Draco recovered slowly but steadily. He didn't leave the infirmary, and few people came in. They found out what was going on by way of the Daily Prophet, nicked by Neville every morning. The last of the Death Eaters were being rounded up in Europe, and the pockets of resistence in the rest of the world were being eaily defeated. Voldemort had been so confident in his own longevity that he had very few intelligent lieutenants left, with Draco's desertion and the neutralisation of the European operations. Muggle-born witches and wizards were coming out of hiding and a list of the dead and missing was being drawn up. There was no partying in the streets as last time news of Voldemort's defeat had spread. People were more wary this time, and most seemed to eager to go back to Business as Usual as soon as possible.
Neville glanced up one morning as Draco began to read something in an ironic, self-mocking voice. "'There are still no reports as to the whereabouts of Draco Malfoy, one of You-Know-Who's most ardent supporters in the recent conflict. There is some speculation as to whether he was killed in the battle between Harry Potter and the Dark Lord. The Ministry has declined to comment, neither confirming nor denying these rumours. It is the sincerest hope of this reporter that they do, in fact, prove to be accurate.'" He threw down the newspaper, turning away.
"Those idiots don't know anything," Neville scoffed, perched on the edge of the bed and smoothing a piece of hair back from Draco's face. "Remember the total rot they printed about Harry a few years ago?"
Draco was quiet for a moment, then turned to look at Neville again. "What's going to happen when I go to trial?"
"I don't know," Neville answered just as quietly, reaching out an taking Draco's hand. "I don't know."
Three days later, Draco was arrested. Patton had a brief talk with Harry before striding into the infirmary with two Aurors at his heels. Draco and Neville glanced up from their game of chess when they came in and froze, groping unconsciously for each others' hand. Patton cleared his throat.
"Draco Malfoy, I am hereby placing you under arrest for war crimes, including, but not limited to, use of the Unforgivable Curses, torture, murder, collaboration to murder, and illegal use of charms and curses. Do you accept the charges?"
Draco swallowed, his face paler than usual. He nodded. "I do."
Patton nodded. "Your trial will commence in two days. Arthur Weasley has volunteered to speak for you. You can organise your defence with him while under our custody."
Draco nodded in acknowledgement. "I understand. May I dress?"
The Auror hesitated before ducking his head in assent. "Five minutes. We'll be outside." Then he went out, the Aurors following him.
Draco took a deep breath. "Help me?" Neville nodded and hurried to his side, helping him make his way out of bed. His robes lay, washed and folded, on a chair nearby, and as soon as the blond boy was standing Neville helped him into them, moving slowly. Draco was almost recovered, but his limbs still trembled with use after a few minutes. When he was fully clothed, he raked his fingers through his hair, trying to neaten it, and took a deep breath, readying himself. Neville offered his arm, seeing his knees starting to tremble, but was waved away. Back straight, head unbowed, Draco walked out of the room, wordlessly handing his wand to Patton.
Faces lines the staircase, peeking around corners and doors as they passed through the house, solmn faces of the remaining Hogwarts students. Harry was by the fireplace, his face unreadable. As the Aurors prepared to Floo away, he thrust out his hand at the ex-Slytherin. Draco looked at him in some surprise, but after a moment's hesitation accepted it, shaking gingerly. Then he was being prodded into the fireplace, and there was barely time for a hastily exchanged glance with Neville over Patton's shoulder. Then they were gone.
Neville stood there, silent, his face like a stone. Delicately, Hermione lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, and he didn't shrug it away.
The next two days were murder. Neville thought that fighting through the war against him was hard, not knowing if Draco's feelings were genuine, or even his reciprocated. But now, knowing how he felt and being seperated so soon . . . Neville didn't allow himself to think of what lay beyond the trial. The sentence for Voldemort's supporters wasn't a lifetime in Azkaban anymore - it was death.
The day of the trial dawned clear and, in Neville's opinion, far too bright. After a hasty breakfast, the five Gryffindors Flooed to the Ministry of Magic, where the ongoing Death Eater trials were being held. They had all been called as character witnesses - four for the prosecution, Neville for the defence - and to explain the circumstances of Voldemort's capture. The trial was held in the foreboding dungeon that had been used for this purpose in the past, seventeen years ago. A stout wooden chair stood at the very front, heavy iron manacles attached to arms and legs. The jury was already there, eleven grim-faced witches and wizards in a row, facing outwards.
