Harry Potter opened his eyes and sat up in bed with a start.

Then it all came back to him.

There was no more Voldemort. It was almost a chant in his head now. No…more... Voldemort. Harry defeated him. Killed him. The Dark Lord was no more. He didn't have to wonder why his dreams had been so pleasant. Nothing and no one was there interfering with them. He fell back into the pillow and sighed from the depth of his being.

It had been three weeks. Three weeks of constant celebrations. Three weeks of being hounded by the press, by wizards and witches full of smothering gratitude, by guilt because of those that did not survive. But there was one thing that he never anticipated. Well, more than one. Firstly, he never actually expected to survive himself. And secondly, he never imagined being free.

He laced his fingers behind his head and stared blearily at the ceiling. It was his ceiling, this. His own place. His flat. A London flat. A Muggle flat. He'd briefly toyed with the idea of living in a wizard part of town, but he dismissed the notion quicker than you could say "Boy-Who-Lived". It was much better in Muggle London. He was anonymous. Free to be just Harry. He sighed. Just Harry. And then he sighed again, a little more deeply. Because the problem was, he didn't really know who "just Harry" was anymore.

He propped himself up on his elbows, glanced at his side table, and grabbed his glasses. Fixing them on his nose, he raised his knees and hugged them over the blankets. For seventeen years he had been Harry Potter: the Boy-Who-Lived, at least to the Wizarding world. To him, of course, at least for the first eleven years of his life, he was just the cousin of the fat Dudley Dursley, the unwanted relative dumped on a strange doorstep, treated like the lowly step-son in something out of a fairytale. They called him stupid and lazy and useless when he never felt like any of those things. It was lucky he never believed it. But when he found out he was a wizard, everything had changed. He discovered he was special, and not just for surviving Voldemort's killing curse, but because he could do magic. And yet, he always felt a little behind every witch and wizard he met, always playing catch-up. Everyone else at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry knew more about magic and the Wizarding world than he did, and every time Harry turned a corner he had to learn something new.

It was annoying.

But at eighteen, Harry was a fully-fledged wizard, a true hero, an orphan…and a gay man who didn't have the least idea what to do with that information. Of course he had known he was gay since he was twelve. Girls never interested him in that way. Only boys did.

Correction. One boy.

Harry rested his chin on his knees. Now that Voldemort was dead for good Harry could actually take the time to think about it. The one boy that really did it for Harry, the only boy was his arch nemesis from school, Draco Malfoy. Draco bloody Malfoy. The boy who brought Death Eaters into the school, who caused the death-or what everyone thought was the death-of one Albus Dumbledore, the school's headmaster. Draco Malfoy, who had spent all his years at Hogwarts making Harry's life miserable with his aristocratic blather and better-than-thou-Pureblood attitude. How could Harry have ever fallen for a boy like that? He shook his head, blushing at the thought. But he had. He sure had. He knew if he could only have convinced Draco to come to the side of Light, he could be someone worth loving. Except for the other problem: Draco was straight. That was quite an obstacle. And so he pined. The whole world wanted to grant Harry his every wish, but it was the one thing he wanted they couldn't give him.

He glanced at the clock. And today was Draco's trial. Harry didn't think he could make himself go. He swore he would. He needed to know why Draco did the things he did. After Dumbledore came out of hiding and revealed that he had not been killed, that it had all been an elaborate plot hatched between himself and the late Severus Snape, he explained to Harry that Draco was forced to become a Death Eater and do the things to Hogwarts that he had done out of fear for his parents' lives. And Harry did remember Draco crying in the boys' toilet when he couldn't get the Vanishing cabinets to work. He was lamenting to Moaning Myrtle how scared he was. But all the following events quite blew it out of Harry's head. Until now.

He dearly wanted to believe that Draco couldn't actually be that evil and cruel. Not like his father, the deservedly late Lucius Malfoy. But Harry knew he couldn't possibly think clearly where Draco was concerned. He dreaded going to the Ministry. He was bound to be mobbed. And he couldn't go disguised because they wouldn't let him into the trial. He sighed and threw back the covers. He'd have to go as himself, whoever that was.

