"No trumpets sound when the important decisions of our life are made. Destiny is made known silently"
- Agnes DeMille
~*~
Mid-August, 2011
Draco's first stop after arriving in England was the Ministry. There were a scant handful of days before the trial, and an enormous amount of work yet to be done. He arrived at Neville's office in the afternoon; the small office was same blizzard of scrolls and paper and coffee cups it always was, and Neville was nose deep in parchments. Draco leaned quietly in the doorway for a good two minutes before Neville realized he was there and jumped.
"Dammit, Malfoy, I thought I told you not to do that!" Neville said irritably. "Scare the life out of me, why don't you?"
Draco smirked. "Hello, Longbottom." He pushed himself off the doorframe and pulled out Neville's visitor's chair, flopping into it and propping his feet up on the desk.
"Welcome back," Neville grumbled, glaring at Draco's feet. He sighed when Draco didn't remove them and leaned back, stretching and twisting to release the tension in his back. "When did you get in?"
"Just this morning," Draco replied. "Found a place to stay and came straight here. Miss me?"
"Oh, terribly," Neville said sardonically. "I'm sure you'll be happy to know you got out of most of the work for the trial. I've had Justin Finch-Fletchley by nearly every day to talk to me about it. You should probably talk to him...he's handling the prosecution, and will want to hear your side of the story, I'm sure."
"Didn't I already send him a write-up?" Draco asked. "I'm sure I did."
"I think he still wants to talk to you in person," Neville replied. "Very meticulous, is our Justin."
Draco frowned thoughtfully. "Did I know him? I can't remember."
"He was in Hufflepuff, our year. Tall bloke, big teeth, Muggle-born. You probably wouldn't have liked him. He started out as a lawyer for the Ministry about 7 years ago...he's quite good, by all accounts."
"It isn't as though he needs to be, for this. Fairly obvious they're guilty, isn't it?"
"Doesn't matter, they still get a trial," Neville said. "Since the War, and the huge fuss over the Ministry sending people to Azkaban without trial and the like, they've decided to revamp the whole legal system. Everyone gets a trial, doesn't matter if they were caught red-handed or not."
Draco snorted. "Even if they're not the only ones involved?"
"Meaning...?" Neville raised his eyebrows inquiringly.
"Meaning you know as well as I do that someone else is behind the kidnapping," Draco said. "Straker and Nesbitt managed to keep us running 'round for months when they were robbing banks, but the kidnapping...it was too obvious. And too easy. They either got very stupid all of a sudden, or someone talked them into this and is letting them take the fall."
"I know that, and you know that, but we can't get those two to admit to it, and there's no way we can prove it short of getting permission to search the Flints' home, or the Notts' or the Averys'. And that's right out of the question right now. Too many Ministry folks who are either their friends, or simply don't want to stir the pot again." Neville sighed and shook his head. "Though Cecil would dearly love to see it done, we can't search them without some form of proof. Which we don't have."
"What I don't understand is what they thought they'd gain from it." Draco shook his head. "I mean, kidnapping Harry Potter's children makes sense, if you have a personal grudge against Potter and want to see him suffer. But those two...money would be the most likely motive, but I can't see someone like Flint just giving up 5 million galleons once he had it. Unless whoever is behind it promised they'd keep the two of them out of jail, and reneged on the promise. I wonder what they were threatened with to get them not to talk."
Neville shrugged. "Dark spells, maybe? Memory charm? Maybe they never knew to begin with. Some sort of under-the-table deal."
"Why would they do it to begin with, if they knew how high the risk was?" Draco shook his head and made a frustrated noise. "Even if they were coerced with spells, why don't they say something now that they're in custody? Try to plea-bargain their way out of trouble. Unless they've been spelled to not be able to, which is always possible." He ran a hand through his cropped hair - his left instead of his right, a habit he'd picked up while he was injured and couldn't move his right arm - and shook his head.
Neville watched and raised his eyebrows at Draco. "How's the arm, by the way?"
Draco shrugged and let him change the subject. "All right. Aches sometimes. I've got a hell of a scar."
"I'm sure." Neville frowned, his brow furrowing. He nodded stiffly and shifted his gaze away, staring at a point somewhere up and to the left of Draco's head.
Draco raised an eyebrow at that. "Something the matter?"
Neville glanced at him briefly. "What makes you think that?"
"It just seems like something's wrong, Longbottom," Draco said. "If there's something you
want to know, by all means, ask away."
Neville shook his head and kept not-quite-glaring at Draco. "It's nothing."
"It's not nothing or you wouldn't be avoiding looking at me. What's wrong?" Draco frowned at Neville. He'd never seen the other man so shifty. "If there's something you want to know, just ask, for crying out loud. What is it?"
Neville stopped staring at the wall and glowered at Draco, suddenly tense. "What the hell were you thinking, is what I really want to know, actually," he said, an edge in his voice. "Leaping out of nowhere like that, when that Muggle was armed. You could have been killed! Why on earth didn't you just pull your wand?"
Draco blinked at Neville's unexpected display of anger. "I didn't think of it."
"You didn’t -" Neville pushed his chair back abruptly, stood up and began to pace in a small circle in the space behind his desk. "You didn't think of it. Have you any idea how close you came to dying that night?"
"Actually, yes," Draco replied defensively. "I had ample time to think about it during my month-long stay in hospital. So what?"
Neville pressed his lips together and glared. "I know you were carrying a wand, he said accusingly."All you had to do was stupefy the idiot!"
"Longbottom, it has been well over a decade since my first instinct has been to go for a wand," Draco said. "Ridiculous as you obviously think it, if someone pulls a gun and tries to shoot me, my first impulse is to shoot back. It happened too fast, and using magic simply didn't occur to me."
Neville made a small but expressive noise of disbelief and paced around in a circle again. "I thought you were going to die," he said accusingly. "You collapsed practically in my arms, and those idiot Aurors saying that they couldn't use magic on you, even on the arm wound, because they were sure you were a Muggle and it wasn't allowed." Neville huffed in annoyance and flopped back into his chair, glaring at Draco.
"Why, Longbottom, I didn't know you cared." Draco grinned as Neville went red. "I'm touched."
"Well, I was worried." Neville huffed again, the flush in his cheeks showing no sign of fading.
Draco grinned. He was touched, actually - he didn't think Neville would care so much about his well-being. "Anything else you want to yell at me for?"
Neville actually looked very much like there was something else he wanted to yell about, and Draco had a brief nervous moment wondering what the hell he'd say if Neville asked about Ginny, but Neville only shook his head. "I should warn you that we've been hip-deep in reporters since the kidnapping story broke. Might want to be careful on your way out, they've all been dying to talk to you."
"I'll keep that in mind," Draco said, and stood up. "Call me if anything comes up, will you? And you can send Finch-Fletchley to me if he shows up, and I'll repeat everything I've already told him via owl."
"I'll do that." Neville bent his head back to his reports and waved one hand idly in Draco's direction.
