A/N: Hey folks! We're slowly nearing the end. I've changed up a few final things in how the chapters are planned out, so after this there are only three chapters left to go! Please let me know what you think of it so far, and your final predictions as we near the conclusion. I am so excited to share my next Dramione project with you all when this is over, so remember to turn on the author alert for me if you're interested!
I wake up somewhere in the minutes between darkness and dawn, my head fuzzy from nightmares of Azkaban. The moments between them and learning that I've woken up are hazy, and I have to ground myself before it feels real. Because I am about to go to the very place that just threatened to kill me in my sleep. But I've been there before, and never for a reason as pleasing as this. I can do it. I need to.
There are hours before Valencia comes to fetch me. At first, I try doing everything slowly to fill the void before it is time to go. I leave the shower as clean as ever. Each thing that I put on for the day is chosen deliberately, and I take minutes to ponder what Mother would think I look best in. Breakfast is swallowed piece by piece, and I read the Daily Prophet cover to cover. And then, at the end of everything I need to do, there is still an hour left.
I resort to sitting in front of the fireplace, tapping my foot 1982 times. What was Mother doing during this period? Was she aware that she would be getting a visitor today? Or perhaps she was lying there, counting the minutes until her breakfast tray arrived. Or reading the Crafted Creatures texts that I'd owled over.
Valencia finally arrives, crossing the threshold of the fireplace at exactly 9 in the morning.
"Ready?" She asks, seemingly unsure if I would be terrified or elated.
I stand, hands empty, with a quick nod. "Born ready."
"I made the request by claiming we needed to discuss something ahead of the trial. They have granted us 15 minutes, and I am required to be in the same room as you. Fortunately, I do not need anything from your mother right now, so the 15 minutes are yours. I've brought something to listen to while you and Narcissa are speaking so that you have some privacy."
She takes out a thick and clunky piece of plastic in the shape of a rectangle. There are knobs and dials on the front and a long black string running from the bottom of it.
"A muggle device. The rules of Azkaban don't say much about muggle anything, so it's easy to sneak through," she says, noticing my eyes glued to the instrument.
"There is a special corridor at the ministry where we can apparate there. So, I will be taking you through the fireplace and straight to the ministry. They will be watching, so behave yourself."
"When am I not on my best behaviour?" I ask her with a grin, which she returns. What could I possibly do in the next fifteen minutes that she would disapprove of? Is she expecting me to try and apparate elsewhere or to try to take down the ministry? Maybe those are things that Draco Malfoy would have done a year ago, desperate to please the Dark Lord. But there was nobody left to please.
Valencia finds the floo powder and walks through first, leaving with a warning that she expects to find me behind her immediately. I do, and the unthreatening warmth of the fireplace pulling me away sends a shiver up my spine. It's been too long since magic has played in my favour. There is a brief shot of pain at the front of my temple when I arrive in the ministry, faced with a long white hallway that seems to lead to very little. But still, we're there, in the building that wants to send me to my doom.
As Valencia leads the way to the apparition point, I can't help but wonder if Granger is here in the building. And if she is, could she know of my arrival? Is she sitting at a desk somewhere, feeling that I am here, and planning on how she could hurt me next? Maybe this is what Valencia warned me about. Perhaps she worries that I will try to find her and seek revenge. Would the Draco from last year do so?
Our surroundings change before I can answer my own question. We're standing on the bottom floor of Azkaban, which feels even damper than my old cell. The sound of the waves crashing against the building are close to deafening, but nobody else seems to mind. They must have placed a spell on their eardrums and forgotten about mine. Valencia communicates with a guard who sits near the front of a long hall. His face is groggy like it's the first conversation that he has had in days. I can't hear their correspondence, but he eventually gestures for us to follow him down the hall and up the stairs. After a handful of nauseating turns up a spiral staircase, we exit down a much quieter hall and into a plain grey space with enough room for a table and three chairs.
"Wait here," the guard says, voice huskier than I'd imagined.
Valencia thanks him for helping and drags one of the chairs away from the table. She pulls out the muggle device and places the ends of the long string over her head, pushing a button on the rectangle. Peculiar. She catches my eyes and points to her ears with a shrug as if indicating that I've gotten my privacy.
"Thank you," I mouth, trusting that she couldn't hear a thing if she tried. How was that machine working?
