As before, ICE NINE KILLS owns the italicized words. J.K. Rowling owns many of the characters, places, etc.

I spend next four days in a depressed stupor. Dementors don't guard the low security cells or the holding cells anymore, but I don't think their presence would make a difference. The way Hermione looked the last time I saw her will be forever imprinted on the back of my eyelids. I see her every time I blink, every time I go to sleep.

I'm not religious but I've learned to pray for her every day since her untimely death. Even if I don't believe in the muggle deity, I want to make sure I do everything possible to make sure she's ok, wherever she is. And she was always so steadfast in her belief of the existence of a higher being. The problem is I don't think she ever taught me how to pray, and if she did, I wasn't listening. So I wing it.

"Um, hello God, if you're there.

"I just wanted to make sure Hermione's ok. She's the most decent person I've ever met in my life, so you'd better be treating her well, or I will come after you when I die.

"Hermione told me once that you know everything about everyone. If you do, you probably already know what I'm about to say and you can just zone out for a minute. If not, then listen up. Everyone in the magical world thinks that I killed Hermione. But the truth is that I never committed the crime, cause I, I could never hurt a fly." I smile. "Hermione said that to me once. I found her after she got a particular brutal 'punishment' from that prick boyfriend of hers. I wanted to go after him and give him what he deserved. But Hermione wouldn't let me. She told me, 'Draco, don't. I know you. You might have been a bully when we were kids, and you might have been a Death Eater later on. But you are not violent; you never have been. I don't think you could even hurt a fly.'

"She was right, you know. I'm not a violent man, but the thing is, people can change. And I have. My only goal is to get out of here and kill that sorry excuse for a man who destroyed my girl! The only problem is I'm stuck here. And by the way things are looking, I won't be getting out of here anytime soon. So I need your help. Hermione said you sometimes do things for people, and I need you to do me this one favor. Please, I'm begging you, and I'll have you know, Malfoys never beg.

"I hear someone coming, so I need to get going. Please take care of Hermione for me, and I will talk to you later, I guess." I think that went well.

About thirty seconds after I finish my chat with God, my lawyer comes into view. "Hello again, Mr. Malfoy," she greets as she waits for the guards to open the door to my cell.

"Clearwater," I nod in acknowledgement.

"How are you doing today?" She casually asks as she walks in and sets her briefcase down on my cot, the only piece furniture in my cell, and shuffles through its contents.

I glare at her. The girl I love just died, and I'm being blamed for it. How the fuck does she think I'm doing? "Peachy," I practically growl.

She looks up, startled by my hostility. Then, it dawns on her what she'd said. "I apologize, Mr. Malfoy; I did not mean to be insensitive. Of course you're not doing well."

Her attention returns to her briefcase, where she fishes out some papers. "As you know, I've been hunting down Chase Miller. He wasn't easy to find, but I finally located him in a muggle suburb on the outskirts of London. Unfortunately, his record is squeaky clean, and when I interrogated him, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He was polite, cooperative, and when I informed him of Hermione's passing, he looked properly shocked and heartbroken. I interviewed some of the witches and wizards that live in the area, and nobody had anything negative to say about him. On the contrary, all I heard when I would mention the name 'Chase Miller' was the highest of praises; they would just go on about how incredibly sweet and generous and wonderful he is. I'm afraid we've got nothing against him."

Chase Miller, sweet? "Are you sure you've got the right guy?" I mean, the man beat up his girlfriend. That doesn't sound very sweet to me, or generous, or wonderful.

"Positive."

"There's got to be something, the guy's a scumbag! Maybe you just didn't dig deep enough."

"I assure you, I'm doing the best I can. I'll keep looking though. Unfortunately, your hearing is tomorrow, so I've got to focus more on the rest of your defense."

For the next hour, we discuss my case. She asks me questions, tells me what to expect tomorrow, and instructs me on how to behave during the trial (I'm not allowed to talk at all) - by the end of it all my head is pounding. It's so much to take in at once.

Finally, she leaves, and I lay down for some much needed sleep. But, alas, as soon as I begin to doze off, I get a guest. Joy.

"Malfoy." My eyes snap open.

"What do you want, Weasley?" He's standing right outside my jail cell.