They took their seats on stone benches in the spectators' area. Neville glanced around curiously, noting the cluster of witches and a couple wizards around Mr. Weasley - Draco's defence, but he couldn't see how.
There was a grating clang as a huge iron-studded door at the far end was thrown open. The low buzz of conversation abruptly stopped as every head craned to look. The only sounds in the great room were the scratching of quills from the press section and the heavy tromp of booted feet. Draco was marched in, his short form dwarfed by the Aurors who flanked him. His bloodless face and silvery hair were in stark contrast to the black robes he wore, now highly creased and rumpled. His face was neutral, grave, but the grey eyes that swept the crowd were alive, fearful but penitent. When they rested on Neville, a faint flicker of relief passed over them.
He sat without being directed, not struggling as the manacles were clamped in place and tightened, still dangling too loose on his boyish limbs. Rasmus Greenwood followed them in and took his place as judge. They went through the few formalities, then the prosecution was called. They made the usual case, citing eyewitness reports of Draco acting upon the Dark Lord's orders, his knowledge of Voldemort's habits and organisation, called forward witnesses to testify as to Draco's acknowledged connection to the Dark Arts and his behaviour at school. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were reticient about cataloguing Draco's faults now, but the picture they painted was, in general, a bad one.
Arthur Weasley alleviated that, however, upon cross-examinig them, bringing out the willing truth from Harry. Draco defeated Voldemort. There was a gasp and a murmur through the crowd as people's illusions were shattered, a murmur that continued as Harry outlined the entire encounter, including his virtual non-participation in the running spell-battle.
"And how do you feel about that?" Mr. Weasley asked shrewdly.
Harry shrugged. "Relieved, I guess. Voldemort's as good as dead, most of the people I care about are still alive. We survived."
"You don't feel resentful at all, like Draco was stealing your thunder?"
Harry shook his head. "Not really. I never had much thunder to begin with. He's welcome to it. I don't want it."
Mr. Weasley paused a moment to let that sink in before asking his next question. "And what did you mean by 'as good as dead'?"
Harry looked uncomfortable. "Well, no one can kill Voldemort - he's too powerful. But Ma-Draco told us that by Transfiguring him into water, we can spread him so thin he'll never be a threat again. Moody and his people confirmed it."
Mr. Weasley nodded. "So Draco also aided in the permanent destruction of Voldemort, as well as his capture?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"And why were you inclined to accept Draco's advice so readily?"
"Well, Neville obviously trusted him, and Neville is a good judge of character."
"And how did you know Mr. Longbottom trusted him? He could have been under Imperius."
Harry shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Do I really have to answer that, Mr. Weasley?" he mumbled.
"Yes, boy, I think you do."
Harry shot a pleading glance at Neville, whose brow knit in confusion. He had no idea what was going on. Harry looked down at his hand, clenched in his lap, and spoke in a clear voice, but completely monotone. "As we were running from the Death Eaters after capturing Voldemort that night, one of them tried to kill Draco using the Killing Curse. Neville stopped and tried to block it with a spell. The blast obviously didn't kill him, just knocked him out." Harry took a deep breath. "That curse should have killed Draco, and speaking as the only other survivor of it, I think I know why Draco didn't die. And that's how I know Neville trusts him."
Mr. Weasley was relentless. "What is the protection, Harry?"
He was silent for a moment, and when he did replied, it was scarcely audible. "Love," he said. "You need to be protected by love."
Draco's head swung up, his wide eyes fixed on Neville's as a shocked silence descended on the hall. After a suitably dramatic pause, Mr. Weasley patted Harry on the shoulder kindly. "That's all, son, you can go."
Ron and Hermione confirmed Harry's account of the events of that night, Ginny adding her part of the story; the anonymous owl, seeing Neville protect Draco from the Killing Curse. The prosecution rested, with a rather weak plea to have the worst possible penalty conferred upon him. Then Mr. Weasley really got going. There was a faint murmur of surprise as the first witness called was a middle-aged witch, shots of grey already colouring her frizzy hair and lines of care around her eyes. She took the stand somewhat timidly, perched on the edge of the seat rather nervously, clutching an oversized handbag and looking as if she might flee at any moment.