My surroundings are nothing like the ones that I had while locked up in Azkaban. The room is significantly larger and brighter than before as if they are trying to hide the true mundanity of each day here from the visitors. How many people have sat in my position, visiting a loved one in Azkaban, knowing themselves what it looked like? The numbers must be higher than ever before, with so many spending time here after the war. But did they sit here and wonder if they would be returning someday? Or perhaps sit unknowingly, like I am now?
Mother arrives soon after, and the expression on her face as she turns the corner tells me that she was caught by surprise with the visit. Did she know when they collected her from her cell where she would be going? Did she assume the worst?
Her hair has grown darker, untouched from the sun for weeks. The isolation had been kind to her before, and it has stayed true even now. Her skin is softer, filled with signs of aging rather than that of stress. And while her eyes match her hair in darkness, they seem just as ready to love me as before, and they well up with tears as the guard closes the door behind him.
"Darling," she whispers, rushing over with arms ready to embrace me. However, she stops with her arms out before she can get to me as if she's run into an invisible wall. There must be anti-contact wards placed inside of the room, which seems obvious enough that I don't bother to interrupt Valencia to confirm. Instead, I place my hand as close to Mother as I can, palm open and facing her. She pulls hers up as well, gently stretching out her fingers until they're close to interlocking with mine. Something stands between us, and our skin does not make contact, but I feel the warmth emanating from her skin and hope that she feels the same sense of comfort.
"What are you doing here?" She asks, breaking me out of a trance that I hadn't realised I was in.
"I wanted to see you," I answer, debating if I should tell her the truth about the trial change. She looks hopeful, and the idea of squashing her hopes seems like too much to start off with. I push my head in the direction of the table, and we sit across from each other with our hands as close to touching as they can get.
"And they let you come?"
"Yes. Valencia said that it was needed ahead of my trial."
She looks at me, considers speaking, and then swallows her thoughts with a grim nod like she knows everything that I am not telling her. She has always been so good at that.
"You look well," I speak faintly, hoping that she knows how much like my mother she still looks.
"I wish I could say the same to you, Draco," she replies plainly.
I give her a nod, knowing that there is nothing that I can say to convince her that all is well. But how could I be so selfish as to share my burdens when she is the one who is already locked up for years to come? I consider lying and telling her that everything is fine, but I know that it would only take up more of our limited time.
"You seem so different. I had hoped that the time alone would change you, and it clearly has. You have always looked older than you should have. There was always so much pressure on you to grow up as quickly as you could. And now you finally look more like a man that I hoped you would become someday."
"I don't think I can consider myself a man until I can make you proud, Mother," I reply, suddenly overcome with the urge to cry.
"Draco," she coos. "You have always made me proud. You were the only one of us that was brave enough to accept what realities we needed to face. You are the only one who had it in you to stop running. I just hope that means that you can eventually rest."
"You're still not mad at me, then?"
"No, Draco. This isn't exactly a palace," she gestures with a somber smile. "But there is peace in not having to hide. I fear that you have spent too many years in hiding and that you should be the one that is mad at me."
I want to scoff or shake her shoulders in frustration just for how foolish she is for thinking I could ever be mad at her. Instead, I shake my head to refuse her statement. The idea of feeling those emotions toward her is foreign. How could I ever be angry with her? Father, perhaps. But Mother was only ever trying to protect me. And maybe that is what Valencia has been trying to convey: I was only ever trying to protect her in return.
"You have always been so forgiving, Draco. You are perhaps the only one in our family that has been able to see the light in everybody, even if you don't always know it."
There were so many people that I couldn't imagine forgiving. But maybe Mother knows me better than I know myself, and all of a sudden, I feel the desire to tell her all about Granger and how much she hurt me. Did Mother think that I could ever forgive her, too? Or would she see the betrayal and feel how much I'm hurting, knowing that the only person I ever started to trust came to me in a whirlwind of lies?
"Do you think that everybody deserves forgiveness?" I ask, unsure of where I would even begin.
"I think that you need to listen to people when they show you who they really are. And I don't think you should judge them on their worst mistakes." She nods after saying this as if deciding something for herself. "Are you talking about your father, Draco?"
I almost lie and say yes. Perhaps it would provide her with some solace to know that her husband didn't ruin their son forever. But she would see right through me, and my feelings for Father weren't even close to being ready for reflection. Even I knew that he was at the bottom of the list of people who deserved anything close to forgiveness.