"Just thought I'd stop by before they hand you over to the dementors. People usually go mental stuck in here for too long, you see. Terrible." He doesn't look as if he thinks it's terrible. On the contrary, a malicious grin stretches across his sickly face at the prospect me of losing my mind.

"Well, if that's all, you can piss off now."

"Oh, no. I have another reason. You know, I always hated you-."

"Feeling's mutual, Weasley." I cut in.

"Right, but you know what? I put up with you, and you wanna know why?"

"Will you leave if I say no?" He glares at me. Apparently not.

"I put up with you because I cared for Hermione. She was one of my best friends. And I thought you cared for her, too. You certainly meant a great deal to her."

"Where is this going, Weasel?"

"You killed her! She trusted you and you turn around and beat her to death! I hope they let the dementors kiss you, because you deserve it!"

I lose it. One moment, I'm lying down on my sorry excuse for a bed, the next, I'm grabbing the neck of Weasley's robes through the bars. "I didn't kill her, Weasley, and I never hit her. You'd know more about it if you would have cared enough to listen to me when I tried to warn you about her boyfriend." My voice is dangerously low, and Weasley looks about ready to shit his pants. I let go, pushing him away in the process. "I think you'd better leave now." With a glare directed at me, he exits.

Finally, I get to sleep.

I'm startled awake by a high-pitched screeching. It turns out to be the cell door opening; I guess it's time for my hearing. Two meaty guards enter and motion for me to get up. When I do, the bald one roughly secures magic-restraining handcuffs around my wrists. The other one, who's taller and has short rust-colored hair, pulls out a butterbeer bottle and holds it out. Ah, so we're traveling by portkey. Baldy grabs my right hand with his left, and shoves it onto the bottle, while touching the portkey with his right.

The next thing I know, I'm standing in an enormous room, filled to the brim with people. The whole Wizengamet is seated in the front of the room, while hundreds of spectators take up the back of the room. The guards lead me to sit in the middle of the room, where a certain special chair awaits.

'This must be courtroom ten,' I muse. I've been in this room before, when I was on trial for being a Death Eater. It's the biggest courtroom in the Ministry, only used for high-profile cases, and is the only one that contains a chair with magical chains that bind up its occupant if his crimes are serious.

Sure enough, as soon as my ass hits the chair, the chains come to life, fastening around me so tightly, I can barely breathe.

Clearwater comes to stand next to me, and the trial begins. I don't bother paying attention. It's going to be the same as last time. The prosecution will bring up Dumbledore's death, my behavior in school, my family history, and maybe they'll have few new things to add. But their main focus will be the tattoo on my left forearm. Remind the Wizengamet of who I once took orders from, and they win, as simple as that. And this time, I don't have the golden trio testifying on my behalf.

Sure, Penelope Clearwater is a decent lawyer. She's put together a pretty good defense, even without finding dirt on Chase Miller. I'm not stupid enough to believe it will help, though. The Wizengamots' minds were made up before I even got here.

A sudden "Clang!" and an eruption of cheers jerk me out of my reverie. I didn't hear the Court's decision, but judging from the crowd's reaction, it wasn't in my favor.

I glance over at Clearwater, and her face is grim. "I'm sorry, Draco."

"Don't worry about it. We both knew this would happen."

She nods. "I thought so, sure. But I hoped that maybe having Harry Potter defend you would persuade them to let you go. Apparently even that isn't enough."

"Wait, Potter was here? And he defended me?" I mean, yeah he helped me during my last trial, and we've become almost friends since then, but I'd presumed that to be over now. I was being accused of murdering one of his best friends, after all.

"Didn't you pay attention at all?" I shrug. "Yes, he witnessed for you. He talked about how you and he are friends, and how different your attitude has been since the war ended. And when he told the court about how much you cared for her, and about the time you went to him about Hermione's boyfriend, I thought maybe we stood a chance in winning. I guess I was wrong."

The burly guards who brought me here come bumbling over to take me back to my cell.

"Don't worry, ok? We still have the sentencing." She says quickly before the guards take me away.

"When is it?"

"Monday."

I just thought I'd say here that I hope I didn't offend anyone with the prayer scene, and if I did, I'm apologize. I didn't mean anything by it, I just thought it fit in with the song and the characters.