurors by his side, the one he had clocked in the face, looked at him with a detached sort of anger.
"Quiet," the witch hissed, blood still dribbling from her nose. "You should be dead. You will wish you were after a year in Azkaban. I have no doubt that everyone in the wizarding world will fight for those two visits a year, just to torment you." The Auror's eyes shone with fierce anger. "It will be no more than you deserve."
Draco stared up at the Auror's face, memorizing the curves, the dark gray color of her eyes, the length of her hair. He looked around at all the Aurors leading him away -- a man in his fifties, longish black hair; a tall young woman with bright green eyes and short blonde hair; a short, dumpy man perhaps in his thirties; and a tiny Oriental woman. He managed to move his head enough to glance back at the judges sitting solemn in their chairs, memorizing their faces so he would know them when he tracked them all down someday.
But there was one face he knew he didn't have to see ever again to remember. Bright, blazing green eyes. He would remember those even if he was in jail fifty years. He would save Harry until last.
I'll remember you, he mouthed with a tiny grim smile. I'll remember all of you.
The witch frowned up at him. "What?" He stared down at her until she looked away, uncomfortable.
Draco let his smirk fade once she looked away.
He was blindfolded a few moments later, once they reached the Apparating room at the Ministry. An Auror was at each side of him, holding onto his biceps with steel grips as a portkey was forced into his hands. Draco felt the strange, sickening tug in his stomach and, a few seconds later, there was the sound of the sea in his ears. He dropped the portkey and heard a loud metal clang. The blindfold was removed.
"Don't do this," he said to no one in particular. "I didn't do anything." The Auror behind him jabbed Draco in the ribs with his wand.
"Move."
Draco walked forward with heavy feet towards the forbidding gates. He was abruptly reminded of a picture he had seen in one of Granger's Muggle Studies books, lying on a desk in the Gryffindor common room. The gate in the picture bore a striking resemblence to the one he faced now -- except instead of the words "Arbeit macht frei," this one said "Azkaban Prison."
A/N: Sorry about how it fizzled out there at the end. I've been crazily busy this month -- last newspaper issue, seniors leaving, end of school, etc. It's not long, and it's not particularly good, but I wanted to get it out now.
I'm making up lots of the descriptions of Azkaban. I don't think it's described in the books and if it is, I'm too lazy to look it up. I also don't know exactly how the Wizengamot sentences. This entire chapter comes from watching too much Law and Order. Speaking of which, isn't it annoying that lawyers can say whatever they want and then just say "withdrawn" after it, even though the jury can't take back hearing it?
Oh, and the Arbeit macht frei thing is from the gate above Auschwitz.
If there's any discrepancies, just sort of -- ignore them. Or, if they really bother you, email me and I'll fix them if they're there.