~*~
Neville hadn't been joking about the reporters. Draco managed to retreat from the Ministry to his old office at New Scotland Yard without drawing the attention of the small horde of journalists who had taken up residence outside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Colin Creevey in particular seemed bound and determined to snag an exclusive interview, and had not only dug up a host of information on Draco already, but had even managed to track down the hotel he was staying in, although the front desk clerk informed Draco later that they refused to talk to the young man. Colin was tenacious and unwilling to give up, though, and while under slightly different circumstances Draco might have admired Colin's gall, when Draco was on the receiving end of all that enthusiasm it was extremely grating. So Draco decided to give Diagon Alley a wide berth, in the vain hope that Colin might get bored and give up.
He holed up in his office at the Yard and made sure that Brown at the front desk wasn't going to let anyone up who didn't have identification. The peace and quiet were a welcome break from the cacophony of the Ministry anyway - between Justin Finch-Fletchley coming to visit Neville at odd hours and Cecil Dobbins chewing his moustaches and exhorting them to work harder, not to mention the press, the Ministry was even more of a zoo than usual. Draco was using the quiet time to catch up on his own paperwork, organizing his computer files and sifting through reports and statements relating to the case. It was nearly silent in his office, the only sounds the clicking of the heating unit and the dull hum that exists in the background of all office buildings, so the small whoosh of displaced air, when it came, was very loud. Draco turned in his chair, the back of his neck prickling.
Marcus Flint was standing in the middle of his office, dressed in tasteless plum robes that looked as though he'd slept in them. He smiled at Draco, showing a mouthful of badly stained teeth. It belatedly occurred to Draco that spell-protecting his Muggle office might be a good idea. "Hello, Malfoy. It's been a while."
"Hardly long enough," Draco replied coldly. Marcus was one of his least favourite people, a blunt, stupid man with little imagination and questionable personal hygiene. He and his father had desired nothing more than to be Death Eaters when Voldemort returned; Flint's father had borne the Dark Mark, but Marcus had been rejected by Voldemort as too stupid to be useful in the summer after Draco's fifth year. It was one of the few things the Dark Lord had done that Draco agreed with.
Marcus smirked and pulled out the visitor's chair, slouching into it. "Pansy said she'd run into you, Malfoy. How come you never owled to say hello?"
"Perhaps I simply didn't want to," Draco said. "I've been busy."
"Too busy to talk to your old friends? Malfoy, I'm shocked." Marcus flashed his nasty little smile again. "I would have thought you'd be eager to get back into things."
Draco stiffened. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"Oh, come on, Malfoy. Your dad was the Dark Lord's most trusted advisor. How could you not want that back, eh?" Marcus leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him comfortably. "See the old crowd again, pick up where your dad left off?"
"Unless I'm very much mistaken, Flint, the 'Dark Lord' was killed 13 years ago, and I imagine that the Ministry did everything in their power to make very sure he stayed killed. It's a bit difficult to be the trusted advisor to a dead man," he replied. "Even if I wanted to, which I don't."
Marcus scoffed. "Oh, come on, Malfoy. You don't expect me to believe that you're actually happy about being forced to live like a mudblood? You, of all people? Don't tell me
you don't want your old life back." He waved a hand at Draco's office. "You deserve better than this, living without magic, forced to hide who you are, rubbing shoulders with people like Longbottom." Marcus' voice was thick with scorn as he said Neville's name. "Chubby little prig."
Draco's eye's narrowed dangerously. "What you appear to be forgetting," he said quietly, snapping off each word, "is that I chose to leave, and I chose to live as a Muggle. In fact, had I not been required by circumstance to return, I never would have. If you want to delude yourself into thinking that dabbling in the Dark Arts will give you whatever it is you think you deserve, by all means go ahead, but don't expect me to play your foolish little games."
"Your father would have said differently -" Marcus began.
"My father is dead!" Draco snarled. "And for the last time I have no intention of joining you and your horrible little wife in whatever idiotic little hobby you've concocted to amuse yourselves with in your spare time!"
Marcus recoiled, his lip curling. "I would never have believed it...you've gone soft."
"I have not 'gone soft', Flint, I grew up. It's something you might try as well," Draco shot back. "Voldemort is dead, and if you had any sense at all, you'd be grateful for it."
"Grateful for it? Grateful for having our money seized and our homes ransacked by Aurors? Grateful to have to kowtow to mudbloods and Muggle-lovers at every level of society, to be ruled by a Ministry run by boot-lickers like Percy Weasley and the rest of his pathetic family? Although I hear that someone nearly had the chance to off two of Potter's horrid little by-blows by that little Weasley slut. Pity, really." Marcus sneered again, and Draco clenched his hands on the arms of his chair to keep from going over the desk and wiping the smirk off his face with a well-placed fist. "You may have forgotten who you are and what your family stands for, but the rest of us haven't. We're pure-blooded, back generations, and we should be grateful that we're being edged out by these half-bloods and mud-bloods with no breeding to speak of? That it's become fashionable to pretend to be Muggle? And we're just supposed to sit back and let them taint our world, let them over-run everything that the wizarding world has ever stood for?"
"You really have no idea," Draco said softly, his voice oozing contempt. "Voldemort was a Muggle, you idiot. He was Tom Riddle, before he became Lord Voldemort. His mother was a witch, but his father was as Muggle as they come. If it was the Muggle taint you were hoping to eradicate, I'd say Potter gave you a fine head start." Draco curled his lip as Marcus shook his head in denial. "The only thing Voldemort was really interested in was power for himself, not for anyone else. Even if Potter hadn't killed him, he would have sucked the wizarding world dry, not out of some deluded notion of purity, but because it was a means to his own ends. Ranting about purebloods and mudbloods and all the rest of it just got all the old pureblood families - the people with the money - on his side."
"You haven't a clue what you're talking about," Marcus growled.
"No?" Draco asked, icily politely. "I'm sorry, I could have sworn that it was my father and not yours who was a part of Voldemort's inner circle. Do correct me if I'm wrong."
"You'll want to watch that tongue of yours, Malfoy. You'll end up in exactly the sort of trouble you don't want," Marcus snarled.
It was all Draco could do not to laugh in his face. "Oh really. You think you can make trouble for me?" He swept Marcus with a derisive look and did laugh, bitterly. "You can't throw anything at me that I can't handle, Flint, I assure you."
"You're going to regret that, Malfoy," Marcus replied, rising from the chair with a sneer.
"You really are."
"Are you threatening me?" Draco asked softly, rising as well.
Marcus clenched his jaw, obviously debating how to answer. "All I'm saying is that you should be careful who you side with," he said finally. "There are some enemies you don't want to make." He held Draco's eye steadily as he jerked his wand out and apparated away.
Draco glared at the spot where Flint had been standing, then spun around in his chair in annoyance. He'd known, really, that it was only a matter of time before someone from the old crowd discovered he was here and tried to talk to him, someone besides Pansy, who had all the sense and tact of a gnat. The role he'd played in the rescue of Harry Potter's children was just the thing to bring them all oozing out of the woodwork, eager to latch on to the Malfoy name and money. He was actually surprised it had taken them all so long. Maybe Pansy had learned to hold her tongue. Draco ran one hand through his hair, pacing in a small circle. The only question was, what would Flint do now? How long would it take before Draco started receiving visits from Nott, or the surviving Goyle clan, or any of the other wizards who had supported Voldemort but evaded punishment? He snarled under his breath, grabbed his paperweight, and spun around to launch it at the far wall, needing to do something to release the surge of frustrated rage.
