What We Require

Ch1: The Malfoy Trials

Summary:

Harry, perhaps against his better judgement, speaks at the Malfoy trials.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the heavy oak door to the Wizengamot courtroom shut, muffling the chaotic shouts of reporters outside. Court room ten hadn't changed all that much since Harry's own trial, back in his fifth year. It hadn't even been three years ago, but it felt like a whole other life time since Harry had sat in the centre of this room and stared up at the Wizengamot, certain that he was going to be expelled from Hogwarts for protecting himself and Dudley from a (seemingly) rogue Dementor.

'Speaking of Dementors,' Harry thought to himself as he scanned the chamber. There were two at the far end of the room, one stationed on either side of the second oak door. Harry could feel the cold they generated spilling across the space, and noticed with a grim smile that the seats nearest the door had been left empty, no one wanting to sit near the horrible creatures. He continued to cast an eye over the room and soon found a familiar riot of curls two rows from the front – Hermione caught his eye and waved him over.

The court room was largely unaltered, but Harry had certainly changed from the knobbly kneed fifteen-year-old he had been the last time he had visited this particular area of the Ministry. His emerald green eyes were direct and serious, the mature gaze made even sharper by the contrast it created with his still youthful face. Voldemort had been dead and gone for over a month, and Harry had so far managed to avoid involving himself in the reestablishment of the Ministry of Magic, despite the large outcry from the Wizarding public for him to do so. In fact, Harry mused as he walked purposefully towards the seat Hermione had saved him, he was quite sure that if it was not for his own – frankly irritating – sense of justice and honour, he would never have returned to this part of the Ministry at all.

"Harry, good, you're here" Hermione greeted, pulling him into a quick hug. "They're about to start."

"Do we know who's working on defence?" Harry asked as he sat down beside his friend, and Hermione shook her head, long brown curls swaying with the movement.

"I've haven't heard anything; I suspect they've had to bring someone in from abroad. No lawyer in the country would take their case – everyone is too afraid to be linked to people they shouldn't be. It's a disgrace, the way the Ministry is handling everything."

Harry didn't have time to answer – the door at the far end of the room had opened, and three people in shackles were escorted into the room.

Despite knowing whose trial he was at, Harry almost didn't recognise Draco Malfoy – his once platinum blonde hair fell dirty and lank, and though he had always been slender, he was now gaunt and rake thin. Hermione gasped beside him, and Harry had to agree – the young man before them was barely recognisable as the arrogant prat that had antagonised them through their school years.

With an almost sick feeling in his stomach, Harry dragged his eyes from the youngest Malfoy and looked at Lucius and Narcissa – they, too, were very obviously worse for wear, with dark circles under their eyes and their once fine clothes hanging from skeletal frames. The family had been captured just over two weeks before, but even that time in Azkaban had clearly brought the once proud family to their limit.

As Harry had watched, all three Malfoys were chained to the chairs in the centre of the room, and the crowd slowly quieted, waiting for the trials to begin. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Acting Minister, was presiding over the hearing, and as silence fell he stood and looked down at the prisoners.