The Hearing

The morning of the 7th of June was dull and humid, and Harry, Ron and Hermione set off with Mr Weasley around ten o'clock, after they had poked around in their porridge for quite some time with no real appetite. They apparated to the little alleyway near Whitehall in London and squeezed into the red telephone box that Harry had used years before, first with Mr Weasley and then months later with Dumbledore's army, only to stumble out of the Ministry's guest entrance and onto the dark tiles of the atrium - where they were immediately surrounded by a sea of bustling wizards and witches in emerald green, deep red or cobalt blue robes.

"Wow," Ron remarked dully, pausing in amazement as he struggled to free his arm from the thin strap from which Hermione's small beaded bag dangled, and gaped open-mouthed at the stream of people around them, seemingly all deep in conversation, reciting essays to magical quills, or scurrying to get to the lifts at the far end of the hall. Swarms of memos whizzed by above them, their waxy sigils glistening like fish scales, and the fireplaces on either side of the room sputtered and roared at almost minute intervals, their green flames illuminating what appeared to be a swaying sea of heads.

Behind them, Mr Weasley laughed at his sons' reaction and when he spoke, his words were barely audible over the hum of the many voices echoing off the tiled walls. "'Told you - I've never seen the Ministry so busy!" He smiled, then smoothed out his robes and stepped around them. Ron finally managed to free himself from Hermione's bag and turned to grin over at Harry.

"Don't think you have to worry about being seen here, mate," he said cheerfully, and Harry agreed, feeling instantly relieved.

It had taken some convincing from Ron and Hermione to get him to leave his invisibility cloak at the Burrow, for if the sheer number of letters he had received over the past week was any indication of the reaction Harry's first public appearance in the wizarding world would provoke, he was not particularly keen on being noticed at all. After much discussion earlier that morning, they had decided to wear plain grey cloaks over their usual shirts and jeans instead - and now they seemed to practically blend in with the hustle and bustle of the people around them.

"Head for the lifts, everyone!" shouted Mr Weasley, who was already being swept away by the crowd, and the three of them slowly followed - though interrupted time and again by streams of witches and wizards crossing their path. As a particularly pointy hat almost took Harry's eye out, he felt Hermione tugging at his sleeve. 

"Look!" she said, and her voice was almost drowned out by the noise around them, as she gestured towards the centre of the hall.

As he followed her gaze, Harry noticed that the gigantic statue depicting a witch and wizard atop a throne of Muggles that had dominated the room only a few months ago had disappeared. In its place now stood a single marble column, rising high into the vaulted ceiling. Its surface was smooth and gleaming white, but as they drew closer, Harry noticed that there were fine, elegant inscriptions etched into it - and a moment later he realised that they spelled out names, all the way up to the very top, where they were too far away for him to be able to read. Tilting his head back, Harry could just about make out the names of Bertha Jorkins, Rufus Scrimgeour and Dirk Cresswell, but a moment later they were already being pushed towards one of the golden lifts by a new tide of people.

"A tribute to those who died under Voldemort, I think," Hermione whispered softly as she, Ron and Harry were crammed into the back corner of the lift, and Harry nodded while the doors rattled shut behind them. Mr Weasley, who had somehow managed to claim a spot at the front of the car, pressed the button with the number ten on it and it lit up brightly. A few seconds later, they were jostled into motion - and suddenly Harry felt uncomfortably reminded of his own trial almost three years ago. He took a deep breath and attributed the strange feeling in his stomach to the descending lift.

The air around them quickly grew warm and stuffy, and they had to duck their heads from time to time as more Memos darted from one corner to another like caged animals. Something wet trickled down Harry's shoe, and as he lowered his head in surprise, he could just make out the two long ears of a house-elf beside him, who seemed to be holding a slightly crumpled, soggy cardboard box. The pustule-covered wizard next to him didn't seem to notice when Harry hurriedly pulled his foot away, but the elf looked up at him with wide, green eyes.

"Forgive Lanky, sir," he squeaked hoarsely, pressing the box a little tighter against the plain sheet he wore as a sort of robe, which was already thoroughly soaked. Then his eyes widened even more and he made a noise that reminded Harry of a boiling kettle.

"Oooh, it's you!" he gasped, staring at Harry's forehead, and he opened his mouth to say more when the lift suddenly came to a halt and its doors slithered open again. Next to him, the pockmarked wizard pushed his way through the crowd and marched out of the car with long strides.

"Come on, Lanky!" he barked in a rather unfriendly, commanding tone, and the elf immediately ducked his head in a hurry and began weaving through the legs before him, following after his master. He left a wet trail of puddles behind. Hermione watched them go, frowning.

"Now that's not very nice!" she chided and shook her head, scowling as the wizard disappeared around the corner. Then the doors closed again and with a jerk, they began to descend even further. Harry watched as her expression turned nervous again in an instant, and after a moment he reached for her hand - only to find her fingers as cold and clammy as his own. 

The more floors they passed, the emptier the lift got. An elderly witch, who had been studying Harry's face very closely, got out at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures on the fourth floor, and by the time the soft female voice coming from somewhere above them announced the Department of Mysteries, the last wizard had exited with a friendly greeting directed at Mr Weasley.

"Well then," he said when they reached level ten, and gave them a smile that was probably meant to be encouraging but turned out to be more of a grimace, "off you go. Just down the corridor and to the left - I'll be here waiting for you when it's over. I've got something to discuss with Kingsley." He added, patting each of them on the shoulder briefly. Harry, whose mouth had suddenly gone dry, just nodded.

