Wow. So we're really close to the end of Antipathy. It's finished a lot sooner than I anticipated, and I hope you all enjoyed the ride as much as I did!

But don't worry -- I'll be posting bonus chapters from time to time, so the story is by no means done. Just, you know, the main plot.

I'm always gonna thank you guys, so you know who you are! Hope you like this chapter!

Silver, Part One
by Shu of the Wind

***

PUREBLOOD CAUGHT SMUGGLING MUDBLOODS

The headlines screamed it day and night, and Hogwarts reeled over the fact that one of their own had been caught. The D.A. couldn't seem decide whether they were delighted or terrified; Draco knew for a fact that Abbott had burst into tears at the sight of the headline and was taken to the dungeons, along with everyone who had ever had any real contact with Astoria Greengrass – including her own sister.

She would be kept in Azkaban until her trial, which was set for the thirty-first of April. The Prophet absolutely refused to drop the subject, dragging up everything it knew about Greengrass and a great number of things it didn't. Her parents, Ramalfus and Niobe (her stepmother, Draco corrected silently, but the Prophet ignored this) officially denied Greengrass as their daughter, and a few reporters came to interview Daphne, who refused to speak to them at all. She had become pale and drawn, ignoring everyone, and spent most of her time outside of the dungeons sitting in front of the fire, wrapped up in a blanket, staring into the flames.

The Harper twins, however, freely confided their suspicions to the Prophet, claiming that they had always known Greengrass was a traitor, and that they had turned over evidence to the Carrows to prove it. They were hailed in the Slytherin common room as triumphant heroes.

When they returned from the interview, laughing and luxuriating in the attention, Draco had to clamp his other hand over his wand wrist to keep from Cruciating them.

He was a hypocrite. He knew that. But while her parents – her own flesh and blood kin, the two people Greengrass should have been able to trust most – had betrayed her, Draco said nothing, told no one anything about what he'd learned during the Occlumency lessons. He probably knew more about Greengrass's activities than anyone in the room combined, plus the D.A. and the Carrows, but he said absolutely nothing.

There was nothing he could do for Greengrass. His brain told him that, every part of his brain, though at times he felt like screaming from the frustration of it. But still at night he lay awake, thinking feverishly, trying to come up with some sort of plan to get her out of here, because every part of him revolted at the thought of Greengrass trapped in Azkaban, and he cursed himself for not making her understand the realities of the situation before she'd freed the Patils and brought the Carrows and Umbridge down on her head.

What could he have done, though? She had been stubborn, ridiculously stubborn, and refused to hear every bit of sense he'd thrown at her. He'd tried to explain, and she'd blown him off and rebelled against the Carrows, not once but more than a handful of times. It was a miracle they hadn't suspected her before Christmas, let alone Easter, and his brain told him this was her punishment for that. Those who did not conform were punished.

When he thought like that, Draco dragged his broom out and flew for hours, trying to pretend that he didn't care. But the fact remained that he did care, more than he'd ever realized, and trying to control it would be like a toddler trying to control Fiendfyre.

Everything was flashing through his mind now, all the memories he'd uncovered, every time she'd touched him. Her disappointment in her father, her love for her mother, the hatred she had for her stepmother; her frustration with her sister, her independence and ambition and self-confidence; her caution and nosiness and the obstinacy that had always driven him absolutely mad. He wondered if she would look or sound like Greengrass again by the time she left Azkaban, remembered how hollow and quiet his father was now that he had been broken out, and every time he thought of a Greengrass destroyed by dementors all of his skin prickled angrily, uncomfortably.

The kiss burned in his mind like a precious stone, and he kept it close, buried under everything else. He'd healed his broken nose before returning to Malfoy Manor, but it was now very subtly different, just the slightest bit crooked, and every time he noticed it all these thoughts came back to tear at him like knives.

He wondered what part of Azkaban she was imprisoned in.

Daphne Greengrass was called to testify against her own sister, given special dispensation to travel to the Ministry on the thirty-first of April. No one was sure why this trial was so highly publicized, when the trials of Mudbloods had been so hushed up, but finally, Draco understood – this was treachery of the worst kind, pureblood treachery. Several people already knew about it. People had wondered why a fifteen-year-old (is that it? Only fifteen?) had been branded all over the Prophet as a runaway from Hogwarts, and now this was their answer. Everything had to be blown open and used as an example to the Chain, mocking them, the Death Eaters waggling Greengrass in their faces like an illicitly snatched prize.