"No. I made a… a friend recently, and I only just found out that they were lying to me," I confess. Only days ago, I would have screamed from a rooftop about how happy Granger made me, but now even calling her a friend feels sickening.
"We're all capable of lying, Draco. You and I know that better than most. But a lie doesn't have to poison everything that surrounds it. We are more than our lies."
I want to believe her. Her words float through my head, desperate to leave behind an impression. But it also reminds me that I spent so much time at the manor being distracted by a girl, and she was back to penetrating my important time. Mother and I only have minutes left, and they don't deserve to be tainted by the mistakes of someone else. I change the conversation back over to Mother, desperate to know how they are treating her. Her answers are short and hopeful as if she is talking to somebody who doesn't know how hard Azkaban can really be. But they also feel rooted in honesty. Maybe Azkaban didn't treat everybody with the same level of disgust.
We spend our last minutes talking about the manor, and about Tomsy, and how lucky we have been to always be able to find somebody to look out for us. I almost forget about the trial, but it comes back to the center of my memories before I can stand up to leave.
"Will you be at my trial, Mother?"
"I have already provided all the memories that will help. They will not allow me to attend, but I have been promised a copy of any Daily Prophet entries that cover the events."
She must have given something in return for outside reading materials. I don't let myself wonder what.
"Try not to worry too much," I warn. "It'll be okay."
We raise our hands together once more, pretending that there isn't something as thin as a piece of parchment blocking us from making contact.
"I love you, Draco," she tells me as I leave, and I yell back the same as she is left alone in the now quiet room, waiting for a guard to come fetch her.
Valencia waits until we are back in the hall before removing the band from her head and taking a moment to adjust to the new sounds.
"Did you get to say everything you needed to?" She asks hopefully before following the guard back down the stairwell.
"I hope so," I tell her, ready to follow her down.
A slow-building panic starts to fill my limbs as we start to step down the spiral staircase. It feels as if the cement walls are pulling in on me, threatening to squish my body until there is nothing left. The air catches at the back of my throat, and I have to take a moment to catch my breath before continuing down. The guard might be pleased to see how it is affecting me, and I can't give him the satisfaction. But the knowledge that this might be my last time walking freely through these halls, not stuck between four thick walls, starts to darken my thoughts. I've never wanted to go to Azkaban, but for the first time it feels as menacing as the ministry makes it out to be. I walk the rest of the way down in a fog, craving my old bed in my own room, and the comfort of the bright green blanket.
We apparate back to the ministry, then cross through the familiar fireplace, and are back at the manor in minutes. I start to hope that Valencia will return to her own home afterward, leaving me with the space I need to crawl back into bed and lay down in comfort to process the visit, but she only turns and looks at me expectantly.
"Did that visit remind you of how little you want to go back to that place?" She asks, and my body reflects on the torment of Azkaban.
She leads us back to her office space without my response, seemingly knowing that deep down, I'd never want to go back there and might be willing to do all that it takes to stop me. And a part of her is right, and the reminder of it makes me wonder how much more I could have been helping. But then I think about how much harder it would be if I had worked at it and spent the last months pushing for my freedom, only to go on and lose it after all. Who would I be if I tried to free myself, only to be sentenced for longer than I'd imagined? I decide, then and there, to let fate choose for me. I can help when needed and answer questions as they come, but I couldn't put too much of my heart into the idea of being free. I didn't exactly have Granger to fear missing anymore, so I would have to sit back and let someone else be in charge. So much of my energy has gone into fighting for self-preservation, and there almost isn't enough left to keep going. I'd have to save it until the end.
"So," Valencia starts as we round the corner to her room. "I'm not sure how much you've paid attention to the Daily Prophet over the past week."
"I read the one from today. That's about it."
"Ah, then you missed yesterday's paper. An interview with Harry Potter was released."
"And?"
She summons a copy of the Daily Prophet from somewhere in the manor, and it comes flying straight to me.
"Read for yourself," she nods.
The front page is filled with Potter's face. There is a grin plastered onto it, lips curving as the image moves forward. He is standing at the familiar Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts, standing underneath a headline that reads "HOGWARTS WELCOMES POTTER."
The article goes into detail about what he has been up to since the end of the war. My eyes scan the words, not caring to acknowledge much of them. Eventually, my eyes catch on the words "Severus Snape," and my attention returns. He praises his old teacher for his courage during the war and discusses how important all his judgement calls were. "I would trust him with my life if he were still here today," Potter is quoted as saying. The interviewer goes on to ask how much he has heard about Snape hiring a lawyer to protect a Death Eater as if trying to egg Potter on to sharing his thoughts on me. They must have known about our lack of friendship.