"Right. See you later then, Dad." Ron replied and the three of them watched as Mr Weasley stepped back into the golden light of the lift. A few seconds passed, then the doors closed behind him and the machinery began to clatter again and, with a final wave, Mr Weasley was gone. Apart from the faint rattling of the mechanism, no other sound could be heard.

Harry, Ron and Hermione turned, a little reluctantly. In front of them was a long corridor that ended in a bend, and Harry, who vividly remembered his last visit here, suddenly felt a chill run down his spine. Hermione beside him shuddered too.

"Strange to be back here, isn't it?" she wondered, and although her voice was low, it echoed off the stone walls and made their hair stand on end. Harry and Ron agreed.

Without the presence of the Dementors, the corridor seemed much brighter than before - but it wasn't just that: warm lanterns had replaced the sparse torches that had adorned the walls only a few months ago, and the once barred doors on either side had been replaced by plain wooden ones with silver plates indicating the number of their respective courtrooms. Under their feet lay a long, dark blue carpet that muffled their footsteps - yet the air still felt cold down here, and Harry wondered if the atmospheric charms weren't as effective this far underground. He sighed, and the sinking feeling in his stomach only intensified. 

"Off we go, I suppose..." he muttered, glancing over at Ron and Hermione for confirmation. They both nodded and together they made their way down the corridor, side by side. All too soon they stopped again at a heavy wooden door with the words 'Courtroom 10' written in fine silver letters and with one last deep breath Harry pushed it open.

Behind it, Courtroom Ten looked exactly as it had on their last visit to the Ministry: the polished stone walls and high vaulted ceiling gave it an almost cavernous feel, and torches cast strange flickering shadows across the black stone, their light reflected in the geometric mosaic of dark blue, red and amber that stretched in ever tightening circles across the floor. Three heavy wooden chairs sat in the centre of the room, and Harry, who had found himself in one of them almost three years ago, shuddered at the memory of the iron chains that had been attached to the armrests at his own disciplinary hearing, where they had rattled menacingly. Now they seemed to swing in silence. 

Along the walls - and with a perfect view of the defendant below - rose the tiers of benches, providing enough seats for the fifty members of the Wizengamot, as well as a few dozen journalists, witnesses and any curious spectators. They were still empty except for the dozen or so witches and wizards who sat scattered about the rows, talking quietly to each other, reading scrolls of parchment or - like one particularly antiquated-looking old wizard with bushy eyebrows - staring somewhat lost into the air, but as the door closed behind them with a thud, all eyes turned to Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"This way!" Hermione whispered promptly, quickly leading Harry and Ron by the sleeves to one of the benches at the back where the torches provided the least amount of light. 

"Now would be a really good time for the Invisibility Cloak..." Harry muttered through his teeth, lowering his head as he moved closer into the shadows - but he thought he could already feel the stares on him, and when he looked up a few moments later he realised he had been right: a middle-aged wizard in plum-coloured robes with the silver letter W on his chest had already risen and was now hurrying towards them, excitement written all over his face.

"Mr Potter!" he called in a cheerful voice as he climbed over several benches to shake hands with him, then Ron and Hermione. There was something a little frazzled about him: the glasses on his nose sat slightly askew and his thin hair stood up at the back, but he didn't seem to even notice.

"My name's Wilburn Aves, Mr Potter!" the wizard introduced himself, and gave them all a beaming smile.

"I must say, Mr Potter, I was hoping to run into you over the course of these trials! You're my family's hero, you know - not that you're not a hero to us all!" He babbled cheerfully and then laughed as he clapped Harry on the shoulder. Harry gave him a look that he hoped was friendly, but he felt a little stiff. Mr Aves carried on without much concern. 

"With your victory over You-Know-Who, you won all our hearts, of course, but Almena Aves, my half-sister - she was one of the Muggle-borns you rescued when you broke into the Ministry! The rest of the family had left for Greece by then, but Almena had stayed behind. She was never much of a witch, you know, must have thought she could hide among the Muggles and remain undiscovered, but of course, with her connections to me and the Wizengamot, they snatched her up as soon as You-Know-Who came to power. Was lucky her court date was postponed after something came up for that old bat Umbridge -" Mr Aves paused briefly to poke Harry's chest, then beamed even wider as he continued. "'and that's how she happened to be here on the very day you and your friends arrived," he concluded. Harry blinked, speechless, then cleared his throat.

"Well, I... er, thank you," he replied somewhat hesitantly, and Mr Aves let out another booming laugh.

"Now, now, lad! Thank you!" he replied before enthusiastically taking Harry's, then Ron's and Hermione's hands again and shaking them vigorously for a second time.

"You can't imagine what it means to my family that you saved Almena! If you're ever in Lavenham, don't hesitate to drop in for a butterbeer! We'd be delighted!" Mr Aves winked and extended his hand a third time before finally saying goodbye, eyes twinkling as he clambered back to his seat at the other end of the room. Ron stared after him, his mouth agape.

"Well..." Hermione said after a moment, leaning towards Harry with a funny look on her face. "That was nice, wasn't it?" 

Ron snorted, and even Harry chuckled a little. 

Over the next half hour or so, the room gradually began to fill until almost every seat around them was taken. The buzz of the many voices now echoing off the high ceiling sounded like a swarm of bees to him, and every once in a while Harry thought he could hear his name mentioned here and there as curious heads turned to try and catch a glimpse of him.