He narrowly missed decapitating Harry Potter with the heavy glass weight, which hit the wall with a dull thud and fell to the carpet. Draco jumped and swore. "Jesus! Haven't you heard of knocking?"
"I did knock," Harry said accusingly, glaring at Draco. "You didn't need to throw something at me. What's your problem?"
Draco closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "What do you want, Potter?"
Harry huffed. "Neville said I'd find you here." He walked further into the room, leaving off glaring at Draco to peer around curiously. He was dressed in Muggle clothes, casual black pants and a deep green t-shirt. He had stylish silver-framed glasses, and he'd unselfconsciously pushed his hair off his forehead, his scar a faint silver bolt above one eye. He had the same slightly gawky grace he'd had as a boy, balanced by an aura of powerful magic that was almost palpable. It wasn't for lack of magical ability that Harry had rejected a life of politics to play Quidditch - Draco knew from Neville that Harry had actually been offered the position of Minister of Magic after the war, and turned it down. The sheer force of his magic seemed to fill up the room. No wonder poor Brown at the front desk had let him upstairs.
Draco gritted his teeth. "How nice of him. What do you want?"
"He sent me by to talk about the trial," Harry replied absently. He wasn't even paying attention to Draco, having discovered the photos on his bookshelf. "Who's this?" he asked, fingering the picture of Draco and Laura.
Draco sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted. "Ex-girlfriend," he said wearily. He might have to put up with having The Boy Who Lived hanging about his office, but damned if he was going to give Harry any more details than absolutely necessary. "What did Longbottom want?"
"Oh," Harry said, ignoring Draco's question. "She's pretty." Draco growled under his breath as Harry set the picture back down and moved on to the others. "Who're all these people?" he asked
Draco blinked, momentarily distracted. "Um..." He craned his neck to see which picture Harry was holding. "Me and John, and Ed, two of his sons, some people from the neighbouring ranch who came over to help with round-up."
"Round-up?" Harry asked curiously, still examining the picture. "What's round-up?"
"It's herding cattle. You do it in the fall, to gather up all the calves for branding before the winter."
Harry raised his eyebrows so much his scar wrinkled, which made it look rather silly. "You know how to herd cattle?"
"Of course," Draco informed him loftily. "I lived on a ranch for almost a year."
"Oh." Harry absorbed this. "Who's Ed?" he asked finally.
Draco held his breath for a moment and counted slowly to ten. "What do you want, Potter?"
Harry shrugged aimlessly and set the picture back down, glancing over the one of John as well, his eyes drifting over the spines of the books. "I lied," he said finally. "Neville didn't send me." He turned around and faced Draco squarely, his arms clasped lightly behind his back. "I didn't come to talk about the case, I came to apologize to you."
Draco went very still, watching the other man guardedly. He was almost tempted to believe it was a joke, if it weren't for the fact that he knew Harry would never make a joke about something like this. "For what?"
Harry took a deep breath. "For misjudging you. And for lying about your father. I shouldn't have let people think it was my doing, and I'm sorry." He stopped and looked at Draco expectantly.
Draco stared back at him. He knew he should make some sort of reply, but in all honestly, he didn't have a clue what to say to that. Harry, apparently taking his silence for some sort of assent, soldiered on. "I also wanted to say that I understand that you're upset with me about...what I did, and I am willing to publicly admit to it. I can arrange to talk to the Daily Prophet and let people know the truth of what happened."
Draco's brain finally caught up to what Harry was saying. "No," he said vehemently.
Harry looked at him in surprise. "What?"
"No," Draco repeated. "I don't want you to."
Harry looked crestfallen, and Draco jerked his head in irritation. He'd expected Draco to agree, obviously, and he would be able to admit to his lie, be lauded in the press for coming forth with the truth, praised for his honesty and go on with his life, conscience clear. "Why not?" Harry asked in bewilderment.
"Because I don't care if the wizarding world knows what really happened," Draco said. "And frankly, the absolute last thing I want is a bunch of nosy reporters having a heyday with my private life. You want the accolades, Potter, you're more than welcome to them."
Harry stared at him, a strange expression on his face. "I thought you'd want people to know," he said finally.
Draco clenched his jaw."Well I don't. I don't care."
Harry watched him silently, bright green eyes searching Draco's face. Draco glared back, resisting the urge to loom a bit - he might be a powerful wizard, but Harry really was quite short. "All right," he said finally, and nodded, more to himself than to Draco. "But I do mean it. I am sorry." Harry held out his hand to Draco, green eyes meeting his steadily. "And I do want to thank you. For everything."
Draco stared back for a long moment before reaching out and taking Harry's proffered hand in his own. "You're welcome," Draco said shortly, and dropped Harry's hand.
"Um." Harry said awkwardly, and cleared his throat. "Right then." He looked at Draco consideringly, clearly debating whether to say something else. If you ask me about Ginny, I will hit you, Draco thought to himself. It must have shown on his face, because Harry thought better of whatever it was he was going to say, nodded firmly and turned away. He walked out the door, shutting it quietly behind him.
Draco leaned against his desk and rubbed one hand tiredly over his face, suddenly exhausted from the effort of having Marcus and Harry sprung on him one after the other. He wanted nothing more than to go and lie down somewhere quiet and not have to think about any of it. A sudden image came to him, of Ginny's tiny apartment, her worn and comfortable couch, the feeling of absolute peace that he felt there. "Shit," he said quietly. "Shit, shit, shit." Draco rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed. Del was right; he was an idiot. After the trial, he promised himself. I'll talk to her then.
~*~
The trial date came too quickly for Neville, who hated public speaking more than just about anything else. He was standing in the small room reserved for witnesses just off the courtroom, drinking the vile coffee left on the table there by one of the court clerks, and trying not to think too hard about the room full of people beyond the door. He paced in a small circle, waiting for Draco and Harry to show up and keep him company until the trial began. He didn't have long to wait - Draco arrived soon after he did, striding through the door and shutting it firmly behind him with an air of aloof arrogance. Neville choked on his coffee. "Malfoy," he gasped out, coughing violently. He nodded at his partner when he'd got his breath back. "You look..." he trailed off and coughed again.
"What?" Draco snapped irritably, glaring at Neville. He walked forward to lean against the table, frowning down at the coffee pot. There wasn't anything else to drink, which made Draco's scowl deepen.
Neville cleared his throat, not quite looking at Draco. "Oh, nothing. It's just, um, your jacket is very, um." He tugged at the neck of his own formal robes, which were a nicely subdued navy blue, and cleared his throat. "It's very...red."
Draco snorted and brushed at the jacket in question. It was very red, trimmed with brass buttons, and with a brown belt at the waist. "It's a dress uniform, Longbottom. Something wrong with it?"