"Now then, Mrs. Roberts, can you tell us how came to meet young Malfoy here?" Mr. Weasley asked kindly.
The lady took a deep breath. "It was a few months after the war began," she started. "M-my husband, he was Muggle-born. My mother had Muggle blood. We knew we'd be targeted, so we took precautions. They - they didn't help. Death Eaters came. I hid in a closet, put up an Invisibility Charm, with my two eldest children. My youngest hid in a crawlspace. My husband went out to face them, try to convince them that we had fled the country. I don't know exactly what happened -" her voice quavered here, and she had to pause to take a few steadying breaths. When she resumed, her voice was stronger. "I don't know what happened, but suddenly I could hear them in the house, shouting orders, tearing things apart. Then the closet door was flung open, and the Charm wavered. Malfoy was standing there, and I knew he could see us. He checked to see if there was anyone else in the room, then leaned in and asked me if there was anyone else in the house. I didn't answer. Then he hissed, 'Your husband is dead, if you want them to live, tell me where they are." I was terrified, but I answered. I told him where my baby boy was. Then he slammed the door. A few minutes later, the door opened again, and he shoved my baby at me. He told me to stay quiet, then I heard another Death Eater come up. Malfoy yelled at him, 'I've already checked up here. Looks like the Mudblood was telling the truth.' Then they all left." She almost broke down again, but bravely rallied through. "Draco Malfoy is not quite the monster he appears," she said, finishing witha quiet dignity and gazing out at the jury with clear eyes. The prosecution had no questions, and the witch stepped down.
There was a moment of almost silence, filled with the rustling of papers and the murmur of the judges, then Mr. Weasley called his next witnesses, a parade of people with stories similar to the witch's - of unexpected help from Draco. Neville could almost feel the mood in the room changing, lightening, with each new story. Through it all, Draco sat, back straight and face blank. After his initial surprise at Harry's revelation earlier, he made no reaction - until Neville himself was called. as if the mention of his name and the sight of the gangly, blocky figure walking towards him had snapped something in Draco, he lost all control of his face, raw emotion playing across his features. Neville was careful not to lock eyes, knowing that if he did all would be lost.
With a calmness he didn't feel, Neville took the stand. At Mr. Weasley's prompting, Neville sketched in the months of clandestine meetings in the ruined outbuilding, retelling the little details that said much, the almost double life he led at Hogwarts. He skated over their last meeting, not mentioning Cruciatus - or what came after.
Through Neville's almost-monologue - Mr. Weasley occasionally asking clarifying questions - his three friends sat motionless, speechless, as he spelled out what had been going on under their noses for moths. Harry found himself wondering why they had never noticed Neville's absences all those nights. Neville thought they were on the home stretch - until the prosecution stepped up.
First, he was made to dredge up every injury and insult Malfoy had ever paid him, the telling of each painfully dragged from him. Still, it was nothing they hadn't already heard from Ron or Hermione. Then came the questions Neville was dreading.
"So, Mr. Longbottom," the cross-examining wizard said, pacing a small furrow in front of the witness stand, "On the night of, ah, Voldemort's defeat, Mlafoy did use the Cruciatus Curse on you, is that correct?"
"Ah, no, sir, it's not," Neville replied. There was a shocked murmur and the rustling a papers.
The wizard blinked, taken aback. "The reports by Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Granger all say the opposite. Would you care to explain?"
Neville nodded. "It only appeared that I was affected, sir. The curse had no power behind it. I acted as if it did so the Death Eaters would think I was incapacitated, so I could surprise him later."
"So Malfoy never used an Unforgivable Curse on you?"
"No, sir, not that night." Please let it go at that, he prayed. Unhappily, the wizard was too good. His eyes narrowed.
"That night?" he repeated. "Then has Malfoy ever used Cruciatus or Imperius on you? I must remind you that you are under oath."
Neville debated wildly with himself for a long moment, then realised his very silence incriminated Draco. "Yes," he said finally. "Yes, he did."
"When?"
Neville was painfully aware of the silence pressing in on him. "The night before Voldemort came to Hogwarts."