A young witch in a crimson cloak was about to approach them with a look of excitement on her face when the door behind the plum-coloured rows of the Wizengamot opened and a small, slender wizard in a pointed hat stepped through. Harry, who had only met Tiberius Ogden as an examiner at his O.W.L.s, exchanged glances with Ron and Hermione, then watched expectantly as the man sat down behind a narrow stand.

The sea of voices fell silent in an instant, and Ogden nodded his thanks before beginning to speak. A few seats to the side of him, a lanky young man with brown hair and thick glasses, who vaguely reminded Harry of Percy Weasley, hastily pulled out a quill and placed it at the top of a long scroll of parchment that extended all the way to his feet.

"Ladies and gentlemen, honoured colleagues -" Ogden began, and his whistling voice echoed off the stone walls, magically amplified. "The united Wizengamot is gathered here today, the 7th of June, to decide together on the charges against Lucius, Narcissa and Draco Lucius Malfoy. Their cases will be presented shortly. As we proceed, I remind you all that this is not just a matter of punishment, but a chance for us to ensure justice is done, to restore order, and rebuild trust within our community. It is our duty to seek the truth, to offer fairness where it's due, and to hold accountable those who played their part in our darkest times."

There was a brief flash and Harry, Ron and Hermione instinctively jumped - but the photographer in the pale blue robes who had just taken Ogden's picture had already retreated to a corner of the hall.

Ogden cleared his throat before motioning to the two Aurors who had taken up positions on either side of a nondescript doorway not far from Harry - and a rustle went through the room as about a hundred and fifty witches and wizards turned in their seats, their eyes now fixed on the dark, empty opening. Some of them cocked their heads in curiosity, others whispered to each other, and one particularly small woman actually climbed onto the bench in front of her to get a better view, much to the annoyance of the two men sitting there. They all watched in suspense as the broad-shouldered Auror to the left of the door drew his wand and pointed at it. Moments later, there was a soft click and Odgen's voice rang out loud and clear as he said: "Please enter."

For a heartbeat or two, nothing happened - then a jolt went through Hermione and the same tension that seemed to have gripped her spread throughout the room as Lucius Malfoy stepped out of the shadows.

He was elegantly dressed, wearing a dark green suit and a light travelling cloak over his shoulders, his cheeks freshly shaved. The crisp white of his shirt collar was immaculate - and for a moment Harry was surprised to see him so well-kept - but then his eyes wandered to Lucius' face and found that he looked almost shabby beneath all of his polished exterior. His skin was pale and waxy, and his normally lush long hair now shone dully in the light of the torches. There were deep, dark circles under his eyes and hard lines carved into his angular features. The walking stick he usually carried was nowhere to be seen, and Lucius appeared to be almost limping without it.

A few paces behind him came Narcissa Malfoy, graceful and fine-boned, and Harry thought she looked considerably better than her husband: her silvery blonde hair was tied in a tight knot at the nape of her neck, and her heavy eyes, so similar to those of her sister Bellatrix, looked watchful as she considered first Ogden and then the rest of the Wizengamot. She, too, wore a travelling cloak of a lightweight, grey material, and when she sat down beside Lucius in the centre of the room, her shoulders were so rigid that they didn't even seem to touch the back of the chair. For a moment she maintained her stare in silence, thin lips tightly pursed - then she turned, presumably to locate the third and final person in their company. Her eyes lingered on the dark doorway and Harry, who had followed the movement, held his breath as a silhouette emerged from the shadows.

Draco Malfoy was thinner than his mother, even thinner than the last time Harry had seen him, and about a head taller than her, but they had the same pointed nose and upright posture. Much like his father, his own skin looked white to the point of being almost translucent, with dark blue shadows under his eyes and sharp cheekbones, and his fair hair seemed a little longer at the back, almost curling at his neck as if he hadn't had a proper haircut in a while. It had been combed back neatly in his typical fashion, revealing a sharp widow's peak that only accentuated the jutting angles of his face.

Under his dark suit, Malfoy wore a white shirt and tie and the black of his polished shoes shone in the dim firelight as he took long strides across the room, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the walls, unnaturally loud. The expression on his face was unreadable, but his lips seemed to curl into a tight line at the sight of the only remaining chair. With stiff movements, he took a seat between his parents, pausing for a moment when he noticed the restraints on the armrests before carefully placing his hands on his thighs instead. 

"They look bloody awful..." Ron whispered, and Harry and Hermione quietly agreed. Once more the camera flashed, and Ogden sorted through a stack of papers before beginning to speak again:

"Lucius, Narcissa and Draco Lucius Malfoy, residents of Malfoy Manor in Salisbury, Wiltshire - you stand here today before the assembled Wizengamot to account for your actions in relation to your involvement as accused Death Eaters and your assistance as such in the rise to power of You-Know-Who," he read out, and Lucius Malfoy flinched violently at the sound of the magically amplified voice. Narcissa merely sat there, unmoved.

"I hereby inform you that during the course of this trial, several anti-secrecy spells will be cast upon the room to prevent false testimony. Should you decide to refuse to testify altogether, the Wizengamot will be forced to conduct your hearing under the influence of Veritaserum, as permitted under Wizengamot regulations - I therefore ask for your honest cooperation, especially in regards to your potential sentencing".