"Oh, no, no, not at all, it's very...nice. You look...nice. I mean, you know, you look okay. It's fine, and - dammit." Neville gave up as Draco raised his eyebrows in amusement. "You look gorgeous, if you must know." He glowered at Draco, a slow flush creeping up his neck. "By rights you should look ridiculous, but you don't. Sex on a bloody stick. Happy?"
Draco grinned at Neville's discomfiture. "Thanks," he said brightly.
"Fuck off."
Draco smirked. "You want me."
Neville didn't think it was possible to blush any harder than he already was, but his cheeks were making a valiant effort to prove him wrong. "Whatever." He scowled at Draco, who leaned back against the table and smirked some more. "Should have known you wouldn't just show up in robes like every other normal person in the world."
"I don't own any dress robes, and I didn't have time to go shopping," Draco said, still grinning at him. "Though you don't look so bad yourself."
Neville scowled some more and tugged at his collar again. He was wearing his official Auror uniform, with the Ministry crest and his name over the left breast pocket. He could practically feel them wrinkling. "I hate dressing up," he said morosely.
"You look fine."
Neville sighed disconsolately. "Easy for you to say," he muttered. "God I hate these things."
"You look fine, and after all, it's only a trial," Draco said calmly. "It's hardly something to get worked up over. We already know what the outcome will be."
"It's not the trial bit, it's the public speaking bit. I'm crap at it." Neville glanced at Draco, who looked as unflappable as always. Of course he wouldn't have any qualms about standing up and talking in front of the largest crowd of people Neville had ever seen. With Neville's luck, he'd get flustered and forget his own name, but not Draco.
"There's hardly anything to worry about," Draco replied dismissively. "Though I'm a bit surprised there's so many people here."
"Of course there's a massive crowd, it's Harry and his kids. D'you think anyone within apparating distance would miss it? It's a zoo out there," Neville said. "I've never seen so many people."
"Wonderful," Draco said sardonically. "All come to play 'Spot the Hero', I take it?"
Neville gave him a wry half-smile. "A goodly portion of them are here to see you as much as him, I'd bet."
"That'd be more along the lines of 'Spot the Death Eater', Longbottom. I read the papers." Draco shook his head in disgust and tipped the coffee pot on the table slightly toward himself, peering into it mournfully. "It didn't occur to them to give us water, too?"
"We don't rate," Neville said, and sipped at his coffee. "You're not missing anything, the coffee's unbelievably vile."
"Harder to screw up water."
"Where there's a will, there's a way," Neville replied, chuckling, and relaxed minutely. He glanced up as the door to the hall opened to admit Harry, who shut it quickly behind him.
"Hullo, Neville. Malfoy." Harry nodded stiffly at Neville, then raised his eyebrows at Draco. "Nice outfit."
Draco sneered at him. "It's a dress uniform, Potter. Not that I'd expect you to recognize that." He raked his eyes over Harry's rather plain black robes.
Harry clenched his jaw and smiled tautly at Draco. "Actually, Malfoy," he said, "it makes you look a bit like an over-ripe tomato. But then, I suppose you can't afford to be too picky."
Draco's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'll remember that the next time you need a spare 5 million Galleons, Potter."
Harry bristled and started forward. Neville caught his arm before he got to Draco and pulled him back. "Stop it," he said sharply, and pushed Harry toward the opposite wall. "You too," he said to Draco, who was still sneering. "Quit baiting each other. Honestly."
"You sound like Hermione," Harry muttered sullenly. He tugged at the collar of his robes to straighten them, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. Despite Draco's dig, they were high quality and well tailored, with his war medals and Order of the Phoenix crest pinned over his breast. He looked sober and serious, every inch the hero. Unlike Neville, he wore them well - but then, Harry'd had years of practice to perfect his public image.
Neville shook his head again and turned back to Draco, who was leaning against the table with his arms crossed over his chest, silently ignoring Harry. Neville sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. There was a short uncomfortable silence, while Harry and Draco each pretended the other wasn't there, finally broken by Justin Finch-Fletchley opening the hall door and peering around the corner. "Oh, good, you're here," he said, and came into the room, shutting the door behind him. "We're about to start. Just so you know, Malfoy, they've asked you to stay behind in the room until you're called to the stand. I've talked to the defense and we all feel your presence in the courtroom be too much of a distraction for the spectators. So if you wouldn't mind, we'd like you to stay in here until you're called upon." He said all of this without ever quite looking at Draco.
Draco rolled his eyes, which Justin missed. "If that's what you want."
Justin nodded, and beckoned Harry and Neville to follow him through the door to the courtroom and into the small area set aside for witnesses. Neville flashed Draco a small, nervous smile, and the other man nodded slightly as the door closed, cutting him off from view.
~*~
Ginny and Hermione filed into their row on the benches behind the desks for the defendants. Molly and Arthur were seated to Ginny's right, Percy and Penelope to their right, with Ron, Fred and George on the other side of Hermione, all of them chatting quietly with each other while Ginny sat nervously and clenched her hands in her lap. Angelina and Natalie had offered to watch the scores of Weasley children and were at Ginny's flat, as her apartment was the closest to Diagon Alley. Everyone else in the wizarding world appeared reluctant to give this trial a miss, however, and the courtroom was packed to the rafters with people eager to see Harry Potter and the infamous Draco Malfoy. The trial itself seemed almost incidental to the thrill of seeing both men in the flesh. Ginny could see people pointing at her family and whispering - they were understandably recognizable, with the omnipresent Weasley hair.
The buzz in the room finally died down as the representatives for the Ministry and for the defendants filed into the room. Ginny kept looking over the crowd from where she sat, on the left-hand of the room, side close to the rail that separated the floor from the seats for the press, searching for a glimpse of white-blonde hair. Neville, who was sitting with Harry in the reserved section for witnesses in the case, beside the defendant's table, caught her eye and nodded reassuringly. It didn't make her feel any better.
The preliminary proceedings had been taken care of the day before, and today would be for the meat of the trial - witnesses and presentation of all the facts of the case, and, hopefully, a judgment. Harry was sitting near Neville, in the witness section, and he, too, smiled at Ginny reassuringly when he caught her looking. She smiled feebly back, and Hermione reached over to pat her hand gently.
The defendants were brought in, two unprepossessing young men, one with sandy blond hair, the other with a shock of orange curls. Ginny stared at them with ill-concealed dislike, not inclined to be charitable toward the two. The noise from the spectators spiked as the defendants took their seats, and once the court was called to order, Neville was called to the stand by Justin Finch-Fletchley, who was acting as the representative for the Ministry.
"State your name for the record, please."
"Neville Horatio Longbottom," Neville said clearly. He looked a little flustered. Ginny knew how much he hated speaking formally, and thought he was doing rather well.
"Occupation?"
"I am a senior Auror for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
"And your involvement in this case?"
"I was assigned by my supervisor, Cecil Dobbins, to track the defendants. We suspected their involvement in a series of crimes against the Muggle community, and were asked by the Muggle police to provide a liaison to the wizarding community in order to help track them down."
"Thank you," Justin said politely. "Now, if you don't mind, could you tell the court what you know of the events leading up to the capture of the defendants?"
