Chapter Text
Draco could feel the heat from the eyes glaring down at him as the podium lifted him into the courtroom. The air was cold, but his skin burned under the weight of their judgment. He peered up at the stand and saw Kingsley Shacklebolt, his calm demeanor masking the severity of the moment.
Draco glanced down at his arms. The heavy, rusted chains clanked softly, pulling his wrists toward the ground. He didn’t know what to do with himself. His hands fidgeted for a moment before he gave up and let his gaze drop to his shoes. He’d worn his most comfortable clothes today: dark black robes and his favorite pair of well-worn loafers. It felt like a mask almost, the image that everyone would see, and it even helped with the chill, though they did little to quell the tremor in his legs.
He was scared. Terrified. Every nerve in his body seemed aware of the eyes pinned to him, the unrelenting weight of their expectations. What would the court decide?
The judge stepped to the stand, his crisp voice slicing through the heavy silence.
"The Wizengamot is now in session. We are here today to determine the guilt of Draco Lucius Malfoy, who stands accused of aiding the Death Eaters, bearing the Dark Mark, and acting as a bystander to numerous acts of torture and murder during the Second Wizarding War."
He paused, His eyes raking over Draco like a predator assessing prey. Draco's heart slammed against his ribs, and his breath was shallow. Sweat gathered at his temple, but he couldn’t lift a hand to wipe it away. He felt frozen, fear clamping his mouth shut.
The prosecutor continued. "The charges against the accused are grave, and the evidence presented today will determine whether he will face the consequences of these actions."
He turned toward him, his gaze sharp. "Mr. Malfoy, you may stand and address the court."
Draco swallowed the lump in his throat, but his eyes stayed glued to the floor. He dared not look up.
"I plead guilty to all charges," he said, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.
The courtroom erupted in murmurs, voices overlapping in a storm of disbelief and indignation. The sharp crack of Shacklebolt’s gavel silenced them all.
Draco caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye: his defense attorney rising from his seat, likely to interject. But Draco couldn’t focus on the words. Everything felt distant, muffled, as though he were submerged underwater.
Then, cutting through the haze, he thought he heard it—a voice that commanded the room with his righteousness. Harry Potter.
Draco’s head jerked up, his eyes snapping to the figure standing near the back of the courtroom. Potter’s untamable black hair was as wild as ever, his Muggle clothes rumpled and a little too loose. Something about it—the familiar mess of it all— Draco the faintest sliver of comfort.
"I wish to speak on behalf of Malfoy’s case," Potter began, his tone steady and resolute. "He was just a boy who made the wrong choices to protect his family. Everyone saw it during the final battle—he threw me my wand!"
The jury exchanged hushed whispers, heads turning toward one another in quiet debate.
Potter pressed on. "Malfoy didn’t kill anyone. And that mark—the Dark Mark—it was forced on him. He was coerced. Threatened with death if he didn’t comply."
Another figure stepped forward, her bushy brown hair unmistakable even from a distance. Hermione Granger stood beside Potter, her face set with determination.
"At Malfoy Manor," she said, her voice carrying across the courtroom, "he knew it was us. He could’ve turned us in at any moment and earned Voldemort’s favor. But he didn’t."
She turned briefly, her eyes meeting Draco’s before focusing on someone behind him. Draco twisted slightly and caught a glimpse of long, silvery-blonde hair. Luna Lovegood stepped into view, her dreamy yet unwavering gaze fixed on the Wizengamot.
"I, Luna Lovegood, wish to testify for Draco Malfoy," she said, her voice soft yet firm.
She hesitated, then continued. "When I was in the dungeons at Malfoy Manor, Draco came by often. He brought bread. Sometimes, he healed my wounds. He saved my life down there." She paused, her eyes locking on Draco’s. "Thank you," she whispered.
Draco’s chest tightened, and he wanted to shout, to demand why they were doing this—why they were helping him, of all people. But his throat was dry, and his lips refused to move. The only sound he could make was the soft hitch of his breath as tears slipped down his cheeks.
The jury began murmuring again, their voices overlapping in a chaotic hum. Shacklebolt’s gavel slammed down once more.
"Order! Order in the court!" he bellowed.
Shacklebolt’s deep voice reverberated through the room as he addressed the court. "The Wizengamot has heard both the prosecution and the defense. It is clear that Draco Malfoy was a pawn in a larger game. But the question remains: can we allow someone who knowingly aided dark forces to go unpunished? Should we show mercy, or should we hold him accountable for his passive involvement in acts of violence?"
Draco tried to count the votes as the Wizengamot deliberated, but his vision blurred from exhaustion and sleepless nights.
At last, Shacklebolt spoke. "Draco Malfoy, for your crimes, it has been decided that your sentence is three years in Azkaban. However, due to the nature of your involvement and your age, the Wizengamot has opted to grant you a conditional release to complete your education. You will serve time in Azkaban while the school is being reconstructed. You will be released on probation for the remainder of your sentence when the school reopens, with restrictions to be outlined upon your release.”
Draco let out a shaky breath, realizing only now that he’d been holding it. Across the room, he caught Potter and Granger talking in hushed tones, their hands moving animatedly.
For a fleeting moment, Potter’s vivid green eyes met his. Draco thought he saw something there—empathy, maybe, or a flicker of understanding.
The Aurors flanked him before he could process it further, their firm grips guiding him toward the exit. His legs felt heavy, his body limp, but he didn’t resist. His eyes locked with Potter’s as Draco was dragged away and he only had one thought:
When was that damn school set to reopen?