Ogden paused for a moment to cast an expectant look at the defendants. They all nodded, albeit hesitantly, and the young court scribe made a note on his scroll. Then Odgen motioned to the Aurors, who had now taken up position a few paces behind the Malfoys, and Harry watched as they raised their wands and muttered quietly. For a brief moment, nothing seemed to happen - then the uncomfortable sensation of his tongue twisting in his mouth washed over him, and a glance in Ron and Hermione's direction revealed that they had just experienced something very similar. Ron grimaced and Hermione coughed softly, but the strange feeling disappeared moments later, leaving Harry with nothing but a heavy, metallic taste in the back of his mouth.

Ogden frowned slightly before clearing his throat. Then he continued: "Mr Lucius Malfoy, please approach." 

And Lucius Malfoy rose reluctantly.

*

The reading of the charges took a long time and included recent allegations as well as some going back several years, and Lucius Malfoy seemed to look more and more miserable as it went on. They ranged from corruption to complicity in murder, and much to Ron's delight, there seemed to be not one but two separate incidents of possession of forbidden dark artefacts - and at the mention of this he elbowed Harry in the side, quirking his eyebrows. 

When it was finally his turn to speak, Lucius tried his best to negotiate his way out in exchange for more information on other Death Eaters, but his offers seemed to have little effect on the room. Eventually he began to look for excuses - poor explanations for why neither he nor his family could be held to account, and Harry thought he could see the sweat pooling on his back as he fought the anti-secrecy spells. Soon he was gagging and spitting at their binds, but it didn't help.

"This is pathetic!" Ron whispered after about half an hour, as Lucius struggled for words for the fifth time before the spells finally got the better of him, grimacing in irritation - and several people in the hall seemed to share his reaction. Indeed, the little witch in plum-coloured robes who had climbed onto the bench in front of her when the Malfoys had entered laughed outright as Lucius made a particularly feeble attempt at an excuse, and she leaned forward to look at him coolly through the thick frame of her spectacles.

"Mr Malfoy, I was at your first trial almost twenty years ago, when you told us all that you and your wife had merely been under the Imperius Curse, and I was at your trial two years ago, when you claimed that you simply happened to be in the Ministry on the night that You-Know-Who appeared here. What do you reckon it was this time, a potion that bewitched you? Or perhaps a Wrackspurt that clouded your mind? The Wizengamot has had enough of your stories - why don't you write a book about it, you'll have plenty of time soon!" she spat, before Ogden gave her a silent warning with a single gesture. The witch shook her head in annoyance and slumped back in her seat, snorting - but the people around her gave her nods of approval.

Ogden tolerated no more interruptions - and when Lucius Malfoy had made his final plea, after more than two hours, the room fell silent as he returned to his seat, ashen-faced and his shoulders slumped. Then, moments later, they all watched as his wife took her stand at the bar.

"Doesn't look too good for her husband, does it?" Ron scoffed, staring at Naricssa, and Harry agreed - but his eyes had been fixed for some time on the slim, dark figure of Draco Malfoy, who seemed to be growing increasingly nervous now. The signs were subtle: a slight twitch in his leg, a white-knuckled hand on his knee, or the muscle in his jaw jutting out - and Harry thought he could see the panic rise in Draco as his own mother faced her charges in front of him.

They were, for all it was worth, noticeably shorter for Narcissa Malfoy - and although she did little to hide the sour expression on her face, which revealed that she didn't think much of any of the witches and wizards in front of her, she made no attempt to dodge the Wizengamot's questions or otherwise gloss over her role in the past. Unlike Lucius, her answers were clear and precise, and at Ogden's request she finally unbuttoned the left sleeve of her blouse, revealing a spotless patch of pale underarm - all the while wrinkling her nose as if she had just been asked to expose herself to the assembled chamber.

"Not guilty," she finally pleaded, about half an hour later, in her unwavering, cold voice, not seeming to hesitate for a moment. Ogden nodded thoughtfully as the witches and wizards of the Wizengamot whispered in hushed tones. Then he dismissed her from the dock with a wave of his hand, while the young wizard with the quill hastily grabbed a fresh roll of parchment. 

"Now... Mr Draco Lucius Malfoy, please." Ogden said, flicking through the pile of paper in front of him.

Malfoy, who had been inspecting the toe of his shoe with the utmost intent, rose somewhat stiffly from his chair, taking care not to touch the restraints on either side of the armrests, and took a hesitant step forward. His mother didn't look at him as she passed him, but in a moment so brief that Harry almost thought he'd imagined it, her hand brushed the sleeve of his jacket and it seemed as if a jolt went through Malfoy, for he raised his chin and straightened his shoulders. 

By the time he reached the centre of the hall in a few long strides, Harry could no longer see his face, only the straight line of his back and the white hands he held firmly clasped behind his back. Torches flickered when he came to a halt at the bar, and for a moment the inky black of Draco Malfoy's suit seemed to want to melt into the floor beneath him. Ogden studied him from behind the podium. 

"You are Mr Draco Lucius Malfoy, born on the 5th of June 1980 to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy?" 

"Yes, sir," he replied, his usually cool voice seeming to strain a little. The court clerk made a note on his scroll and Odgen nodded before continuing:

"Mr Malfoy, you are accused of supporting and participating as an active member of the Death Eaters. This includes your attendance at illegal meetings with other Death Eaters, your involvement in illegal magical activities, including the use of Unforgivable Curses on at least two occasions, the holding of several hostages and the protection of wanted Death Eaters at Malfoy Manor, including your own father, Mr Lucius Malfoy, and your aunt, Mrs Bellatrix Lestrange - as well as He Who Must Not Be Named himself." At this part, a brief shiver rippled through the room and Ron leaned over to Harry to mutter under his breath: "Now would be a great time to tell them that Malfoy had the hots for old Voldy," and he chuckled, while Hermione frowned at him in confusion. 