"As I've mentioned, I trust Snape's judgement. That is all that I have to say on the matter," Potter had answered, closing off any further questions about his old nemesis.
"That sounds promising," I say, pulling my head out of the paper and redirecting my thoughts to Valencia.
"I think so, too. It's not perfect, and he certainly could have said more in your favor, but it will help us earn some points from the Wizengamot. Many of them are eternally grateful for Potter's sacrifices, and this could help them feel more emotional towards your case."
I nod along with her, knowing that there is nothing left to add. No other rocks lay unturned, or memories left to discover. Everything that could be done has, and fate would just have to prepare to decide.
"I feel good, Draco. I do. I hope that you do, too. I have not heard any rumblings about Hermione Granger speaking against you to the Wizengamot. We just need to keep our hopes high that she does have some kind feelings for you because if she shares what she knows, then we will have to fight a lot harder."
"Whatever," I give her, desperate that Granger doesn't share the truth for more reasons than one.
"I hope that you can enjoy your last few days before the trial. Try to get some rest and prepare yourself to provide as many helpful memories as you can. And if you remember anything else, you know how to contact me."
THE MALFOY SON TO RETURN FOR LONG-AWAITED TRIAL AT THE MINISTRY
Draco Malfoy, son of notorious Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, will finally return to the Wizengamot to stand trial for his involvement in the Death Eater organization, his allegiance to the Dark Lord, and for four counts of performing the Cruciatus Curse. His trial has been moved up after the ministry fast-tracked all trials for Death Eaters, eager to move past the war and return to a sense of normalcy. Could Draco Malfoy be the last Death Eater sentenced?
Not everybody is so sure of his conviction. Narcissa Malfoy, who had ties with the organization for years before her son, only earned a 10-year sentence. Could the younger Malfoy receive a similarly short sentence?
News has come to light that supports the late and former Death Eater Severus Snape, who hired legal counsel for Draco Malfoy. Valencia Collins will stand alongside Malfoy at the trial and promises to put up a fair fight. If Snape has proven anything, it's that not everything is as it seems. At this time, the Daily Prophet is ready to hold off all judgements until justice prevails and the Wizengamot uncovers the truth.
I close the latest copy of the Daily Prophet in confusion. The paper has always been known for eye-catching headlines and tabloid-worthy news. But for once, the reporting almost seems… fair? If reporters could have faith in me, then maybe things were better than I thought. It occurs to me as I finish reading that Mother will have access to the article as well, and I can feel her hope.
Tomsy takes away the paper after I finish, accepting it with a nervous look in his eyes.
"Master Draco be heading back to the ministry soon. Tomsy will be left alone," he says, almost with a hint of sadness.
I nod in confirmation, wondering if it would be possible that he would miss me while I'm gone. The manor has felt so empty over the past months, but at least he was here. Maybe he felt the same way about me.
"Tomorrow," I tell him, swallowing the word in anticipation. It could be our last day together.
I spend my final night of unknowing by returning to the broomstick shed and taking one out for a final fly. I stay high in the air until the sun starts to set. The sky fills with a collection of reds and oranges, surrounding the manor and the gardens below me. Could the sky know that it would be my last chance to see it? Was this nature's way of saying goodbye? I spend its entirety watching it from as high as I can get and return to the ground filled with a sense of dread and desire for things to finally feel over.
It has been years since there hasn't been something looming over my head. Whether it was the stress of finishing the school year, the knowledge that I would have to try and kill Dumbledore, the desperation of needing to please Voldemort, having to hide from the ministry, or preparing for my trial, there has always been something chasing me. And it would finally catch me tomorrow, good or bad.
I sleep in my own bed and embrace myself with the bright green blanket in my arms. It still smells like her. I fight the urge to toss it aside and instead let myself imagine it as something to keep my thoughts from flooding back to why I'm going to the ministry again. Olivia, Figg, and the rest all threaten to visit me in my dreams as I slowly drift off to sleep, and I eventually let them visit. They aren't as angry with me and approach in sadness rather than anger as they have before.