When the courts invited him as a witness, he accepted without thinking, not wanting to act strange. A witness against Greengrass? What could he say? That they'd been meeting secretly for months? That he'd known about her tendencies but kept quiet? For the first time, he didn't want to lie about it – but he knew he had to lie about it – so what could he say? The issue consumed him. His imagination created pictures of Greengrass's expression should he tell the truth, lie, disinherit her altogether. Each one was as sharp as a knife in the ribs, for different reasons, and kept him awake at night.

But underneath the debate, underneath his rational side匞od, he didn't even want to begin sorting through the mixed up feelings and hatred and pure, unadulterated rage he was feeling, because he'd never actually had this mix of emotion before. It was all churned and always bubbling, like a botched Potion, a Draught of Living Death, and there was no one he could speak to so he could get rid of it.

The one person he could have spoken to was trapped in Azkaban, and the cause of it all.

When he walked into Slughorn's class one afternoon, however, in order to drop off an order from the Carrows, he saw the row of potions on the wall – the exact same that he'd seen at the beginning of sixth year – and he knew. The idea had been simply a trickle for weeks, but as he stared at the potions, watching them bubble, it blossomed, full and complete and deadly if they were caught, but too tantalizing for him to resist.

And just like in sixth year, when no one was looking, he took just what he needed.

***

April thirty-first came far too slowly.

Draco felt the irony of it like a punch when he walked into exactly the same courtroom that had been the host of his father's conviction, the potion warm in his pocket. It had been very simple to smuggle the potion in, almost too simple – it made him nervous. He thought a few times that people knew what he was planning, that they'd figured it out somehow: Otherwise why would they be staring at him, whispering, moving out of the way?

On his arm, the Dark Mark rippled with the force of the Dark Lord's anger, and he wondered whether He was still angry about Malfoy Manor. But he couldn't afford to think about that now.

The courtroom was crammed full of spectators, from Daphne, Ramalfus, and Niobe in the first row, a trio of dark-haired loyalists (bloody midgets) to reporters from the Prophet to Umbridge herself, presiding over everything like a fat toad. When she saw him, she actually waggled her fingers, and Draco inclined his head stiffly, taking the seat that had been left for him near the front of the room. It was almost directly in front of the chained chair.

"Hem, hem." Umbridge said, levering herself to her feet. "It is now ten, and the trial is due to begin. Bring in the accused!" She chirped, raising her voice the slightest bit.

As one, a pair of black-robes cast Patronuses, both of them bulldogs – they immediately began to pace through the courtroom, around the edge of the center, as the doors swung open and dementors – tall, hooded, rotting – emerged from behind Umbridge's post, dragging forward the one person Draco had never thought he would care about, never thought he would destroy his life for.

Greengrass was pale, and far too thin, her hair strawberry-blonde again; it was longer, matted, and dirty. Her pale eyes flickered over the proceedings, and Draco could already tell that she was only taking in half of it. He wasn't sure she even noticed him sitting there, right across from her, until her eyes had focused on his face for a long moment and something flared inside.

"We now call the court to order." Umbridge said, in her breathy little voice. "I, Dolores Jane Umbridge, Undersecretary to the Minister and Head of the Muggle-born Registration Commission, have been selected by the Minister of Magic himself to officiate this most heinous of crimes, that of a traitor to society. Put her in the chair."

Greengrass's eyes never moved from his as she was shoved back into the chair, and the chains wove like vines around her.

"You are Astoria Seren Greengrass, of Greengrass House, Cambridge, England?" Umbridge asked, peering at Greengrass. Greengrass looked away from Draco only for the slightest moment. Her voice creaked like a rusty hinge.

"Yes."

"You sit here accused, Miss Greengrass, of treachery, smuggling, collusion with other traitors, obstruction of justice, and grievous assault against another wizard...though not in that order, of course," Umbridge added, with a titter. The court laughed with her. "Do you deny these charges?"

Nothing. The dementors sucked in rattling breaths of air.

"What do you plead, Miss Greengrass?" Umbridge pressed, her voice even soupier. For the first time, Draco had to repress the urge to hex her.

Greengrass shook her hair back, locking those javelin eyes on Umbridge, and said, clearly as possible: "Guilty, you foul old gargoyle. What did you think I would plead?"

There was a rush of hissing from the court. If it wouldn't have blown his cover, Draco would have strangled her. For God's sake, Greengrass, being so flippant is not a good idea in this situation!