After bathing and dressing, Harry looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes traveled to his famous scar and he leaned into the mirror, staring at it. He could swear it was fading. Could it really be? After all these years, his famous scar might actually disappear. Then he'd only have his round glasses, green eyes, and unruly black hair to make people turn and point and say in stage whispers, "Is that Harry Potter?"

He rolled his eyes at his reflection. He wasn't so young that he didn't realize that in a few years-who knew how many exactly-he wouldn't be famous anymore. No one would remember. Just like they seemed to have forgotten that Dumbledore defeated the evil wizard Grindlewald some fifty years ago. Strange that people would forget something so important.

Harry looked forward to it.

He dressed in his Gryffindor robes as it was the nicest thing he owned, if a bit small in the shoulder, and left the flat, locking it with a charm he threw non-verbally over his shoulder. He took a Muggle bus to the Leaky Cauldron, waited for the double-decker to leave the area, and walked through the door only witches and wizards could actually see.

The room was smoky and dim, but Tom the bartender always knew who came in to his establishment. But he was conscious of Harry's renewed fame and so he didn't call out to him. He only nodded a greeting as he continued to wipe his bar glasses. Harry did not arrive unnoticed, however, and a few old wizards came up to him to shake his hand and tell him how proud they were to meet him. Harry was gracious to them, for they seemed genuinely appreciative and didn't hound him for an autograph or other trinket and he was able to easily escape to the darkest corner where he met up with a bushy-haired girl and a red-headed boy who had been talking quietly and holding hands.

Harry slid in beside them and for once, they didn't start and release the other's hand. Harry smiled. "So. It looks like it's on."

Ron Weasley smiled sheepishly and gazed up at Hermione Granger. She smiled at him. "Yeah. It's on."

"'Bout time," said Harry under his breath.

Hermione slowly released Ron's hand and leaned over the table earnestly toward Harry. "Harry, are you sure you want to go to the trial?"

He stared at her meaningfully. He'd only confided in Hermione about his feelings for Draco. He was sure Ron didn't know and probably wouldn't want to. "I'm sure. I have to know why."

"'Why'?" said Ron. "We know why. He's an evil git, that's why."

"You heard Dumbledore," Harry said. "Voldemort threatened his parents."

"Feeble excuse, that. He's wanted to be a Death Eater forever. Always acted like one."

Harry looked at Ron askance. "You were at the final battle, Ron. You saw that Malfoy was helping us-"

"Yes!" said Hermione, sitting up. "And Snape explained, too-"

"All I know is that he saw it wasn't going to go well for his side and he decided to switch. It sounds like typical Malfoy to me."

Harry shrugged. That may very well be what happened. It was certainly in character with what they knew of the Slytherin. But Snape. That was a problem. Snape had clearly fooled them all and turned against Voldemort at the last moment. "I haven't been his servant for years, you stupid boy! You know nothing!" he had sneered. And when Dumbledore "resurrected" he had explained it all to Harry. It was hard to really take it in but Harry had seen it with his own eyes. And had seen Snape die, too. The potions master had seemed…happy. Dumbledore had called it "absolution" but Harry never fully understood that and Dumbledore never explained entirely.

"Harry," said Ron for the third time.

Harry looked up sheepishly. He'd been like that for days, sinking into his own thoughts. He supposed it was to be expected. Ron was sliding something across the table toward him, a wide grin on his freckled face. Harry looked down in the dim light of the candles and his eyes widened. It was a Chocolate Frog card. They came with every chocolate frog sweet, but most people bought them strictly for the collectable cards of famous witches and wizards. Harry had had his own collection while at Hogwarts, but he managed to lose a lot of his old possessions, and things like this just didn't seem as important to him anymore. He knew Ron once had a huge collection.

But what got Harry's attention on this particular card was his own three-dimensional face looking back at him. In fact, it winked at him.