Neville went through the events of the case, seeming to relax as he spoke. Ginny guessed that it was because he was on familiar ground, talking about his work. He was periodically interrupted by both Justin and the lawyer for the defense, Terrence Higgs. Higgs, a Slytherin who had been on the house Quidditch team in the early '90s and narrowly escaped prosecution after the War, tried mightily to poke holes in Neville's testimony, but Neville was hard to phase.
Finally Higgs barked, "Nothing further," at the judge and slumped back in his seat. "Next witness."
That was Harry, who ignored the buzz of the audience and the flash of the reporters' cameras as he took the stand. He submitted to the questioning stoically, relating the events of the kidnapping with calm efficiency. Higgs was surprisingly tame, perhaps knowing that neither Harry nor the large audience would stand for any of the bullying tactics he'd tried on Neville. Ginny breathed a sigh of relief as Harry stepped down and retreated back to his seat - she hadn't been asked to testify herself, and she was profoundly grateful for that. She had never liked being the focus of attention, and hated public speaking almost as much as Neville did.
There was a brief pause, then the judge nodded at Justin Finch-Fletchley, who cleared his throat and said loudly, "Draco Malfoy."
Loud murmurs rose from the crowd as the entire audience began to whisper and crane their necks, trying to catch a glimpse of the infamous Malfoy. His involvement in the case and his return to the wizarding world was well known by now, but he was adept at avoiding reporters, and few had seen him since the War. Every wizard in the courtroom was desperate to see him in the flesh. Ginny scanned the room quickly, but she didn't see Draco anywhere; she tried to get Neville's attention, but he wasn't looking in her direction. He was looking toward the door behind the reserved witness seating expectantly. The door opened and Draco stepped into the room.
He had gotten his hair cut sometime in the last couple of months; it was now cropped close to his head, and shone like a silver halo as he started across the floor of the courtroom. He'd lost weight as well, Ginny thought, which combined with the hair made him look younger; it was as though he'd been whittled down to essentials. He was wearing a scarlet thigh-length jacket with a high collar and brass buttons that stood out like a beacon in the room full of dark-clad Aurors and lawyers. It was belted at the waist, and he wore black jodhpurs with a yellow stripe up either leg, and had a brown hat tucked underneath one arm. The heels of his knee-high brown boots rapped against the wooden floor as he walked steadily toward the stand in the centre of the room. Draco turned sharply on one heel and stood facing the courtroom, face impassive, back straight, his left hand resting lightly on the wooden rail in front of him. The crowd of spectators, most of whom were craning their necks to get a good view, whispered loudly to each other as they stared at Draco.
Draco, for his part, didn't look at the crowd, and barely glanced up when Justin Finch-Fletchley called for quiet and moved to stand in front of him. "Name?" Justin asked brusquely, much less politely than he had spoken to Neville.
"Draco Lucius Malfoy"
"Occupation?"
"I am a corporal for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, in Alberta, Canada." This statement caused another ripple in the courtroom, and Justin had to wait impatiently while quiet was restored. By the set of his shoulders, Ginny guessed that Justin wasn't happy about the spectacle Draco was making.
"Your involvement in this case?"
"One of the suspects in question was a known criminal in Canada. I was assigned to keep tabs on him, and when the suspect came to England, I followed, working with both Scotland Yard and the Ministry to apprehend him."
Justin fired a few questions at him, his lips pressed in a tight line, and Draco answered them all calmly, with barely a change in inflection. The crowd muttered restlessly as Justin finished and retreated to his seat, as though the questioning was far more boring than they had expected or desired.
After Justin sat down Terrance Higgs rose silkily to his feet. He smiled unpleasantly at Draco, brushing at the hang of his robes before walking closer to where Draco stood, watching him with narrowed eyes.
"Draco Malfoy," Higgs said softly, pure venom in his voice, and a thrill of apprehension crawled up Ginny's spine. "Welcome home. You've no idea how happy we all are to see you alive."
Draco gazed back at him impassively and didn't reply. Higgs smiled nastily and paced in a very small circle in front of the stand. The room was silent for the first time since Draco had entered, all attention focused on the two men. "Tell me, Malfoy," Higgs said finally, "where have you been, all this time?"
"Canada," Draco said expressionlessly.
"Indeed. And what were you doing in Canada?"
"As I said, I work for the RCMP."
"Ah," Higgs said. "The RCMP. And what do they do again?"
"We are the Canadian national police force."
"Oh? I thought the Canadian force was called the Department of Magical Inquiry. I didn't know they'd changed their name." Higgs widened his eyes innocently at Draco.
"The RCMP is not a wizarding police force." Draco bit off each word sharply, but he didn't change expression or raise his voice. It was hard to tell from where she was sitting, but Ginny thought he was beginning to be angry.
"Not a wizarding police force?" Higgs gasped in mock astonishment. "You mean to tell me that you've been working for Muggles all this time?"
"Yes."
Higgs rocked back on his heels and waited for Draco to continue. When he didn't, Higgs paced very slowly in front of his seat. "And how did this come about?" he finally asked. "A Malfoy posing as a Muggle seems terribly unlikely, if you don't mind my saying. How on earth did such an unusual state of affairs come to be?"
Draco set his jaw and glared. "I hardly think that's any of your business."
Higgs met his glare and nodded. "Yes, well," he said airily, waving a dismissive hand. "So. From the review of the details of this case, it appears that you've become quite the hero. By all accounts -" Higgs retreated to his desk to shuffle through his papers, "- you actually put yourself into danger to prevent Harry Potter from being injured when one of my clients allegedly pulled a weapon."
"Allegedly?" Draco raised one eyebrow. "Is that what they're calling it?"
Higgs smirked back. "Innocent until proven guilty, Malfoy. But as I was saying, by all reports you rather heroically put yourself into danger for Harry Potter." He looked at Draco for confirmation. Draco nodded warily. "And you expect us to believe that?"
"That's what happened."
"Really. We're to believe that you risked your life for the man who killed your father?" Higgs asked softly, his words dropping into the silence of the room like pebbles in a pool. "How very noble of you."
"I swore an oath, to serve and protect the people who fall under my care," Draco replied steadily, locking eyes with Higgs. "It happened, in this case, that Harry Potter and his children were those people. I keep my promises."
"Really. Like you kept your promises during the war?"
Draco stiffened, narrowing his eyes. "I made no promises during the war," he said icily. "Whatever you might be implying."
"I'm not implying anything," Higgs said smoothly. "Just curious, that's all." He paused, and walked away from Draco before turning back again, raising his voice slightly. "So. I admit, I am curious, Malfoy. If, as you say, you're not and never were a Death Eater, and you don't have a Dark Mark, and you were never involved with He Who Must Not Be Named...why did you leave England? Surely you weren't afraid, were you?"
"That is none of your business," Draco said coldly.
"Oh, come now," Higgs replied integratingly. "Am I to believe that the son of Lucius Malfoy vanished from the wizarding world out of cowardice? Was it fear of Azkaban, maybe?"
"No."