Harry, whose eyes were still fixed on Malfoy's back, merely gave a half-hearted shrug and he watched as the slender fingers began to twitch nervously as Odgens' magically amplified voice drowned out all other noise in the room.

"Last but not least, you are accused of being involved in the infiltration of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in July of last year, in which at least six Death Eaters managed to get in, ultimately leading to the death of Albus Dumbledore. In another case, that of your late classmate Vincent Crabbe, you are also named as a 'material witness'.

Finally, Ogden slowly lowered the paper in his hands and turned to face the many witches and wizards in the seats around the room. He tapped his wand once on the dark wood of his podium and the camera flashed again as he spoke:  

"I call upon the assembled Wizengamot to begin the questioning." 

*

Minutes passed, then an hour, and though Malfoy tried his best to mimic his mother's even tone, Harry thought the tension in his body gave him away. The knuckles of his hand stood out as he fingered the fabric of his sleeves - and he too seemed to choke on the anti-secrecy spells on more than one occasion, though they didn't make him stumble on his words as much as they had his father. Finally, when an older wizard with a long beard began to question him about his motives for becoming a Death Eater, Harry thought he could see Draco's whole body become very rigid. 

"I was sixteen," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "My father had just failed a mission. I was... advised to restore my family's honour in the eyes of Voldemort." He spoke slowly, as if choosing his words carefully, and halted when the whole room began to murmur at the mention of Voldemort's name. The elder wizard frowned and nodded.

“Advised by who?” 

Malfoy hesitated, and for a moment it looked as if he was about to turn his head and glance back at his parents - but then a jolt went through his body and he seemed to catch himself mid-motion. 

"My family. My Aunt Bella, mostly - but there were others," he eventually replied, and Harry couldn't help but be surprised to hear someone refer to Bellatrix Lestrange as 'Aunt Bella' in all seriousness. Next to him, Hermione tensed a little, and her own hands balled into fists. He nudged her gently with his knee and she gave him a brief but grateful smile.

"And did you identify with the ideals the Death Eaters stood for?" the elderly man had just asked, and Harry's head turned towards the front again. Malfoy paused, his own fingers back to playing with the hem of his sleeve. 

"Yes," he said finally, before adding, "at the time, I did." 

At this, the smaller witch from earlier piped up again.

"Mr Malfoy," she addressed him loudly, once again leaning well over the heads of the wizards in front of her to look at him, "I believe you did not just identify with You-Know-Who's ideals, did you? Our sources tell us that you too were marked by him as one of his innermost circle." She gazed down at him expectantly, and at this the last bit of Malfoy's controlled composure seemed to crumble. He flinched, visibly - and finally, after what seemed like minutes, he gave a single nod. 

The witch smiled, triumphantly, and even Ogden raised his eyebrows - most likely surprised at the fact that someone as young as Draco Malfoy had been accepted to carry Voldemort's mark - and when she spoke again her voice was as sharp as a knife.

“The Wizengamot would like to see proof for that.”

*

Harry had found himself on the edge of his seat without realising it - and a handful of people around him had followed suit as they all watched with held breath as Draco Malfoy stood motionless for a moment, like a pillar frozen in place. Then, finally, he began to move. 

Reluctantly, almost painfully slowly, Malfoy slipped out of his dark suit jacket, and the sharp edges of his shoulder blades seemed to pierce through his white shirt when he reached to place it on top of the bench in front of him, the fabric at his back soaked with sweat. The tremor in his fingers was now clearly visible as he struggled with the buttons of his left sleeve, and for a moment Harry dared to tear his eyes away to watch as Lucius Malfoy bowed his head with a pained expression, while Narcissas gaze bore into her sons back so intently the air between in front of her almost seemed to crackle. Her hands were clutching the armrests of her chair, chains rattling threateningly. 

Beside Harry, Ron muttered something under his breath but he didn’t listen to him - instead, he watched as Draco's shoulders shook - whether he was straining against the bindings of the spells or his own reluctance, Harry didn’t know - until a jolt went through him once again and he pushed back the sleeve of his shirt a few inches, just enough to show off a sliver of his wrist. A murmur passed throughout the room as witches and wizards of the Wizengamot put their heads together and next to Harry, Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. 

"That will be enough, Mr Malfoy," Ogden said a few seconds later as the buzz of voices in the room did not stop of its own accord and Draco yanked his sleeve down so hard it looked as if the many eyes had singed him.

"Merlin's beard, you were right all along, Harry!" Ron whispered in disbelief, but the grim confirmation did not bring Harry the satisfaction he had once hoped for. Instead, he now exchanged uncertain glances with Hermione, who sat with her lips pressed together and her eyebrows furrowed.

Across the room, Ogden scanned the benches, and when no more questions were asked, he sighed heavily. With a gesture that suddenly made him look decades older, he removed the glasses from his nose and looked down at Malfoy, who was still standing there, now strangely naked without the heavy fabric of his suit jacket, a single slim, pale figure among the endless rows of red robes.

"Mr Malfoy," Ogden began, his magically enhanced voice now softer than before. "I remember overseeing your OWL exams almost two years ago. You were a talented wizard - perhaps one of the best in your year. Promising in all senses of the word..." He let the sentence trail off, as if he suddenly wasn't sure what he was getting at. Then he sighed and straightened up again. "What is your plea, boy?"