"What-?" He snatched it up and stared. There was his face-messy black hair, round glasses, prominent scar-smiling out of the card.

"How's that, Harry? Finally fame is worth something. Your own card!" He pounded him on the back. "I'm proud of you, mate." Of all the honours the Ministry heaped upon them all, Ron seemed proudest of this. He was never more glad to be Ron Weasley's friend than right now.

Harry was speechless. He turned it over and read the longer-than-usual cv:

Harry James Potter-Slayer of Voldemort, Boy-Who-Lived

Order of Merlin, first class; Special Citation as Protector of the Wizarding World

Harry Potter began his fame when only a year old when Voldemort murdered his parents James and Lily Potter in attempting to fulfill a questionable Prophecy. Potter is the only known survivor of the killing curse which in this instance backfired and dispelled Voldemort for some years. Since then, Potter became known as the Boy-Who-Lived. At eleven, he was entered into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where his interesting career began. In that first year at Hogwarts, Potter became the youngest Seeker in a century for Gryffindor; stopped Voldemort from obtaining the Philosopher's Stone; defeated the monster from the Chamber of Secrets and stopped Voldemort again at age twelve (and received a special award from the school); at age thirteen was the youngest wizard to achieve a full corporeal Patronus; at age fourteen he was the fourth and winning champion in the Tri-Wizard Tournament and was sole witness to the Dark Lord's rise, escaping him again; at age fifteen defended himself successfully against Voldemort's attack on the Ministry of Magic; at age sixteen left the destroyed Hogwarts in search of Voldemort; and at age seventeen successfully slew the Dark Lord for good. Currently studying for a possible teaching position at Hogwarts.

Harry reddened. "Well. Laid out like this I look like quite the bloke, don't I?"

Hermione smiled. "What's that bit at the bottom all about, hmm?"

"Er…you mean 'currently studying for a possible position'? That bit?" He felt a little guilty not telling Hermione earlier about it but it had just come up a week ago. How did the Chocolate Frog people get a hold of that information anyway? "Well, Dumbledore owled me last week and sort of…proposed that I think about teaching. At Hogwarts."

"What about being an Auror?" cried Ron.

Harry slumped in his seat, glad for the murky gloom that hid their table from the rest of the room. "Aren't you a bit tired of that, Ron? I mean, chasing Voldemort was one thing. But I think I've had it. Whenever I thought about it, it just made me weary. And a little sick."

Ron screwed up his lips. "Yeah. I guess I know what you mean. I'm not much for it myself." Ron hadn't had the marks for it anyway, Harry knew, even if he had finished his seventh year, which none of them had, choosing to chase Voldemort and his Horcruxes instead. But since Ron had become one of the heroes of the war with an Order of Merlin himself, Harry doubted the Ministry would overlook any of them if they wanted to become Aurors. He looked up into their faces. It had been three weeks of eating and sleeping properly but they all still looked haunted, hollow, and so very old. "So when Dumbledore offered it," Harry went on, "I told him I'd consider it. And I guess I am."

Hermione leaned forward, her stare concentrated as if trying to read his mind. "What would you teach, Harry?"

He gave a lop-sided smile. "What do you suppose?"

Ron grinned. "Not Defense! Not really!"

"I still need training and studying and I've got to finish my seventh year, but Dumbledore said he'd take care of all that. Said Hogwarts won't be ready to open anyway for at least two years and seemed to think I'd be ready by then."

"You really going to do it, Harry?" asked Ron.

Harry shrugged. "Nothing else has come up yet."

"What about playing pro-Quidditch?"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I dunno, Ron. Quidditch just doesn't seem…important anymore."

They sat in silence for a time. They did that a lot. He wondered if anything would ever get back to normal or if there would always be those horrendous memories between them of the final battle. Would they ever get the screams and the splash of blood out of their minds? Could they ever look at one another and really laugh again? Everyone else seemed to, but of course, not everyone else had faced Voldemort, now had they?

Hermione finally broke the spell by looking at her watch. "I think we should be going if we want to get there before the crush."