My dreams fly by quickly and the next morning approaches sooner than expected. I take a long shower, happy for the heat and the steam that distract me from overthinking, and carefully prepare myself for the day with a set of cloaks that Valencia has prepared for me. Enough to make me look smart but not fancy enough to leave the Wizengamot thinking that I'm just some privileged kid.
Valencia arrives on time, as she had for our day trip to Azkaban, and whisks us through the fireplace. The next few minutes pass by in a blur. We start in some unfamiliar ministry hallway and wait for someone to come fetch us. An unknown person, a man who looks to be a few years older than I am, escorts us to the trial room. I sit in the center, exactly as I had before, remembering how it felt to have an entire room's eyes on me, including Hermione Granger's. I know now where she is sitting, feeling her presence just like last time. I can't bring myself to pull my gaze to her chair, tucked away in the back by the fireplace. I wonder if she's looking at me this time. Does she have a better idea of how the trial will go? Or is she as lost as I am?
The room goes from a loud buzz of conversation to a silent echo as the Wizengamot prepares themselves for me. The Chief Warlock enters the room, prompting everybody to stand, and they fall back down as quickly as they rise.
"Welcome, everybody. We are here today to witness the trial of Draco Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy, you are being charged for your ties with the illegal Death Eater organization and for aiding Voldemort's mission toward blood purity in the Wizarding World, along with four counts of the Cruciatus Curse. In accordance with the decree allowing all charged persons to present themselves in court with legal representation, we had postponed this trial until today so that you and Miss Valencia Collins could prepare. May I assume that there are no objections today and that the trial may proceed?"
I look to Valencia, who is standing next to me, waiting to strike. She motions back as if telling me that I need to be the one to answer.
"Yes, Your Honour." I can't make eye contact with him, knowing how close Granger might be sitting. Catching her eye would cause too much of a distraction.
"Then let us begin with opening statements. Miss Collins, the floor is yours," Armus says, waving his hand to Valencia.
"Thank you, Your Honour," she replies, far less fiery than when she first appeared in court. She takes a quick moment to collect herself, bowing her head in contemplation, before standing tall and speaking as if from a script. "It was only a few short months ago that everybody in this room gathered to witness the trial of the Malfoy family. You chose to grant a full life sentence to Lucius Malfoy for his crimes, which came as a surprise to nobody. And then you offered a lighter sentence for Narcissa Malfoy, who was able to prove that she committed all her crimes to protect her family, like so many of us would do if it came down to it. Now you are all here to look at their son. Sitting in front of us is Draco Malfoy. You may read the reports and see how he acted underneath Voldemort's orders. He has performed the Cruciatus Curse and took part in the death of Albus Dumbledore. He also took the Dark Mark, which remains on his skin today. We do not deny these actions. But this is not a man who did all these things due to his beliefs in blood purity."
The room remains still, aside from Valencia's passionate speech. I dare to glance up at members of the Wizengamot that are sitting behind me and to my sides, knowing that they are far away enough from Granger that I will be able to avoid her gaze. Everybody is taking turns looking from Valencia to me, and their expressions are much harder to read than last time.
"We are looking at a boy who was groomed to become a member of the Death Eater organization. His upbringing prevented him from recognizing right from wrong until it was too late. Had he tried to leave, Draco Malfoy would have been tortured and killed as soon as any other Death Eater caught wind of it. Fortunately, we have prepared a collection of evidence that will point you to the man that Draco Malfoy would have become had it not been for his familial influence. We also have statements that support heroic acts committed by Draco Malfoy. Throughout the trial, you will be asked to step back from your beliefs that only evil people worked for Voldemort. You have seen the trials of many Death Eaters, and this one is unlike the rest. Please, keep an open mind throughout the upcoming hours, and remember that your decision will set a precedent for how the Wizarding World treats its children. Because while Draco Malfoy committed every act that you have charged him with, he was just that. A child. And no children should be blamed for things outside of their control."
Valencia finishes her opening statements with confidence that I have rarely seen. It takes a few seconds to realise that it is because her confidence is in me and our trial preparations, and she truly thinks that we could leave here without a life-ending sentence. The smallest smile grows on the corner of my lips as she steps to the side so that Armus may begin the demonstration of evidence. It is during this smile that I wonder what expression Granger has on her face. My head starts moving before I can stop it, and my gaze travels in the direction of where she should be sitting.
Only, it's not Granger sitting there. It is the young man that escorted us to the room. In surprise, I scan the room, locking eyes with every Wizengamot one by one.
Hermione Granger is not in the room at all.