And with a voice that sounded strangely rough and foreign, Draco Malfoy squared his shoulders, folded his hands and said:

“Guilty.” 

Narcissa Malfoy stood up. Harry noticed it out of the corner of his eye, saw the two Aurors suddenly take a few steps closer to her, wands at the ready, but she didn't move. She just stood there, and as the room exploded in a sea of noise, she stared at her son with a silent, desperate expression that distorted her otherwise pretty features. Lucius Malfoy was as white as a ghost. 

"Did he just say 'guilty'?" came from Ron and Harry nodded slightly, his eyes flicking back to Malfoy, who did not meet his mother's gaze. The camera flashed again as Ogden raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, jotting down a quick note on the scroll in front of him. Finally, he dismissed Malfoy with a wave of his hand.

Slowly, very slowly, as if waking from a trance, Draco reached for his dark suit jacket, its silky silver lining shimmering in the light of the torches as he slipped into it in one fluid motion. He smoothed the fabric over his chest before tugging at the sleeves, then turned on his heel and walked back to his seat without meeting either of his parents' eyes. They didn't exchange a word, but when he sat down, Narcissa sank back into her chair as if all the air had been sucked out of her. She looked at her son as if she had never seen him before. 

Harry's own ears were ringing, making Ogden, who had begun to introduce the witnesses to the Wizengamot, sound strangely muffled and distant. He stared down at Malfoy's white head, his sharp features and carefully folded hands, and found that his own mind had begun to race. He was surprised - not because he wasn't convinced that some part of Draco had long since realised that he and his parents had been on the wrong side of history - but because, despite their many reluctant confessions, he had never expected any of them to ever feel truly remorseful. Insulted in their honour, perhaps, maybe even a little embarrassed by their fear, but both Lucius and Narcissa had clearly demonstrated that there had never been any guilt about their actions. Ultimately, they had always had their own personal interests at heart - and Harry had expected their son to be the same. As had they, he thought as he took in Narcissa and Lucius now - and was so lost in his thoughts that he only snapped out of them after Hermione had nudged him several times with her leg. 

"I think it's going to be our turn soon, Harry!" she whispered nervously, chewing on her lower lip.

She was right: a handful of witnesses, including a small house-elf, dressed in a tablecloth with fuzzy white hair around his ears, stepped up to the narrow bench in the centre of the chamber and began their questioning. A horrified silence fell over the room as the elf, who had introduced himself as Gridby, spoke of Voldemort's residence at Malfoy Manor. He told them of Bellatrix, cruel, cold and commanding, torturing prisoners and fellow Deatheaters alike, and nearly choked on his own tears when he recounted the tale of a wandless Lucius Malfoy, discarded again and again by the Dark Lord until he was but a shadow of his former self. 

It was appalling - both Gridby's experience of his time at the manor under Voldemort's lingering presence, as well as his struggle against the anti-secrecy spells and the binding oath of loyalty that kept him from speaking ill of his masters. He stuttered and cried, whimpered as he threw himself from the bench as punishment, and the two Aurors were just quick enough to intervene when, after a particularly incriminating statement, the elf finally stretched out his little fingers towards the torches. He struggled against their restraints for a moment, then fell limply to the floor, crying soundlessly. 

"This is barbaric!" Ron hissed furiously, and Hermione, no longer trembling with nervousness but with anger, agreed with him. A palpable sense of relief spread through the ranks after Ogden dismissed the elf prematurely, and they guarded Gridby closely as he left the witness stand with tears streaming down his face. 

"They'd better have someone looking after him!" Hermione worried, her voice still thick with anger, and straightened to look after his white-tipped ears as he left the hall through a side door. They could still hear his sobs after the door fell shut. 

Ogden cleared his throat uncomfortably and took a moment to sort through the pile of papers in front of him before pausing. Then his eyes seemed to widen at whatever was written before him, and his mouth formed the words before speaking them. He looked up, frowning, and scanned the crowd as if searching for a particular face. Harry, who knew instantly what was coming next, exchanged a final glance with Ron and Hermione. They both nodded, their expressions still grim. 

"Harry Potter," Ogden finally announced, and in an instant the room was filled with voices. Heads turned, curious faces looked at each other and countless whispers repeated his name in shock and surprise. As Harry rose to his feet, a younger witch a few seats away jumped at the movement and began to enthusiastically pat her neighbour on the arm, repeating over and over again: "I told you it was him, Rolf! Didn't I tell you?" and she grinned broadly as Harry passed her. 

It took him longer than he should have to make his way through the crowd, now that everyone was standing up to get a better look at him, and when he finally reached the top of the narrow staircase leading down the tiered ranks, Harry had to adjust his grey robes to keep them from strangling him. He cursed himself, immediately regretting the many layers of clothing he was wearing, suddenly feeling too hot and sweaty in his own skin. He tried one last time to loosen the collar before finally giving up.

Acutely aware of the many eyes upon him, Harry descended the stairs - and for the second time in his life, the uncomfortable atmosphere of the courtroom washed over him. All around him, the metre-high rows of witches and wizards stared down at him, the fabric of their deep purple robes shimmering against the polished stone walls. Above them, the high vaulted ceiling disappeared into shadowy darkness. His trainers squeaked as he made his way across the mosaic floor, walking on the ever-narrowing rings of tiny shards that seemed to move in the flickering light, weaving in and out of each other like snakes until they met in the centre of the hall - where the Malfoys were all staring at him.

