But for the metal shackles sealing his wrists to the armrests and his ankles to the floor, one would have been hard-pressed to tell that the young man sitting in the middle of the Wizengamot courtroom was put there against his will.
His countenance suggested indifference, bordering on insouciance, a quirk of the eyebrows here or a twitch of the lips there the only indications he was even paying any attention at all to the proceedings in front of him. He looked like a boy king, ensconced as he was in a makeshift throne of carved wood and biting iron, watching with disinterest the whole kingdom's jesters gamboling about like the fools they were paid to be, trying to extract a laugh, a snarl -- anything -- from his lips. And even as he watched, they knew he did so only because there was nothing else to see.
There was a lull in the questioning, and snatches of murmured conversations across the courtroom floated to his ears.
"So brave," one whimpered.
"Deserves it," said another gruffly.
"He's just a kid," chided someone else.
Draco supposed he should have taken more interest in his own trial, but the verdict seemed a foregone conclusion anyway, and it amused him more to cast his eyes about the room to see what others thought of the whole circus. Amusement would be difficult to come by, he imagined, once they locked him up. Not that there was much to miss, since he had been on house arrest for years while the others' trials had dragged on. Draco was near the last in line of Death Eaters up for trial with the Wizengamot, whose archaic court system made it impossible for multiple hearings to go on at the same time; it was only shortly after his twenty-first birthday that the Wizengamot had finally summoned him, nearly three years after they had ruled it wise to shut his father up in jail. Initially, Draco and Narcissa had been hopeful that the long wait would work in their favour -- perhaps after convicting so many before him, the thirst for vengeance would have been slaked, and they'd lean towards a more lenient stance, but Draco could see upon many of the council's faces that this was absolutely not the case. After the first day of the trial, he asked Narcissa not to come to the courtroom anymore; it would only upset her further to watch them cart him away, and he preferred not to have his last moment of quasi-freedom consumed with the sight of his mother quietly falling apart.
The courtroom was packed to the gills, standing room only now, here as much for Draco as they were for the final witness due to take the stand today. The Chief Warlock narrowed her eyes and frowned at the large crowd for their insolent noise, not for the first time that day. Draco couldn't recall which group it had been in the Ministry who had successfully lobbied for the war crimes trials to be publicly accessible -- it made the little people feel vindicated; he assumed the Chief Warlock had had nothing to do with it, though. If she had done, she looked as though she was desperately ruing it now. She rapped her gavel in irritation.
She directed her hard gaze to the witness stand on one side of the courtroom. "Mr. Potter," said the Chief Warlock. "Did he or did he not allow Death Eaters unlawful entry into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in June, 1997?"
"Yes, but only because he was under duress," Harry said, speaking the last part loudly and quickly before they could cut him off.
One of the Wizengamot, a shrivelled, bent old man, raised his hand. Upon acknowledgement, he directed his milky gaze at Harry. "What do you mean by 'duress'?"
"Well, Voldemort had his parents hostage. If he didn't do as he was told, his parents would have been killed," he said, exasperation colouring his voice; he had clearly told this story plenty of times before, to people who could never quite believe him in the end.
The courtroom erupted again in chatter, and Harry chanced a glance at the accused. Draco nodded briefly at him, indicating his appreciation of the effort, however futile. Draco knew that the testimony, impassioned as it was, would make little difference. The prosecution was out to make an example of him, just as they had with everyone else remotely involved in the Dark Lord's plans, and even the word of the Great Harry Potter was unlikely to sway them this time.
It would only be a matter of time before the Wizengamot proved him right.
Harry stifled a loud groan of protest, taking off his glasses and pulling the inside corners of his eyes together, the movement masking his face as he swore quietly under his breath. He needn't have bothered, as no one else did; throughout the courtroom there were cries of disbelief mingled among the satisfied noises of those who believed justice had been served.
In the centre of the Wizengamot, the Chief Warlock read off the litany of charges for which the Wizengamot had determined Draco Malfoy was guilty; there were several frivolous charges that had gone through anyway, and of the more serious, he would serve time for attempted murder, and being an accomplice to murder, and to breaking and entering.
Harry stood to one side of the courtroom, his arms folded tightly across his chest as people filed out past him. He watched as the courtroom guards freed Draco from the chains on the chair, only to cuff him once more as he stood. Clinking as he walked, Draco's face remained blank, and he disappeared behind a door to the bowels of the Ministry where he would be prepped for transport to prison.
Though his mouth was set in a grim line, Harry managed a hint of a smile as Ron and Ginny approached him on their way down from the public stands.
"Hey, Harry," said Ginny, squeezing his arm.
Ron shuffled his feet, noting Harry's deepening frown as his gaze returned to the door through which Draco had been escorted. "Is it really that upsetting? It's Malfoy, Harry. Total bastard, remember?"
"Yeah, he's an arse, but he did all that to protect his parents. If I were in his place, I -- It's just not right," Harry said, shaking his head.
"Sod 'right'," Ron muttered. "He got what he deserved, if you ask me."
"Most people don't have to go to jail for being school bullies."
"Harry, it's not like he was just going around pulling wedgies," Ginny interjected.
"I'm not saying he's sunshine and puppies, all right? Yeah, he did some really stupid and dangerous things," Harry said wearily. He was tired of being the only one among his social circle who didn't want to damn Draco to eternal suffering. "I just think that having to serve over twenty years for being forced to do somebody else's dirty work is a tad extravagant. And those of us who've had the misfortune of being close to Voldemort know how difficult it can be to resist him," he said, choosing his words carefully.
Ginny clamped her mouth shut, pressing her lips together tightly. Her eyes flashed with anger.