"No?" Higgs repeated. "You weren't scared that some overzealous Auror would decide that arresting a Malfoy would be a coup and drag you off to prison, protesting your innocence all the way?"
That made Ginny smile, because it was fairly close to the reason Draco had first given her for wanting to leave England after the war, but Draco merely shook his head. "No."
"So why did you leave?"
"That's none of your business," Draco replied again.
"You've said that a lot, Malfoy," Higgs sneered. "Lucius Malfoy was the top man for He Who Must Not Be Named. Don't you think it is the business of the wizarding public to know where you have been the last twelve years, when your own father was killed at Voldemort's right hand?"
"Actually, I don't," Draco said flatly.
"Really?" he asked. "Now that doesn't seem like the Draco Malfoy I remember. In fact, I remember you saying at Hogwarts that you planned on being the right-hand man of He Who Must Not Be Named."
Draco visibly rolled his eyes and raised his voice over the rising noise from the crowd. "And I recall you saying that you were going to play in the Quidditch World Cup, Higgs," he replied mockingly. "Whatever happened?"
Higgs smirked. "You mean you've changed your mind, then? No desire to conquer the world anymore?"
The corner of Draco's mouth twitched, as though he were suppressing a smile. "It didn't seem like a career with much of a future."
There was a small ripple of laughter through the audience. "Indeed," Higgs said with a glare. "Yet isn't it true that you were invited to become a Death Eater in the summer of 1997?"
That quelled the laughter. Draco raised his chin and stared at Higgs venomously. "I was invited to, yes."
"You don't deny it?"
"The invitation was extended, and I turned it down." Ginny could see, from her vantage point, that Draco had gone rigid, his eyes cold and hard.
Higgs raised his eyebrows. "Why?"
"That's none of your business."
There was another small murmur from the crowd. "Cor, he doesn't half look like his father," whispered a blue-haired old witch behind Hermione and Ginny. "He puts on a good show, but he's rotten to the core, I bet, just like all o' them Malfoys."
Ginny stiffened and whipped her head around, but Hermione caught her arm. "Don't!" she hissed. "That's exactly what Higgs wants...he's trying to sway opinion against Malfoy, get people thinking that he was secretly a Death Eater or something. Trying to get people to doubt that he'd act for anyone's best interests."
"That's not fair!" Ginny whispered back hotly.
"I know, but I'll bet Higgs is worried. Half the jury probably wanted to hang them on sight, because it was Harry's children they took...he's just trying to use everything he can against Harry. If discrediting Malfoy will help, he's going to do whatever it takes."
Ginny nodded and swallowed against the surge of bile in her throat. It felt like the war had happened so long ago, it was easy to forget that thirteen years isn't a very long time in communal memory. She glanced down at Harry, whose face was set in angry lines, his hands curled into fists. Neville leaned over and whispered something to him, but Harry shook his head abruptly, and Neville leaned away. He glanced up, caught Ginny's eye and shrugged. Harry looked up too, and even at this distance, she could see the rage in his face.
Higgs was still silkily trying to lead Draco into saying something - anything - that would be incriminating. Harry, however, had had enough. He surged to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. "I don't think," he said loudly, his voice ringing across the courtroom, "that this is necessary." Higgs whirled around to face the other man, and Harry glared at him, green eyes sparking. The judge himself had given up all pretence of being in control and was watching as avidly as everyone else as Higgs stalked toward Harry, eyes narrowed dangerously. Harry continued, "Malfoy is not the one on trial here. Air your personal grievances elsewhere, Higgs."
"And how do you know that this is personal, Mr. Potter?" Higgs replied smoothly. "I find it hard to believe that you, of all people, would stand in defense of the son of Lucius Malfoy."
"You have spent the last ten minutes asking him about everything under the sun but the one thing he is here for. Which is to give evidence against the people who kidnapped my children. Whatever private issue you have with Malfoy has nothing to do with that."
"And what if I say it does?"
Harry didn't give an inch. "I say it doesn't," he replied firmly. Harry glanced at the judge
who, along with everyone else in the courtroom, was staring at him. "I suggest you speed this process along, Justice MacGregor."
The judge nodded quickly and cleared his throat, banging his fist on the edge of his chair. "Mr. Higgs, please keep your questions to the issue at hand."
Higgs scowled darkly and clenched his fists, glaring at Harry with undisguised hatred. Harry ignored him and glanced at Draco, who caught his eye and held it for a long moment. Draco gave him a small nod, which Harry returned stiffly before returning to his seat.
Higgs spun around and walked back to his desk, where he shuffled some papers sullenly before curtly demanding that Draco recount his version of the events leading up to the kidnapping. Draco did, calmly and without a hint of emotion, but he seemed relieved to Ginny when he was finally allowed to step down from the witness stand and join Neville and Harry.
The rest of the trial was actually rather dull. Statements from Ginny and the children were read out, statements from the Canadian Ministry and Muggle police. The two kidnappers weren't allowed to take the stand at all, which left Ginny confused until Hermione whispered that it would probably be very bad for the defense for them to be cross-examined. After all, there were half a dozen eyewitnesses that said that those two were the kidnappers, not to mention the damning tape Draco and Neville had gathered during their investigation. The outcome of the trial was almost an anticlimax; no one was very surprised when the verdict came back guilty for both of the men. Ginny breathed a huge sigh of relief as the Weasleys swarmed down from the seats after the announcement, to stand in a great crowd on the courtroom floor, near the sectioned off seats for the witnesses. The rest of the spectators were being ushered out, although Colin Creevey was dodging the guards quite nimbly, sneaking forward to snap pictures of the family.
Molly was in tears, hugging everyone within reach. She bustled up to the rail, dabbing at her eyes, and pulled first Neville, then Harry, into fierce embraces, even dragging a startled Justin Finch-Fletchley into a tight hug. Ginny had accepted her own hugs from her brothers and sisters-in-law, beamed a smile at Harry and Neville, then leaned against the rail a little way away from the crowd as Molly exclaimed over how well they had done and how proud she was.
She could feel him standing there, a few feet away from where she stood, and Ginny looked up. She caught Draco's eye almost unintentionally, and gave him an uncertain smile. He nodded back and walked toward her slowly, almost reluctantly. Draco leaned against the wooden rail and looked down at his boots. "Can I speak with you?" he asked softly.
"Of course," Ginny replied. He looked tired, and she was sure that there were a few lines around his eyes that hadn't been there before. He wouldn't quite look at her, and her heart contracted.
Draco raised his head and glanced at her family. "Would you mind if we went somewhere else? I'd rather not have this conversation with Harry Potter trying to drill holes in the back of my head with his eyeballs."
Ginny glanced over his shoulder, and sure enough, Harry was glowering at them both. Neville had noticed, and was looking at all three of them anxiously. She bit her lip and ducked her head, hiding a grin. "Do you think they might let us use the witness room?"
"Good idea." Draco pushed himself off the railing and walked over to the door. He opened it slightly and poked his head in. "It's empty," he said quietly, and motioned to her, pushing the door open further.