Draco looked as if he had seen a ghost. His skin was ashen, and up close his bright eyes looked tired and red - but it was the expression in them that made Harry's skin crawl: sheer, unfiltered panic - the kind he had only seen once on the other boy's face: in the reflection of a mirror in the sixth floor bathroom, seconds before he had realised Harry had been watching him. His face flushed and he looked away hastily. 

Harry swallowed hard, suddenly acutely aware of every step he took as he walked past them to the wooden stand in the centre of the chamber. A flash went off, once, twice, and the man with the magical camera hurried around him, taking a seemingly endless stream of pictures from every angle. He blinked, squinting at the sudden burst of light and fought against every instinct inside of him that wanted to disappear into the floor below.

Eventually, Ogden had to cast a silencing spell over the entire room to muffle the buzz of voices, but as he read out Harry's name once more - followed by the names of his parents, the date of his birth and his current location in the Burrow - Harry stood and watched as witches and wizards everywhere continued to put their heads together. With a flick of their wands, the Aurors renewed the anti-secrecy spells and the strange metallic taste in Harry's mouth returned in full force. Ogden nodded in satisfaction, and with another wave of his wand, the interrogation began.

"Mr Potter, can you confirm that Lucius Malfoy was present at the return of You-Know-Who almost three years ago?" the first question came immediately and it took Harry a moment to find the face of the young witch who had asked it. She was looking at him over an old man's hat, her expression expectant. 

"Yes," he replied simply.

The wizard with the quill, who looked so much like Percy Weasley, immediately began to scribble.

"What other Death Eaters were there?" the same witch asked, and Harry thought for a moment before answering.

"Crabbe, Avery, Macnair and Peter Pettigrew - as far as I know," he replied, his face twisting at the mention of Little Hangleton Cemetery - and the memory of that first encounter with Voldemort, after he had regained his full strength, suddenly felt strangely fresh again. For a moment, Harry wondered if the Anti-Secrecy Charms were affecting the mind in this way, bringing memories to the fore to make them easier to recall, and when Cedric Diggory's still face suddenly appeared in his mind's eye, he quickly pushed the thought aside and focused on the young witch instead. 

"As far as you know?" she asked, a little irritated, and Harry shrugged. 

"The others were wearing masks," he explained, and she nodded thoughtfully. 

"So there's a chance that Mrs Malfoy could have been amongst the Death Eaters there as well?" the witch asked, and Harry frowned.

"Well... I suppose there could be," he replied, feeling an unfamiliar - and entirely uncomfortable - tug on his tongue as the charms seemed to work their magic, "though I suspect I would have recognised her." he added, swallowing once. Now it was the witch's turn to frown.

"You claim to be able to tell apart a Death Eater by his mask?" she asked sceptically, and a few more witches and wizards from the Wizengamot exchanged glances. Harry shrugged again.

"I think I got to know most of them pretty well." He said simply, and the witches' mouths fell shut. 

"Can you testify that it was Lucius Malfoy who led a group of Death Eaters into the Ministry the following year?" came the voice from the other side, and Harry recognised the small woman who had caught everyone's attention with her interruptions earlier. She was on the edge of her seat again, not wanting to miss a word.

"Yes," Harry said again, and she nodded triumphantly.

"Who else was there besides him?" the dark-haired witch on the other side inquired again, and Harry thought for a moment before counting off the names of eleven Death Eaters on his hands.

"Mr Potter..." she began again, weighing her words for a moment, "were there any other Death Eaters there besides the ones you listed?" Harry looked at her in confusion for a moment, then shook his head again.

"Neither Narcissa nor Draco Malfoy were at the Ministry, if that's what you mean," he replied, and the witch pursed her lips. Then a wizard in plum-coloured robes, not far from Odgen, addressed him.

"Can you describe your encounter with Lucius Malfoy at the Ministry?" he asked in a hoarse, slightly tinny voice, and Harry sighed softly. 

About half an hour into his testimony, Harry's head was throbbing and he almost felt sorry for Lucius, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, who had been standing at the bar for several hours each, as a dull pain began to spread throughout his head in the immediate vicinity of the anti-secrecy spells. His mouth tasted as if he had eaten a handful of coins, which now sat heavy in his stomach, making him slightly nauseous and the occasional tug on his tongue beckoning him for more details made his skin crawl. 

The questions they put to him all began to sound similar, and after a while Harry realised that the Wizengamot were not only judging whether someone was telling the truth or not - they were also trying to find out if someone was using subtle ways of getting around a lie, wearing them down until their concentration faded, or forcing them to make a direct statement. It put Harry in a rather awkward position when he described his early suspicions that Malfoy had been accepted into the ranks of the Death Eaters, and he reluctantly had to admit that he had followed the other boy at every possible moment over the course of their sixth year because of it. He barely managed to keep the information about his Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map to himself - but the entire time it felt like he was fighting with his tongue, requiring an incredible amount of concentration on every syllable. 

When the interrogation finally seemed to come to an end, Harry was so tired that he sighed heavily. He rubbed his throbbing forehead - the pain that blossomed there was familiar but unwelcome, and despite knowing better, it still set his nerves on edge. When the short witch leaned forward in her seat to question him for what seemed like the hundredth time, Harry felt an impatient heat rise inside his chest. 