Sensing imminent danger, Ron cut in. "Well, mate, you've truly earned the title of Saint Potter today," he said, clapping Harry on the back. "Let's get some dinner, yeah?"
His countenance suggested indifference, bordering on insouciance, a quirk of the eyebrows here or a twitch of the lips there the only indications he was even paying any attention at all to the proceedings in front of him. He looked like a boy king, ensconced as he was in a makeshift throne of carved wood and biting iron, watching with disinterest the whole kingdom's jesters gamboling about like the fools they were paid to be, trying to extract a laugh, a snarl -- anything -- from his lips. And even as he watched, they knew he did so only because there was nothing else to see.
There was a lull in the questioning, and snatches of murmured conversations across the courtroom floated to his ears.
"So brave," one whimpered.
"Deserves it," said another gruffly.
"He's just a kid," chided someone else.
Draco supposed he should have taken more interest in his own trial, but the verdict seemed a foregone conclusion anyway, and it amused him more to cast his eyes about the room to see what others thought of the whole circus. Amusement would be difficult to come by, he imagined, once they locked him up. Not that there was much to miss, since he had been on house arrest for years while the others' trials had dragged on. Draco was near the last in line of Death Eaters up for trial with the Wizengamot, whose archaic court system made it impossible for multiple hearings to go on at the same time; it was only shortly after his twenty-first birthday that the Wizengamot had finally summoned him, nearly three years after they had ruled it wise to shut his father up in jail. Initially, Draco and Narcissa had been hopeful that the long wait would work in their favour -- perhaps after convicting so many before him, the thirst for vengeance would have been slaked, and they'd lean towards a more lenient stance, but Draco could see upon many of the council's faces that this was absolutely not the case. After the first day of the trial, he asked Narcissa not to come to the courtroom anymore; it would only upset her further to watch them cart him away, and he preferred not to have his last moment of quasi-freedom consumed with the sight of his mother quietly falling apart.
The courtroom was packed to the gills, standing room only now, here as much for Draco as they were for the final witness due to take the stand today. The Chief Warlock narrowed her eyes and frowned at the large crowd for their insolent noise, not for the first time that day. Draco couldn't recall which group it had been in the Ministry who had successfully lobbied for the war crimes trials to be publicly accessible -- it made the little people feel vindicated; he assumed the Chief Warlock had had nothing to do with it, though. If she had done, she looked as though she was desperately ruing it now. She rapped her gavel in irritation.
She directed her hard gaze to the witness stand on one side of the courtroom. "Mr. Potter," said the Chief Warlock. "Did he or did he not allow Death Eaters unlawful entry into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in June, 1997?"
"Yes, but only because he was under duress," Harry said, speaking the last part loudly and quickly before they could cut him off.
One of the Wizengamot, a shrivelled, bent old man, raised his hand. Upon acknowledgement, he directed his milky gaze at Harry. "What do you mean by 'duress'?"
"Well, Voldemort had his parents hostage. If he didn't do as he was told, his parents would have been killed," he said, exasperation colouring his voice; he had clearly told this story plenty of times before, to people who could never quite believe him in the end.
The courtroom erupted again in chatter, and Harry chanced a glance at the accused. Draco nodded briefly at him, indicating his appreciation of the effort, however futile. Draco knew that the testimony, impassioned as it was, would make little difference. The prosecution was out to make an example of him, just as they had with everyone else remotely involved in the Dark Lord's plans, and even the word of the Great Harry Potter was unlikely to sway them this time.
It would only be a matter of time before the Wizengamot proved him right.
Harry stifled a loud groan of protest, taking off his glasses and pulling the inside corners of his eyes together, the movement masking his face as he swore quietly under his breath. He needn't have bothered, as no one else did; throughout the courtroom there were cries of disbelief mingled among the satisfied noises of those who believed justice had been served.
In the centre of the Wizengamot, the Chief Warlock read off the litany of charges for which the Wizengamot had determined Draco Malfoy was guilty; there were several frivolous charges that had gone through anyway, and of the more serious, he would serve time for attempted murder, and being an accomplice to murder, and to breaking and entering.
Harry stood to one side of the courtroom, his arms folded tightly across his chest as people filed out past him. He watched as the courtroom guards freed Draco from the chains on the chair, only to cuff him once more as he stood. Clinking as he walked, Draco's face remained blank, and he disappeared behind a door to the bowels of the Ministry where he would be prepped for transport to prison.
Though his mouth was set in a grim line, Harry managed a hint of a smile as Ron and Ginny approached him on their way down from the public stands.
"Hey, Harry," said Ginny, squeezing his arm.
Ron shuffled his feet, noting Harry's deepening frown as his gaze returned to the door through which Draco had been escorted. "Is it really that upsetting? It's Malfoy, Harry. Total bastard, remember?"
"Yeah, he's an arse, but he did all that to protect his parents. If I were in his place, I -- It's just not right," Harry said, shaking his head.
"Sod 'right'," Ron muttered. "He got what he deserved, if you ask me."
"Most people don't have to go to jail for being school bullies."
"Harry, it's not like he was just going around pulling wedgies," Ginny interjected.
"I'm not saying he's sunshine and puppies, all right? Yeah, he did some really stupid and dangerous things," Harry said wearily. He was tired of being the only one among his social circle who didn't want to damn Draco to eternal suffering. "I just think that having to serve over twenty years for being forced to do somebody else's dirty work is a tad extravagant. And those of us who've had the misfortune of being close to Voldemort know how difficult it can be to resist him," he said, choosing his words carefully.
Ginny clamped her mouth shut, pressing her lips together tightly. Her eyes flashed with anger.
Sensing imminent danger, Ron cut in. "Well, mate, you've truly earned the title of Saint Potter today," he said, clapping Harry on the back. "Let's get some dinner, yeah?"
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