"Just a minute," she said, and went back to the rail, tapping Hermione on the shoulder. They spoke for a moment in low voices, then Ginny turned and came back. Hermione was making her way over to Harry, who was still glaring at Draco. Draco couldn't help flashing the other man a smirk before he followed Ginny into the room and shut the door behind them.
Draco walked over to the table and rested one hand on the tabletop. He took a deep breath and turned to face her; she hadn't moved beyond the closed door, watching him with wide brown eyes. Now that she was here, standing in front of him, he had no idea what to say.
"How have you been?" she asked finally, her tone extremely polite. It made Draco's chest tighten to hear her.
"Well enough," he replied quietly. "Not entirely back in shape, but I'm doing all right, all things considered."
Ginny nodded politely, her face unreadable. It made his heart constrict, to have her so close, but not with him. He'd refused to let himself look at her in the courtroom - he had missed her so much that he didn't quite trust himself to be able to get through the trial without doing something embarrassing if he had to watch her. Not that having her stand there looking collected and aloof, like she was simply waiting for him to say what he had to say so that she could get back to her family, was any less embarrassing. Draco cursed himself silently; if this were a movie or one of the ridiculous romantic books Del devoured he would simply know the right thing to say and she would stop being so distant and fall into his arms or something equally silly. "I'm sorry," he said finally. "Before I say anything else, I owe you that." Ginny didn't say anything, just stared at him, her face unreadable. Draco gazed back at her steadily.
She nodded vaguely and looked down at her shoes. "Why didn't you call?" she asked finally. "It's been months."
Draco shrugged uncomfortably. "I didn't think...I thought you wouldn't want to talk to me."
"I wouldn't want to talk to you," Ginny repeated flatly, jerking her head up sharply to stare at him. "I thought that you weren't talking to me because you were angry with me, because I didn't stay."
Draco stared at her, stunned. Why on earth would he think that? He opened his mouth, then closed it again, lost for words. "Oh," he finally said, inelegantly. "Um, no."
Ginny stared back, her brown eyes alight with what might have been laughter. She took one step toward him, then another, then another, until she was flying across the room. He met her halfway, scooping her up in his arms, as she clutched at his back and buried her face in his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. It felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from him, just to be able to hold her again. Draco grinned. All things considered, having her fall into his arms wasn't really that silly.
"I swore I wasn't going to cry," she said finally, moving her head slightly and shifting back a bit, untangling one arm to wipe her cheeks with the sleeve of her robe. Her cheeks were wet, but she was half-laughing at the same time.
"I'd offer you a handkerchief, but I don't have one with me," Draco said.
Ginny laughed shakily. "I brought my own, actually. Just in case." She dug around in the pocket of her robes and fished out a tissue, which she used to wipe at her cheeks, one arm still wrapped around Draco's waist. He wound his hands into her hair gently, running the bright strands over his fingers.
"I am sorry, you know," he said softly.
Ginny crumpled her tissue and looked up at him. "I am too. I wanted to stay, to see if you were all right, but with the children..."
"John told me about that," Draco replied. "And I understand why you went home...I wouldn't have expected you to stay."
"I wanted to. It was so horrible, being here all alone, and not knowing what was going on. Neville is terrible at details, and I had Mum and Dad and Percy and Ron all trying to convince me that I didn't really need to know, and I felt so badly about not being able to be there..." she trailed off and sniffled, blinking. "I'm sorry. And then you didn't call or anything, and I thought that maybe you didn't want to talk to me, that you were horribly offended that I didn't come back, and I half-convinced myself that you probably hated me for it, and I was too frightened that it was true that I didn't want to call you and find out for certain. Silly really, but there you are."
"It's not silly, I - " Draco stopped and laughed ruefully. "Actually, I had almost convinced myself of the exact same thing. That you must have thought me a hopeless failure and didn't want to speak to me."
Ginny looked horrified. "Why would I think that?" She stared up at him, aghast. "Please don't tell me that you've been thinking, all this time that -" she stopped and shook her head. "I never thought that." She leaned into his chest and wrapped her arms around him, holding on to him tightly. "Never."
The last knot of tension unraveled itself in Draco's chest at her words. "That's good to hear," he whispered into her hair.
Ginny raised her head and looked at him, raising one hand to cup his cheek lightly. "You look tired," she said softly, her smile fading.
Draco shrugged uncomfortably. "I'm all right. Mostly just stress from the trial."
"And you cut your hair," Ginny continued. She sounded disappointed.
"Don't you like it?" Draco asked teasingly.
"I don't mind it short, but it's not...it makes you look younger." Ginny frowned thoughtfully, sifting her fingers through the short hairs at the base of his neck and sending small, distracting shivers down his spine. "Not that you look old, with long hair. It's just different."
"I had to cut it when I went back to work. Not allowed long hair, it's unprofessional. I only got away with growing it because I was far away from my supervisors." Draco grinned at her. "It was a bit of a rebellion thing."
"Well you looked very official today," Ginny replied, running one hand over his red serge jacket. "I like the uniform."
That made Draco flush slightly. "Really? I think it's horrid. Makes me feel like I'm wearing a big sign saying 'Shoot me!'" He shifted self-consciously.
"Oh, no, it's terribly sexy." Ginny grinned mischievously and glanced up at him through her eyelashes.
"You can't possibly be serious. It's ugly, it makes me a walking target, and it itches something awful."
Ginny laughed delightedly. "It is sexy! I imagine Neville had fits when he first saw you in it; I know Lavender did. And she was sitting three rows behind me."
Draco rolled his eyes. "And I suppose Lavender is a good judge of what's sexy."
"Well, she was the boy-crazy one," Ginny giggled. "And anyway, it wasn't just her...more like three-quarters of the women in the room."
"Hah," Draco snorted.
"It's true! I daresay you've made a few converts to your side amongst the witches, just based on the fact that you look edible in that uniform."
Draco raised an eyebrow at her. "Edible?" he purred. "Really."
Ginny blushed, but smiled. "Something like that. Not that you don't most of the time, mind you."
"I'm going to get a big head if you keep this up," Draco grinned. "But don't let that stop you."
Ginny giggled again and hugged him, resting her head against his shoulder. Draco held her close, savouring the feel of her in his arms. It felt right. Ginny tightened her arms around him. "What do you plan to do now?" she asked softly, her voice slightly muffled.
"I don't know," Draco replied quietly. "Cecil's offered me a position again if I want it, but I haven't given him an answer yet. I wanted - well, I wanted to talk to you first."
Ginny raised her head to look at him, her eyes searching his face. "Do you want to stay?"
"I want you," Draco said honestly. "I want to be where you are. Here, or anywhere else."
"You -" Ginny stopped and hugged him tighter, taking a shaky breath. "I love you," she whispered, and blinked, tears sparkling on her eyelashes. "My mother will likely die of shock, but I do. I know we never really talked about what would happen after... but if you want to stay, I -" Ginny paused to look up at him earnestly."I would like you to."
"Nothing would make me happier," Draco murmured. "Nothing. I love you," he said softly,
and kissed her.
~*~
When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. And now abide faith, hope, love, these three;
But the greatest of these is
love.
