Chapter Text
The words echoed in Harry’s head, fuzzy, like he had cotton stuck in his ears.
“Draco Lucius Malfoy hereby sentenced to ten years in Azkaban.”
The Wizengamot sat stoically as cheers and hollers came from those observing the trial. Draco sat pale-grey and skeletal in the middle of the room, his hair was greasy and limp. He was wearing a suit that was once tailored perfectly to his thin frame, now hung loose in too many places.
Harry felt like the floor was falling out from under him, he’d stood up for Malfoy and his mother. He pulled together every scrap of memory he could summon from the tatters of his brain, shredded by the aftermath of the war. And even that, the sworn words of their Saviour, could not save a life that was riddled with mistakes of a stolen youth.
One more life Harry would lose at the hands of a misinformed and complacent government. It hadn’t mattered to him then that Malfoy was the bad sort during the war, that he stood on the wrong side of a wrecked battle ground.
Anger whipped through his body, red hot and powerful, oh very powerful. It felt like lightning coursed through his veins like the scar on his forehead had come to life. He hadn’t even felt Hermione’s tugs at the back of his formal dark purple robes when he stood up.
“No.” His voice, more powerful than he’d ever heard it, boomed across the courtroom.
Cheering stopped and every head turned to him, waiting to see if what they’d heard wasn’t a trick of the mind.
“He will not be going to Azkaban.” Harry said, moving swiftly to the middle of the courtroom, his boots clacking across the tiled floor, his robes billowing behind him, and his Order of Merlin: First Class medal banging on his chest.
“Mr. Potter, the Wizengamot has spoken, Mr. Malfoy has been charged as a Death Eater with multiple counts of attempted murder,” said the newest Chief Warlock, someone Harry had seen a lot of in the past few weeks since the final battle, but never cared enough to learn the name of. Everything was so loose in his mind, floating around without an anchor.
He didn’t know why he was doing this, perhaps it was guilt of surviving, sending another person to die. Perhaps it was a duty he had to fulfill, to a mother and son who’d been instrumental in winning the war. But Harry refused to watch Aurors shackle and chain Malfoy, dragging him to his doom. Harry would not stand for that. Harry moved closer to Malfoy, trying to reign in words to stop the madness from spiraling further.
Then the air shifted, the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood straight up and gasps waved through the courtroom. He turned at just the right moment to see a flash of green light darting directly towards the back of Malfoy’s head. So Harry acted, wandlessly and wordlessly throwing up a shield to deflect the curse from hitting the man sitting before him. Harry looked up into the stands to see a man, clearly once tanned but now sickly pale, hair loosely hung from a ponytail on the back of his neck escaping the ties.
“You’re the reason my sister is dead! Filthy rot! YOU DESERVE MORE THAN A PRISON SENTENCE! YOU DESERVE TO DIE!” He yelled from where he stood slashing his wand around as the people around him stood to disperse.
Before the guards could get to him he sent out another killing curse, but when it deflected and fell away as it hit Harry’s shield charm, the man fell to the ground, writhing. As the guards got a hold of him he was still shaking vigorously, screaming now, not profanities but pain.
In the chaos of shouts of order and frightened bystanders, Harry quickly crossed the remaining few steps to Malfoy and yanked him out of his chair, chains falling away at Harry’s will. He spared one look at Narcissa Malfoy who sat close to the members of the Wizengamot in her own chains, her single nod was enough. Harry marched Malfoy straight out the door.
Hermione appeared next to him the second he stepped out. “Harry, are you sure about this?”
No, he is not. But he has also never been so sure about anything in his whole life. He needed to go – now.
A swift nod of his head and Hermione grabbed Harry’s bicep, leading him behind her sure-footed stride. There was a floo outside of the Wizengamot’s chambers, but of course in the chaos it was flooded by press trying to get their stories to their respective publications and civilians horrified by the scene. They didn’t stop there.
Hermione led them to a small green door and herded them in.
“Go, at the top of the stairs there is an apparition point.”
Harry pulled Draco, his weight slight but sluggish up the staircase. He was breathing quite hard behind him, as if physical exertion was not something he was accustomed to.
There was no time to think as they reached the top of the stairs and Harry wrapped an arm around Draco’s slim figure. A familiar pull enveloped him as they disapparated.