"Do you really think that's possible?" said Harry, rising. "The reporters are probably permanently camped out there."

Hermione slid out of the seat. "Is that why they haven't moved Malfoy to Azkaban?"

"That's what Dumbledore said," said Harry. "They keep him locked up at the Ministry instead. 'For his own safety.'"

"Why bother?" said Ron, leaving some sickles on the table. "He's headed there anyway."

Harry's heart lurched uncomfortably in his chest. No, he would not allow his former feelings for Malfoy to colour his judgment in this. If Malfoy was guilty of crimes then he had to face justice and serve his time. But he hated the idea of the handsome Slytherin locked away at Azkaban, even if the Dementors weren't there anymore. He supposed he'd have to get over him for good then.

There was a line at the fireplace, but Tom motioned to them from behind the bar. Harry approached and the innkeeper leaned over and whispered harshly, "Mr. Potter, there's my private floo in the back. No sense you lot waiting in line with everyone else. It's always open to you three."

Harry ordinarily didn't like taking special privileges, but the line was awfully long and he didn't want to be late to the Ministry. "Thanks, Tom. Good of you."

"Think nothing of it, Mr. Potter. Come this way." He lifted the opening in the bar, and led him, Ron, and Hermione through the back. Tom's private quarters weren't much cleaner than the tavern, but Harry only made a cursory inspection as he headed for the fireplace. "Going to the trial?"

"Er…yes."

"Well. Hope Malfoy gets what's coming to him."

"Yeah. Thanks again."

Harry grabbed some floo powder and stepped into the fireplace. He cast it down and intoned, "Ministry of Magic!"

* * *

A circus, that's what Harry called it. Every reporter from practically every Wizarding paper from every country was there. Only a few had been allowed into the trial chambers themselves and many other average witches and wizards scrambled to get seats for what the papers were calling the "Trial of the Century". Harry and his friends found themselves with Ministry escorts, being led down the crowded corridors and into the chamber. Flashbulbs went off, but Harry tried his best to ignore them. He'd gotten a lot of practice at it for the last few years. But recently it had trebled. It seemed the papers had a picture of Harry in every mood. Every mood, that is, except content.

Dumbledore pushed forward and grabbed Harry's arm. The Ministry guards moved back out of the way. "Harry, my boy. And Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley. I have seats here for you quite out of the public glare." Harry gratefully followed. This was swiftly becoming a nightmare. He wished now with all his heart that he had begged off. He didn't want to do this, didn't want to see this. Could he stand to see Drac-Malfoy…so degraded, the wolves howling for his blood? He settled into the seat indicated and pooled there like some too-wet Christmas pudding.

There was a constant roar of conversation in the chamber, even amongst the purple-robed Wizengamot. What were they waiting for? A Ministry minion rushed up to the head witch, whispered in her ear, and gestured toward Harry. Oh. That's what they had been waiting for. Him.

The head witch banged her gavel on the stone table. Everyone began quieting. "We will come to order," she repeated, her efforts now heard as the crowd fell to a hush. "Bring in the accused."

A hush fell over the room, rippling all the way to the back where the reporters were. A door opened. Harry strained to see, but all he saw were heads of the people in the crowd. And then… a glimpse of white-blond hair trudging forward. And the sickening sound of the clink of chains. Was Draco shackled?

Horrified, Harry watched as the tight group got closer to the front and when the crowd parted, there was Draco, shoulders slumped, face and hair dirty, and heavy shackles wrapped around his wrists and his ankles. Harry's mouth dropped open. In another lifetime he would certainly have been happy to see this. But not after all those years of feelings for the Slytherin; not after the final battle when Draco helped them; not after Voldemort was dead and Draco fell to his knees at Harry's feet and between sobs thanked him with all his heart.

At least Hermione must have known how he felt. "This is terrible," she whispered.

"It's only what he deserves," growled Ron.

Dumbledore stepped forward and the Wizengamot rustled in a flurry. Draco looked up slowly and upon seeing the old wizard, suddenly shrank from him and hid his face.