Umbridge went still as a wide smile began to spread across her face, and Draco turned to glance up at her, wary and nauseous.

"Wonderful." Umbridge whispered.

The chains holding Greengrass to the chair clinked menacingly in response.

"We shall now call the witnesses to speak in your defense...if any dared to come." Umbridge continued, glancing down the tables at a small, balding man who was staring at Greengrass as though he'd like nothing more than to run from the room. "Mr. Brocklehurst, if you please?"

Brocklehurst jerked, and ruffled his parchment, clearing his throat. "Miss Daphne Greengrass, please take the stand."

Draco blinked a few times as Daphne, ignoring the pleading of her stepmother and father, stood up and walked forward into the witness chair, her head held high. For the first time, he noticed she had the same eyes as her sister – the same eyes of their mother, Branwen Talog, an international Quidditch player. She was wearing a pendant around her neck.

"You are Daphne Nerys Greengrass?" Brocklehurst mumbled, and Daphne set her hands on the arms of the chair, curling her fingers around them; sweat beaded her forehead. In the chains, Greengrass's eyes had become wide as dinner plates, and she was slowly shaking her head, as though trying to clear her ears of water.

"Yes, sir."

"Pureblood daughter of Ramalfus Greengrass of Cambridge, England and Branwen Talog of卭f Ystrad Mynach, Wales?" He fumbled the pronunciation; both Greengrass and Daphne winced at the sound of it.

"Yes." Her voice was a little clearer now, but no less frightened. The whispers still hadn't died down, and it was clear they wouldn't for a while; Umbridge's face had fallen like someone had stuck a pin into it.

"Sister of Astoria Seren Greengrass?"

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't, would I?" Daphne challenged, and Greengrass looked ready to scream. Draco sat back in his chair, somehow enjoying the proceedings slightly. So Pansy's little sycophant had a backbone after all, did she? He wouldn't have guessed it from the way she'd been acting lately. All year. No, since he'd met her, seven years before. Now, it wasn't so difficult to see that she and Greengrass were related, despite their differences.

They're both complete fools.

Of course, he wasn't one to talk, considering that he was the one with the Polyjuice Potion in his pocket. He shouldn't be here, he shouldn't even be thinking about breaking her out, but he was, because he couldn't bear the thought of Greengrass turning into a shell.

"Miss Greengrass, were you aware that your sister was in collusion with the disloyal and treasonous group known as Dumbledore's Army?" Brocklehurst asked nervously, glancing at Umbridge. In the back of the room, Draco heard a voice recognizable as Yaxley shout, "Get on with it!"

"I didn't, sir." Daphne drew a deep breath. "Nor did anyone else that I know of."

"Why are you testifying for her, Daphne?" Umbridge said, friendly sounding, but there was a sharp, deadly look in her eyes that whispered doom to all of them.

"I love my sister." Her eyes flickered to Greengrass and remained there, hard and focused. "The fact that she chose to follow this path is...regrettable, but that doesn't make her any less of a sister to me." Angry shouts began to echo from the spectators, as Yaxley and his crew, probably bored with their Ministry duties, began to swear and complain loudly. Draco remained silent; Daphne, however, had to raise her voice to make herself heard. "And I know we've had our differences, but I'm willing to testify in her defense because of it."

"That is a dangerous choice, Miss Greengrass. Are you willing to continue knowing the possible consequences of defending a traitor?"

"Whatever she's done," Daphne said, her voice trembling, "or whatever you think she's done, I know Astoria doesn't belong in Azkaban."

The spectators began to roar with anger again. Umbridge pointed her wand at the ceiling; there was a bang like a firecracker; and silence fell over the crowd. Her eyes glittered maliciously.

"Continue with the questioning, Mr. Brocklehurst."

Daphne tried, but it was no avail. She could produce no evidence to the contrary. After her, no one stepped forward for the defense; witness after witness was called forward on behalf of the prosecution, beginning with Artemis Cornswallower, a Snatcher who glared at Greengrass as though he'd like nothing more than to strangle her himself. Cornswallower seemed very proud of himself as he explained just how he'd tracked Greengrass for all those weeks, using a curse he'd hit her with the first time they'd duelled; something that had been created by Umbridge's team, designed to be invisible and yet be a perfect tracking dot.

"Oh, of course!" Greengrass shouted, looking exasperated, and the chains tightened across her chest.

