A/N: I'd like to quickly thank people for subscribing and/or reviewing. It feels good :)

Chapter Five

It may be the understatement of the century, but from my point of view, things are looking rather grim. I've never enjoyed visiting the Ministry at the best of times, and am now sat festering within its bowels, awaiting trial. I was dragged out of Hogwarts and struck by a panic so enormous that I can't even remember how we got here. I'm surrounded by other prisoners, some immediately recognisable and some covered with hoods. From their garments, I presume they spent the night in Azkaban after they were arrested. Our mouths are charmed shut and we're left to sit at the back of the room. At what must be the stroke of nine, a man steps out with a long scroll of parchment, and calls out a name. The trials have begun.

My mind goes into a sort of closed-down, self-preservation state when my name is called and I'm escorted through to the courtroom chamber. I see the crowd of war survivors in rows all around me, as if through water. They're blurry and they sound like they're a million miles away. My chains shake around me, though I'm standing still. I'm pressed into a chair, which snaps more chains around my ankles, wrists, and stomach.

I hear the Chief Wizengamot speak, the judge who spent so many dinner parties getting drunk and complimenting Mother. He's listing my crimes, I think.

"...Crucio, the Imperius curse... Inciting hatred... bodily harm... murder... illegal use of the Protean Charm to... aiding and abetting the murder of Albus Dumbledore... entrance to Hogwarts grounds by non-approved personnel..."

The words feel like physical blows. I cannot speak. My throat feels clogged with shame. The rest of the talking around me is just noise. I can't even look up and say anything in my own defence. The most I can do is simply not beg, and not tarnish the family name with cowardice. Again.

There's a silence, and the witches and wizards that make up the Wizengamot all have their sharp gazes on me. I feel the back of my neck prickling with horror at what they're about to say.

"Draco Malfoy, you have presented no witnesses, made no comment in justification nor offered any remorse for your crimes. This leads me to believe—"

"Wait," commands an out-of-breath voice at the chamber door, "I want to speak in Malfoy's defence."

My head snaps up and my heart expands with - something.

"Harry Potter?" The Chief Wizengamot shares my surprise, evidently. A chorus of muttering springs up around the chamber.

Potter is leaning against the doorframe of the chamber, panting slightly. "Yes. A lot's been happening. I got here as quick as I could."

"Well, that's understandable," says the Chief Wizengamot, "have a seat... I suppose."

The Chief Wizengamot summons a chair from the ground beside me, and it looks exactly like mine except there are no shackles.

Understandably, Potter doesn't look like he wants to sit in it. Instead, he walks over and stands next to it, his robes brushing against my chains. When our eyes catch, his are blank, but he nods. I read his eyes with practiced ease: He wants me to trust him.

I can't help the flicker of disbelief that crosses my own face, and he looks away.

"So..." Starts the Chief Wizengamot, when he realises Potter isn't going to sit down. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to defend Malfoy." Potter says shortly. "He's no Death Eater."

"Mr. Potter, he has the Mark... he was found both at the scene of Albus Dumbledore's death and at Hogwarts when You-Know-Who invaded. How can you of all people disagree with these facts?"

"I don't disagree he was there," says Potter simply, "but he didn't kill anybody, and he didn't want to hurt anybody."

"And what evidence do you have to back this up?"

"Um..." Says Potter. "Well, eye-witness evidence, I suppose. He didn't do any harm in Hogwarts during the battle, I know he didn't hurt Dumbledore, and I know his family was threatened with death or worse if he didn't carry out orders. I know Malfoy didn't really want to do any of it."

After the shock of this statement reverberates in the room, the Chief Wizengamot composes himself enough to speak.

"And how, may I ask, do you know these things?"

Potter tenses beside me. Then I hear him take a deep breath. This is a whole new experience for me, being close enough to feel his every reaction. It's freaking me out. I have to keep my eyes averted, because looking surprised at any of this information won't help my chances.

"Well..." Potter starts, to a very eager audience. "When Dumbledore died... I was there."

I feel a thud of... something. Right in my stomach, as if my heart has turned to coal and dropped from my chest. I wasn't exactly at my best on that particular evening.

"You were in the castle?" Clarifies the Chief.

"I was... on the Tower. Invisible and immobilised by Dumbledore." Potter looks ashamed of himself. "Dumbledore knew that the Malfoys were being threatened, he offered them protection. Malfoy didn't hurt him."

"Did Mr. Malfoy accept this protection?" Queries a wizard at the back of the room.

"No. He was too scared." Potter says. I feel a familiar prickle of annoyance that Potter is adept at bringing out of me. Scared isn't the term I'd use, personally. Absolutely shitting terrified, more like.

"So he refused the protection and was acting completely of his own free will? He wasn't under Imperius?" Says the wizard, rather petulantly.

"Terror is a more effective motivator than any spell, and no one knew that better than Voldemort." Potter says, clearly annoyed at this wizard.

I feel a flicker of shock at just the mention of Him, as if his shadow has passed icily across my skin, and the wizard in the back row drops from his seat out of sight. Potter has started being strategic in his use of the name, it occurs to me.

"Well," begins the Chief Wizengamot, still with a surprised tone, "there is surely no greater evidence for one's innocence than Harry Potter himself running to one's defence. Mr. Malfoy, what I presumed to be nonchalance on your part, I can see now may simply be the quiet horror of a young man who got caught in a dreadful situation over which he had no control."

I still don't speak. My heart is thumping harder now, as if it has a reason to fuel my body. A tendril of hope coils itself round my chest. Maybe I won't spend my life in Azkaban, after all.

"All those who find Mr. Draco Malfoy innocent, raise your hand." Says an official court-Witch. I don't look up, I daren't, and after a pause while she tots it up, she continues. "All those who find Mr. Malfoy guilty, raise your hand."

"I'm going to have to conclude, overall, that we find you not guilty." Says the judge, shuffling some papers. "You may leave."