"These chains are not necessary," said Dumbledore, barely controlling his anger.

The head witch leaned forward. "They are very necessary, I'm afraid, Albus. He is an extremely dangerous Death Eater-"

"It remains to be seen exactly what he is," said Dumbledore.

The head witch smiled. "On the contrary." She raised a parchment. "This is a full confession, signed by the accused in front of witnesses."

The crowd gasped. Dumbledore said nothing. The head witch went on, raising the parchment to her face and reading it aloud. "'I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, attest that I was a Death Eater and follower of Lord Voldemort-' There. What else do you need? This is only a sentencing hearing. And I don't think it will be a surprise to anyone the verdict of that."

"I should like to hear the rest of this 'confession', Ariana."

The witch frowned. "It's only a few minor details-"

"Still. In the interest of justice. And at least for the benefit of the Daily Prophet..." He swept his hand toward the back where all the reporters and their quick quills vibrated. The reporters gave Dumbledore a brief cheer.

She screwed up her lips. The parchment crinkled in her tight fist. "Very well," she conceded. She flicked the parchment to straighten it and began again. "'I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, attest that I was a Death Eater and follower of Lord Voldemort…strictly against my will because of the threats Voldemort made against my life and that of my parents-"

The hall burst into shouts and jeers. Draco cringed, his head now lower than his shoulders.

Ron was as vocal as anyone else in the crowd. "No! What's he trying to pull?"

"I am curious, Ariana," said Dumbledore as the crowd began to quiet. "Was this confession taken under ordinary circumstances? Was the accused, for instance, speaking freely on his own?"

The head witch glared daggers at Dumbledore. 'What are you playing at?' was written clearly on her face. "Strictly speaking," she said, "the accused was under…well, he was under veritaserum."

Another burst of noise from the gallery caused her to slam her gavel down. "Silence! We will have silence here!"

"Let me understand this," said Dumbledore, obviously fully aware of circumstances. Harry sat forward in his chair. He was beginning to feel a sliver of hope. "The accused was under veritaserum when he declared he was forced to become a Death Eater by coercion?"

"We all know you cannot become a Death Eater by force," Ariana countered.

"True," Dumbledore conceded. "Did the accused mention that under veritaserum?"

"If I may-" The large-framed Horace Slughorn stood up from a far seat and pushed his way forward through the unhappy crowd.

"What is it, Slughorn?" Ariana asked, her face purpling with frustration.

"I helped administer the veritaserum to the accused. As a matter of fact, the Wizengamot insisted on many applications of the potion for several consecutive days. I was forced to take a stand and refused to allow any more applications to be administered to the boy. As you know, repeated applications of truth potion can become harmful to the brain. I feared the boy was in danger of real damage if the questioning continued."

"Horace," said Dumbledore, turning to his former professor. "Did Mr. Malfoy fight these applications?"

Slughorn rocked on his heels, a considerable task for so small a foot on so large a frame. "As a matter of fact he did not. He almost insisted on them. He said over and over again that he knew it would do him no good but it had to be told and it had to be believed. That's what he said."

"Is it your opinion that Mr. Malfoy was telling the truth in his confessions?"

"Without a doubt. Though a very practiced and clever wizard can throw off the affects of veritaserum-transfiguring it or blocking its affects by Occlumency, for instance [1]*-I do not believe Mr. Malfoy capable. Especially in the state he was in."

"Thank you, Horace. I merely wondered," and he turned to the Wizengamot, a twinkle in his eye.

"Albus, you are out of order," said the witch. "This is not a hearing open to the floor. This is a sentencing."

"I thought it was a trial."

"The boy confessed-"

"And I should like to hear it all. Perhaps even from the accused himself."

The grumble from the gallery became a roar and soon the audience was clamoring for testimony. The Wizengamot looked at one another. There was nothing for it. She brought her gavel down again. "Silence!" Turning to Draco, she scowled. "Are you prepared to give testimony to this court, Malfoy?"

