The Boy Who Lived

The Wizard Courts

At about the time that Harry and Minerva were finishing renovating Grimmauld Place, the Malfoys were all arrested, all three taken to Azkaban without a trial. Harry was furious, arguing time and time again with Kingsley about Draco's and Narcissa's help. Kingsley knew all this, Gawain knew all this, they'd been over it countless times. It was a political move, Harry knew that too; the Ministry had to be seen as doing something productive. Too many Death-Eaters had escaped. The hunt for Avery, the Carrows, Dolohov, Macnair, Mulciber, Rookwood, Rowle, and Yaxley was proving futile; all were known to be from the inner circle and had fled after the final battle. All were yet to be rounded up. It was clear the Ministry was up to its old tricks of making an easy example out of the Malfoys. Eventually, Harry threatened to go to the press and tell them. Kingsley managed to bring their trial forward but it still meant they were trapped in Azkaban for three weeks.

Harry showed Minnie his memory of the Room of Requirement, just for confirmation that he was right that Draco had been trying to help. Minerva agreed that Draco certainly provided Harry with a warning as Crabbe and Goyle approached him, and he definitely was trying to stall for time. He showed her his memories of Draco's help at the Manor too and Minerva went over the details of what she remembered about Draco's behaviour over the year and her suspicions about the fake hex. Harry called on Neville and Hagrid too for help.

When Draco emerged from Azkaban before the trial, he'd lost weight, his pale face was hollowed, and his hair curled slightly at his collar.

Draco winced, feeling overwhelmed by the sensory overload of everything around him after three weeks in a dank, empty cell and nothing but the crash of waves and darkness for company. He felt lost and disorientated as he and his parents were guided along a corridor in the depths of Ministry that lead to the Wizengamot chamber.

He watched Potter stride towards him with a welcoming smile on his face. He wore a well-cut, and very muggle, navy suit that made him stand out from those around him. The top two buttons of his crisp white shirt had been left undone and somehow the casualness exuded a powerful confidence that suited Potter. He'd had his haircut and it was pushed back, showing his scar. He smelt enviously clean, of fresh woodland showergel and citrus shampoo, of spiced sandalwood aftershave. Draco felt a little jealous, particularly because of the state he was in after Azkaban. Close to, Potter's green eyes, always so expressive, showed pity but also fiery anger. There was something else too, he thought that perhaps Potter was haunted by the ghosts of the past.

His mother watched Potter warily but he greeted her with a slight bow and a firm handshake. In comparison, Lucius completely ignored his presence, it was one step too much for the pride of the man to take.

He watched Potter run a hand through his hair, messing it up, before he pushed his glasses up his nose with his index finger. It made Draco quirk a faint smile to see such a familiar sight.

Harry was surprised by his nervousness at facing the Malfoys again, so close to and under such personal circumstances. He studied Draco intently, feeling inherent protectiveness towards him and what he was facing. He thought it was unfair, he thought the Malfoys had been mistreated. Not that he was so moved by Lucius's plight, but some officious Ministry being had moved against Kingsley's and Harry's wishes for the sake of seeming to progress.

Harry couldn't fail to notice that Draco was too pasty. Too thin. His clothes hung loosely off the taller man's already narrow frame and swamped him. Harry couldn't help but slowly study the slim wrists that he could easily encircle within his index finger and thumb. He noticed the V of naked pale flesh that showed a prominent Adams-apple and the hollow scoop between his clavicles at his open shirt neck where the top button was undone. He took in Draco's thin neck with its threadlike tendons scooping towards his shoulders and the angles on his face that Harry had never noticed at school: the pointed chin; the sharp jawline; the high cheekbones. His dry lips. The grey haunted eyes with black circles heavy beneath them. His white-blond hair was slightly tousled with a wave inherited from Narcissa. He was shivering.