Then it went to her father and her stepmother, Niobe, both of whom told what they knew of Astoria in curt, unfeeling terms.

"She was a difficult child, willful, disobedient, with dangerous tendencies even then." Niobe said disdainfully, without once looking at her stepdaughter. "I'm glad to wash my hands of her."

Both Daphne and Draco seized up; he could tell Daphne was struggling not to scream by the way her throat was working.

"Thank you, Madam Greengrass, that will be all," Umbridge purred. "Final witness, please, Mr. Brocklehurst."

Brocklehurst swallowed, and said, the quietest he'd been yet – "Mr. – Mr. Draco Malfoy, please. Take the stand."

For the first time since Daphne had left, Greengrass stiffened, and she closed her eyes, as though awaiting the inevitable, as Draco made his way down to the stand. He hadn't been old enough to testify at his father's trial, as dearly as he would have wished to; it felt strange to be getting up in the middle of a proceeding.

The Polyjuice Potion burned in his pocket, and he was reminded, very sharply, why he was here, and who he was bloody well risking his neck for. I'm such a fool.

"What is your relationship to the defendant, Mr. Malfoy?" Brocklehurst said, looking even more like he'd rather run from the room than continue this. Draco let his eyes narrow, putting every bit of fury he'd been feeling over the past few days into his words.

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"I-I mean –" Brocklehurst stuttered nervously before trying another tack. "When did you first meet her?"

"When her sister introduced Greengrass to the rest of the common room. Five years ago now."

"Did she seem odd to you then?"

Draco shifted slightly, his eyes drifting over the courtroom. At the front there was the evidence table, and on it rested a wand he thought he recognized. "Not particularly."

"Could you, perhaps, describe her?"

"No. She spent most of her time alone. No friends. She was," his lip twisted, "invisible."

It was her wand. He thought he spotted a slight smile on her face, hidden behind the curtain of hair. A teardrop fell, splashing against the back of her hand.

"Not someone you would have suspected as being a traitor?"

"No." How do I get the wand?

"And you detected nothing strange during your investigations of the students in Slytherin House, nothing...well, nasty in her background?"

"No. The records dealt only with what happened during school. She had very good grades. That was the only intriguing thing I could find." He hesitated. "That and the fact that she'd tried out for the Slytherin Quidditch team. She made reserve beater."

"Could you inform us, please, of the activities of Dumbledore's Army this year?"

An image flashed through his mind, that of a riderless broomstick writing words in the air over the Quidditch pitch. "Graffiti. And freeing of prisoners. Not much else that I am aware of."

"Were you aware she was involved in these activities?"

"No. No one was."

"What about her sister, Daphne? What did you think of her?"

"I didn't think about either of them, much. For obvious reasons. Look at them." Daphne colored; the court laughed a little. "But I thought once that they were complete opposites, and they stayed away from each other most of the time. After all, just because you share traits doesn't mean you're a family."

Greengrass stiffened. She lifted her head. Draco continued, trying to stay calm. For God's sake, figure it out. "But I also thought that they should have stuck together. People need to keep the relationships they have. And make good on them," he added.

If she hadn't been as good at hiding her emotions as he was, Draco would have sworn Greengrass was going to burst into furious tears. As it was, she sniffed audibly, scowled, and muttered something derogatory under her breath that made the chains tighten across her chest.

Angrily, Artemis Cornswallower pointed his wand at her and cast a spell which made her shriek and writhe, and Daphne was screaming, and it was taking all of his self-control to keep himself from reacting, but after only fifteen seconds – stop it, for God's sake – Greengrass shuddered once and fell limp in her chair, unconscious.

"Is there anything else?" He asked irritably. Umbridge shook her head, and he walked back to his seat, refusing to look at Daphne Greengrass as he passed her. There was an unfathomable expression on her face that he didn't much like.

"Well." Umbridge shook her head. "It's clear to all of us what this requires, is it not? What other sentence could there be, after all, for such an extensive list of offenses?" She cleared her throat fussily and smiled. "Astoria Seren Greengrass, you are hereby sentenced to life in Azkaban without the privilege of visitation from friends or family. You will be returned to your cell within half an hour, and I do hope you will enjoy it. Court adjourned."

Umbridge stood and waddled away, followed closely by Brocklehurst, and the crowd began to disperse as the dementors seized Greengrass by the arms and dragged her into the back room.

Draco paused by the evidence table, waited until no one was looking, and confiscated her wand. If she was going to run, she would need it.