In a very small voice, nothing like anything Harry had ever heard before, Draco replied, "Yes, Ma'am."

"Very well. Proceed."

"Ah…Ariana," said Dumbledore, raising a finger. "I believe we can dispense with the chains."

"Oh very well!" She stood up, raised her wand, and the chains fell with a loud clank from Draco's wrists and ankles. He sighed deeply and rubbed his wrists.

"The boy is exhausted," said Dumbledore. He conjured a chair and drew Draco into it. Draco never looked at the old wizard and kept his face down.

Harry knew this had been a mistake to come here. His heart wanted to burst from what he witnessed. All those old feelings flooded back and he longed to take Draco in his arms and comfort him.

But that was not to be. Not ever. No matter what Draco said, he was to be condemned. Even Harry wasn't that naïve. He'd never likely see him again. He wanted to be anywhere but here right now.

* * *

Draco felt lighter without the chains, though the sight of them pooled around him was little comfort. Especially with Dumbledore hovering over him. Why did he have to be here? Why couldn't he just leave Draco alone? Didn't he see how much he deserved to be treated like this? They wanted to sentence him to Azkaban. Why stall the inevitable? He was more than ready to go, ready for the solitude that awaited him. It might even be a mercy. They could easily throw him to the crowd and he'd be torn apart. At least that would be quick.

"Draco," said the wizard in a kindly voice, "why don't you tell us what happened in the summer before your sixth year."

His gaze darted toward the purple-clad Wizengamot, all scowling down on him. They, too, thought this was a waste of time. Who cares what he did then? All they cared about was that he was a Death Eater; that he helped commit atrocities; that he tried to kill Albus Dumbledore but failed miserably. What was there to tell?

"I…I became a Death Eater that summer. My father had wanted me to. So…S-so I did."

The gallery rumbled and then quieted.

Ariana leaned forward, a smile like Umbridge used to wear spread on her face. "So. You admit-as you do in these transcripts-that you wanted to join the Death Eaters?"

"Y-yes. All my life I was trained for that. I expected to do it, just not so soon. My father wasn't there to see it. He was in Azkaban."

"That's where you belong, scum!" yelled someone from the gallery.

Ariana pointed her wand to the crowd. "Another outburst like that and I will Stupefy the lot of you!" The audience froze and held their collective breaths. With no further replies, she lowered her wand.

"So why did you agree?" asked Dumbledore.

Draco sighed. They'd asked him that already a million times, both with and without veritaserum. "Because I thought that's what my father would have wanted me to do. I thought he'd be proud of me."

"And once you were before Voldemort ready to receive the Mark, what did you feel then?"

Draco clasped his hands, scrubbing them over one another, again and again. "I…I…it was different than I expected. I was…scared. The Dark Lord wasn't what I expected. He was frightening and powerful. I was beginning to think it wasn't a good idea after all. I had been thinking of pranks and such. Not…not the blood. Not all the blood."

"Did Voldemort accept you immediately?"

"Yes. But I…I hesitated and he could tell. He wasn't pleased. But he said he needed me and I had to do it."

"Were there no Death Eaters to stand up for you?"

"M-my m-mother. But when she pleaded with him he…he…" Draco's voice broke. He cleared his throat and tried again. "He sent the Cruciatus on her."

The gallery muttered in a low hum.

"What happened then?"

"I told him I wasn't ready. That maybe I couldn't do it. He just laughed. I wanted to go to my mother, but she motioned me back. He told me again that I had to do it. And if I didn't want to see harm come to my parents I was to comply. He told me I had a very important task when I went back to Hogwarts. Told me I could do it, that he knew I could. I was worried about my mother and I thought that maybe I could do it, be the man of the house since Father was away. So I said 'yes'."

"And then he gave you the Mark."

"Yes. It hurt like hell. But I didn't cry out. He only laughed at me. He said that now that I was his, I must obey in everything. I said I would. Then he told me that I had to kill…kill you, sir."

Dumbledore's expression did not change. "Yes. As soon as was possible, Professor Snape informed me of the plot. And we immediately worked on a course of action. Were you surprised by this order from Voldemort, Draco?"