When the interrogation finally seemed to come to an end, Harry was so tired that he breathed heavily. He rubbed his throbbing forehead - the pain that blossomed there was familiar but unwelcome, and despite knowing better, it still set his nerves on edge. When the short witch leaned forward in her seat to ask what seemed to be her hundredth question, Harry felt an impatient heat rise within him. 

"I think they're cowards," he finally blurted out, biting his tongue the next moment. The witch stared at him for a moment, and some of the people around her coughed in amusement, but she remained silent. Slightly embarrassed, Harry glanced over at Ogden, but the man merely gestured for him to continue. He shook his head and dropped his hand to his side. 

"If you want to know if I seriously believe that the Malfoys are Death Eaters, my answer is no . Maybe they were, in the beginning - but I think Lucius Malfoy has always been more interested in power, wealth and status than anything else. Voldemort saw that in him and used it against him in the end. He got on the wrong side too soon and paid the price." Another hiss went through the room at Harry's mention of the name, but he didn't care. His voice was tired but firm.

"I'm not saying the Malfoys are innocent." Harry continued, ignoring the many faces staring down at him. "They deserve to be punished for what they have done. But it was Narcissa Malfoy who lied directly to Voldemort's face - not for me, but for her son - but it gave me the chance to trick him into thinking he'd killed me and let his guard down." For a moment Harry glanced behind him and his eyes met Narcissa's - deep and dark and so much like her sisters - and he took in the tight set of her mouth and her firmly clasped hands. Beside her, Draco stared at her with an open mouth and suddenly Harry wondered if she had been keeping this a secret all this time. He swallowed, then shrugged and turned back to Ogden. 

"I don't think it would have been possible without her - she gave me a crucial advantage in defeating Voldemort. And it didn't seem to bother them that their supposed master was fighting soon after. All they cared about was finding their son and getting out of there as soon as possible. As for Draco..." Harry paused for a moment to choose his next words carefully, "there were enough situations for him to prove himself to Voldemort - he never did. He couldn't. Even Dumbledore knew that, so he gave him a way out. He was mean and cruel - but only ever to save his own head, or that of his parents. So, no, I don't think they were real Death Eaters.”

Harry finished, forcing his tongue to a halt, and looked up at the rows in front of him. Many of the witches and wizards there were frowning or whispering to the other members of the Wizengamot. Ogden watched him for a moment before giving Harry a thoughtful nod, then tapped his wand on the desk again. The papers in front of him began to neatly stack themselves, rustling softly. 

"Thank you for your opinion, Mr Potter. You may return to your seat now," he said, and Harry did not need to be told twice. More than grateful to be away from both the curious eyes around him and the anti-secrecy charms, he turned on his heels and marched across the hall with long strides. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw the silver-blonde head of Draco Malfoy turn to look at him, an unreadable expression on his face, but Harry just hurried back to the stairs, taking two steps at a time, and fell into his seat next to Ron and Hermione with a relieved sigh. 

"Well," said Hermione quietly, scooting up a little to give him more space, "that went pretty well, didn't it?

*

Hours later, they emerged from the cramped phone box into the dull roar of London's evening traffic. Around them, the tall buildings cast long shadows and the sky had just begun to turn pink. When he turned to look at them, Ron and Hermione had the same exhausted expression on their faces as Harry. Gratefully, they slipped out of their clammy robes and Harry sighed as a warm breeze brushed his bare forearms. He was drenched in sweat, but the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach eased with every step he took away from courtroom number ten. Ron smacked his lips in disgust.

"I think I need a Butterbeer to get rid of this taste," he grumbled, and Mr Weasley, who had been waiting for them at the lift after they had left the hearing, nodded knowingly.

"They're quite something, these anti-secrecy charms," he sighed, patting his son's shoulders in support. "But nothing a good meal can't fix. Molly must be waiting for us with dinner," he added, frowning for a moment at the watch on his wrist. Harry watched as its golden hand moved past the number eight.

Then hours - they had spent ten hours at the hearing. Hermione, who seemed to be thinking the same thing, wiped her hand across her face and looked back at Harry wearily. Her hair hung a little limp and she looked tired and worn-out. 

"Do you think it was worth it?" she asked hesitantly and Harry thought for a moment before nodding slowly.

"Five years for Lucius and twelve months' house arrest for Narcissa and Draco - although the idea of someone taking my wand away seems just awful, if I'm honest..." she mused, but he just shrugged.

"Could have been worse..." he said, and Ron agreed.

"I think they'll be all right," he offered, then shrugged. "Lucius won't be needing it anyway once they lock him up, and Narcissa and Malfoy still have their house-elf. All in all, I'd say they were lucky!" he remarked, and Hermione winced again at the thought of Gridby. Harry felt a similar ache in his chest - the image of Dobby had crept up on him more than once today and after hours and hours with his nerves on edge, he was exhausted and feeling strangely raw. 

"I just hope they don't punish him! It's not his fault," she said sternly, just as Mr Weasley poked his head around the corner to see if any Muggles were nearby. When he looked back at them, he gave them a quick thumbs up and smiled. 

"All clear, folks!" he announced, and they immediately fell silent. Hermione clutched her bag tightly to her chest as she reached for Ron's arm, and with a tired wave and a "See you in a minute!" they disapparated. Mr Weasley followed, and with a final sigh, Harry shoved his robes into the back pocket of his jeans and spun on his heel, stepping into the familiar, crushing darkness of the apparition. With a soft pop, he disappeared from the alley, leaving nothing behind but a few overflowing bins and an abandoned telephone box.