"Cruciatus?"
"Yes."
"Was this the reason you stopped these trysts?" the prosecution pressed on.
"No."
He sighed explosively, frustrated. "Did this serve to change your opinion of him in any way?"
"Neville's eyes flashed. "Most definitely not. Draco was trying to make me hate him so what he had to do wouldn't hurt me. He needed it and I gave it to him. But I couldn't -" abruptly he shut up, realising he almost said too much.
The wizard leaned in close. "You allowed Malfoy to use Cruciatus on you, the same curse that drove both your parents insane?"
Draco's face went very, very pale and Neville's went very, very red. He also decked the man. "Leave my parents out of this," he hissed. But the wizard's face was irritatingly smug.
"Prosecution rests."
Greenwood stood and cleared his throat, nodding to Neville to step down. "In light of the . . . rather surprising evidence persented, the jury will deliver their verdict in two hours. Court adjourned until then."
It was the most nervous two hours Neville had ever spent. Draco had been marched swiftly from the chamber in the wake of the grim-faced jury, and the noise level rose as everyone began talking to each other. Hermione reached over and nudged Neville's arm, indicating her desire to get some air and conveying an invitation. He nodded curtly and stood, edging towards the door, and pretended not to hear the drop in converstaion or see the heads turning towards him.
Hermione watched him worriedly as they took a silent stroll around the main lobby of the Ministry building. Neville was distracted, worried, glancing continuall towards the judicial chamber. Hermione found herself seeing him in a new light, much as Draco had. Puberty had given him height and breadth and spared him from acne. He wasn't as handsome as Harry, nor so tall as Ron, but when not hunched under the burden of everyone else's misconceptions, he had his own kind of attractiveness. He would be a wonderful husband for anyone - except for the fact that his thoughts were clearly not on anyone of female persuasion.
"You really do care for Malfoy, don't you?" she blurted out suddenly, stopping to face him.
Neville gave her a startled, sidelong look before his face twisted into a tiny half-smile. "Yeah, Hermione, I really do."
She grinned abruptly and said in a light voice, "Well, there's no accounting for taste." She threw her arms around him impulsively and everything was alright.
They took their seats againa few minutes before the deliberation period was up, sitting quietly with Hermione gripping Neville's hand nervously, both pretending he wasn't gripping back. Draco was marched back in, but left unshackled, which Neville took as a good sign. Greenwood formally brought the court to session, and then glanced down at the verdict in his hand. Hermione's nails dug into Neville's palm, but he barely felt it. The Minister cleared his throat. "We find the accused, Draco Malfoy, to be guilty of being a Death Eater in Voldemort's employ and to using the Unforgivable Curses on more than one occasion."
Neville felt all the feeling drain from his body, but was riveted by the man's voice.
"However, due to the evidence presented and the ambiguity of his role in the recent conflict, we rule that the death sentence be waived."
Neville could suddenly breathe again.
"We therefore sentence Draco Malfoy to two years solitary confinement in Azkaban Prison."
Two years! That was practically a death sentence! No one survived two years in Azkaban!
Greenman continued amidst the eerie silence that had fallen, a shocked silence. Shock that was mirrored in Draco's face, mixed in with peculiar resignment. Neville wondered if Draco still suffered from his illusions about the 'roles' they all had. Greenman raised a hand, silencing the already quiet crowd. The twinkle in his eye was faintly reminiscent of Dumbledore. "The court is reminded," said loudly, cutting through the mumurs, "That the Dementors no longer hold sway over Azkaban. The jailors are now ordinary witches and wizards."
Neville's heart soared again. Two years suddenly wasn't that long. Then people were filing out and Draco was being marched away. Neville moved almost without thinking, vaulting over the dividing rail and pushing past Mr. Weasley. Draco broke away from the Aurors, who, after a curt gesture from Greenwood, didn't grab him back. Not caring who was watching, the swept into each other's arms, embracing fiercely as if they would never let go.
"I love you," Draco murmured into Neville's neck, unwilling to move even to speak. Neville didn't reply directly, just pulled back far enough to find his mouth, sealing them together with a final kiss, squeezing even tighter. "See you in two years," he breathed. Then the Aurors pulled them apart.
FIN