"Yes! He wanted me to k-kill! Right away! I was only sixteen. I'd never killed anything before. I was really scared. Then he frowned at me. 'Do it, boy, or you die,' he said. 'And if that is not enough incentive for you-' And he sent the Cruciatus on my mother again."

The hall was silent. Draco listened to his own breathing. Why go through this again? Why bother? It was in those papers he signed, wasn't it? I wish they'd just sentence me already.

Dumbledore turned to the Wizengamot. "That certainly sounds like coercion to me. Who among us would dare defy the Dark Lord under these circumstances?"

"Now Dumbledore, must we go through this again?" said the head witch. "He could have come to you-"

"Forgive me Ariana, but only a fool would believe that."

She sat back, her lips pressed tightly together.

Dumbledore went on. "Draco was in such a precarious position. I doubt he was truly able to think beyond his own plots. Imagine the strain. Sixteen years old. Your father, the one responsible for your manipulation all these years, was out of the picture, unable to counsel you. Threats against your life and that of your parents. Raised in a household of Dark Magic and Dark ends. How could anyone expect Draco to slide out of character and come to me?"

"His head of house, then?"

"Severus Snape? The man the other Death Eaters were never quite sure of? But as it happened, Draco did go to him, and in turn, Severus came to me. That is, of course, how I knew about Draco's plan. Unfortunately, Draco would not divulge the details and so the destruction of Hogwarts was unavoidable."

"Aha! The destruction of Hogwarts! You can't deny Malfoy was responsible for that!"

"And all under the same threats, Ariana. Draco could not have imagined the level of destruction to occur."

"Did he think you'd all simply be quietly captured?"

"Why don't we ask him?" Dumbledore turned to Draco again and the blond cringed back. "Draco, just what did you hope to achieve by getting the Vanishing cabinets to work?"

"It…it was to bring in the Death Eaters."

"To do what?"

Draco drew a blank. He didn't really know. To capture Hogwarts, certainly. And then what? "I guess to take over Hogwarts."

"And to deliver Harry Potter to Voldemort!" said Ariana, jumping to her feet.

Draco crumpled into his seat. "Y-yes, ma'am. Yes, I suppose that was part of it, too." The horror of it struck him again. Had that succeeded…if it had happened that way…

Dumbledore looked annoyed. The head witch had obviously won over some wafflers. "It doesn't change the fact, that the boy was forced to do these things. Draco, if you had had a choice to leave the Death Eaters, would you have done?"

"Yes!"

"Of course he'd say that," said Ariana. "He's trying to save his skin."

Dumbledore's arm flung out and his finger pointed straight at Draco. "This boy does not deserve to spend the rest of his days in Azkaban. He deserves a second chance!"

He couldn't believe it. Why was Dumbledore doing this? No one-under these circumstances-deserved a second chance. Was he insane?

The crowd burst into arguments, even amongst the Wizengamot. Draco dropped his head in his hands. If only someone from the crowd would just A.K. him it could all be over. No one would mourn him. His entire family was wiped out by Voldemort. He had nothing to live for. Why prolong it?

Didn't he deserve all they did to him?

Draco dared a glance behind him. That's where he was sitting. Everyone had been constantly looking in that direction. Draco wanted to see him. Wondered what he thought of all this. Potter hadn't said much to him since he'd surrendered to him at the final battle and he hadn't said much to Potter.

He turned a bit more and spied him sitting in a private box along with Granger and Weasley. Harry looked very pale. His eyes were wide as he watched. But he didn't look like the others out for blood. Maybe he was angry or beyond anger. That could be. It was hard to tell. Draco decided not to look again.

Dumbledore argued back and forth with the Wizengamot and Draco soon tuned it out. His mind wouldn't stop replaying everything, from the moment his mother was killed to the death of Snape. All his fault. All of it. He deserved whatever they did to him. He started rocking himself. He knew it would be soon. This couldn't go on much longer. All his fault.

"The accused will stand," said Ariana.

Draco snapped to attention and slowly got to his feet. Here it was. The sentence. He tried to raise his head but what was the use? All the world knew he was really a coward. No need to posture here.

"All those in favor of Azkaban, vote now."

Hands in the Wizengamot went up, but strangely, not quite as many as Draco first thought. The head witch looked perplexed. "Perhaps you did not hear me. All those in favor of sending the prisoner to Azkaban, raise your hands."

"I think it was very clear, Ariana," said Dumbledore.

"What by Merlin's beard-"

"Under the circumstances," said a wizard sitting beside her, "I believe another punishment is in order. I recommend breaking the prisoner's wand and sentencing him to the Muggle world."

The crowd murmured.

Draco barely heard. What did he say?

Ariana rustled the parchment in front of her. "Hmm. An interesting proposal. And perhaps a more fitting one, seeing that the Malfoys have been notorious Muggle haters." She looked up at Dumbledore who nodded gravely. "Very well. All those in favor of banishing the accused from the Wizarding world, raise your hands."

More hands went up and even a few who had voted for Azkaban. Ariana smiled grimly. She raised a wand that was not her own.

Draco looked up. Banished? Is that what they said? Not Azkaban? He saw her raise his wand. She took it in both hands and suddenly snapped it. Draco jerked back. It sounded like a bone breaking. Wisps of feathery purple smoke rose from the broken pieces of his wand and then the whole wand blackened. His wand! Gone.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said leaning forward. "As of this day, you are hereby banished from the Wizarding world never to return. You may not socialize, talk with, do business with, any witch or wizard. You are henceforth forbidden to use magic. You may not enter into any magical places. You are forbidden from venturing, browsing, or otherwise engaging in business activities in the place called 'Knockturn Alley'. You will live like a Muggle, Mr. Malfoy, for the rest of your days. I trust you will be grateful for this mercy. A mercy many here feel you certainly do not deserve."

Draco stood frozen. Confused, he stared at the head witch. "I'm…I'm not allowed to use magic anymore?"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. That is correct. A small enough price to pay for your freedom, I dare say."

"But…a Muggle? I can't live like a Muggle."

"Mr. Malfoy, I care very little what you do from now on. Would the Aurors step forward and escort Mr. Malfoy from the Ministry?"

The crowd burst into shouts and dissent, but Dumbledore only gazed at Draco placidly. Aurors grabbed Draco on either side of him and roughly dragged him from the courtroom to a back door. They hustled him down a long dark corridor and the noises of the court grew dimmer. Draco, still in a state of shock, couldn't quite comprehend what was happening to him. They walked a long way until they reached a door, unlocked it with a spell, and opened it. They shoved Draco out into the street, an alley, and stood staring at him.

Draco blinked up at the bleary sunshine, realizing he hadn't seen the light of day for weeks. "But wait! What…what am I supposed to do now?"

One of the Aurors looked him up and down. "You're a Muggle now, my man. Best get used to it."

"I can't live like a Muggle," he repeated feebly.

"I feel sorry him," said the other. He reached into his pocket and tossed a few coins to the ground.

The other Auror looked at the sparkling coins in the gutter. "But those are knuts and sickles. He's not allowed to use Wizard money."

The other Auror cracked a vile grin. "I know." He moved back inside and shoved the door closed. It disappeared into the brick wall leaving no trace it had ever been there.

Draco stared at the wall, barely believing what had happened. "Wait," he whispered. "Wait." He approached the wall until his hands reached up and touched it. His fingers touched the rough brick, the slick dew covering it. But he could feel no seam, no door. "Wait!" he shouted. His hands curled into fists and pounded. "Wait! Don't leave me out here!" He pounded on it more fiercely, not stopping even though his hands began to bruise.

But no one came. No one would. Draco leaned his forehead against the wall and wept.

[1] A/N: JKR said on her web site that veritaserum can be over ridden. But as Slughorn testifies, Draco was in no fit state to be able to do so.


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"Draco's Doom"

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