- 1 Corinthians 13
~*~
A/N: Please check out the story notes at my personal website
- Agnes DeMille
~*~
Mid-August, 2011
Draco's first stop after arriving in England was the Ministry. There were a scant handful of days before the trial, and an enormous amount of work yet to be done. He arrived at Neville's office in the afternoon; the small office was same blizzard of scrolls and paper and coffee cups it always was, and Neville was nose deep in parchments. Draco leaned quietly in the doorway for a good two minutes before Neville realized he was there and jumped.
"Dammit, Malfoy, I thought I told you not to do that!" Neville said irritably. "Scare the life out of me, why don't you?"
Draco smirked. "Hello, Longbottom." He pushed himself off the doorframe and pulled out Neville's visitor's chair, flopping into it and propping his feet up on the desk.
"Welcome back," Neville grumbled, glaring at Draco's feet. He sighed when Draco didn't remove them and leaned back, stretching and twisting to release the tension in his back. "When did you get in?"
"Just this morning," Draco replied. "Found a place to stay and came straight here. Miss me?"
"Oh, terribly," Neville said sardonically. "I'm sure you'll be happy to know you got out of most of the work for the trial. I've had Justin Finch-Fletchley by nearly every day to talk to me about it. You should probably talk to him...he's handling the prosecution, and will want to hear your side of the story, I'm sure."
"Didn't I already send him a write-up?" Draco asked. "I'm sure I did."
"I think he still wants to talk to you in person," Neville replied. "Very meticulous, is our Justin."
Draco frowned thoughtfully. "Did I know him? I can't remember."
"He was in Hufflepuff, our year. Tall bloke, big teeth, Muggle-born. You probably wouldn't have liked him. He started out as a lawyer for the Ministry about 7 years ago...he's quite good, by all accounts."
"It isn't as though he needs to be, for this. Fairly obvious they're guilty, isn't it?"
"Doesn't matter, they still get a trial," Neville said. "Since the War, and the huge fuss over the Ministry sending people to Azkaban without trial and the like, they've decided to revamp the whole legal system. Everyone gets a trial, doesn't matter if they were caught red-handed or not."
Draco snorted. "Even if they're not the only ones involved?"
"Meaning...?" Neville raised his eyebrows inquiringly.
"Meaning you know as well as I do that someone else is behind the kidnapping," Draco said. "Straker and Nesbitt managed to keep us running 'round for months when they were robbing banks, but the kidnapping...it was too obvious. And too easy. They either got very stupid all of a sudden, or someone talked them into this and is letting them take the fall."
"I know that, and you know that, but we can't get those two to admit to it, and there's no way we can prove it short of getting permission to search the Flints' home, or the Notts' or the Averys'. And that's right out of the question right now. Too many Ministry folks who are either their friends, or simply don't want to stir the pot again." Neville sighed and shook his head. "Though Cecil would dearly love to see it done, we can't search them without some form of proof. Which we don't have."
"What I don't understand is what they thought they'd gain from it." Draco shook his head. "I mean, kidnapping Harry Potter's children makes sense, if you have a personal grudge against Potter and want to see him suffer. But those two...money would be the most likely motive, but I can't see someone like Flint just giving up 5 million galleons once he had it. Unless whoever is behind it promised they'd keep the two of them out of jail, and reneged on the promise. I wonder what they were threatened with to get them not to talk."
Neville shrugged. "Dark spells, maybe? Memory charm? Maybe they never knew to begin with. Some sort of under-the-table deal."
"Why would they do it to begin with, if they knew how high the risk was?" Draco shook his head and made a frustrated noise. "Even if they were coerced with spells, why don't they say something now that they're in custody? Try to plea-bargain their way out of trouble. Unless they've been spelled to not be able to, which is always possible." He ran a hand through his cropped hair - his left instead of his right, a habit he'd picked up while he was injured and couldn't move his right arm - and shook his head.
Neville watched and raised his eyebrows at Draco. "How's the arm, by the way?"
Draco shrugged and let him change the subject. "All right. Aches sometimes. I've got a hell of a scar."
"I'm sure." Neville frowned, his brow furrowing. He nodded stiffly and shifted his gaze away, staring at a point somewhere up and to the left of Draco's head.
Draco raised an eyebrow at that. "Something the matter?"
Neville glanced at him briefly. "What makes you think that?"
"It just seems like something's wrong, Longbottom," Draco said. "If there's something you
want to know, by all means, ask away."
Neville shook his head and kept not-quite-glaring at Draco. "It's nothing."
"It's not nothing or you wouldn't be avoiding looking at me. What's wrong?" Draco frowned at Neville. He'd never seen the other man so shifty. "If there's something you want to know, just ask, for crying out loud. What is it?"
Neville stopped staring at the wall and glowered at Draco, suddenly tense. "What the hell were you thinking, is what I really want to know, actually," he said, an edge in his voice. "Leaping out of nowhere like that, when that Muggle was armed. You could have been killed! Why on earth didn't you just pull your wand?"
Draco blinked at Neville's unexpected display of anger. "I didn't think of it."
"You didn’t -" Neville pushed his chair back abruptly, stood up and began to pace in a small circle in the space behind his desk. "You didn't think of it. Have you any idea how close you came to dying that night?"
"Actually, yes," Draco replied defensively. "I had ample time to think about it during my month-long stay in hospital. So what?"
Neville pressed his lips together and glared. "I know you were carrying a wand, he said accusingly."All you had to do was stupefy the idiot!"
"Longbottom, it has been well over a decade since my first instinct has been to go for a wand," Draco said. "Ridiculous as you obviously think it, if someone pulls a gun and tries to shoot me, my first impulse is to shoot back. It happened too fast, and using magic simply didn't occur to me."
Neville made a small but expressive noise of disbelief and paced around in a circle again. "I thought you were going to die," he said accusingly. "You collapsed practically in my arms, and those idiot Aurors saying that they couldn't use magic on you, even on the arm wound, because they were sure you were a Muggle and it wasn't allowed." Neville huffed in annoyance and flopped back into his chair, glaring at Draco.
"Why, Longbottom, I didn't know you cared." Draco grinned as Neville went red. "I'm touched."
"Well, I was worried." Neville huffed again, the flush in his cheeks showing no sign of fading.
Draco grinned. He was touched, actually - he didn't think Neville would care so much about his well-being. "Anything else you want to yell at me for?"
Neville actually looked very much like there was something else he wanted to yell about, and Draco had a brief nervous moment wondering what the hell he'd say if Neville asked about Ginny, but Neville only shook his head. "I should warn you that we've been hip-deep in reporters since the kidnapping story broke. Might want to be careful on your way out, they've all been dying to talk to you."
"I'll keep that in mind," Draco said, and stood up. "Call me if anything comes up, will you? And you can send Finch-Fletchley to me if he shows up, and I'll repeat everything I've already told him via owl."
"I'll do that." Neville bent his head back to his reports and waved one hand idly in Draco's direction.
~*~
Neville hadn't been joking about the reporters. Draco managed to retreat from the Ministry to his old office at New Scotland Yard without drawing the attention of the small horde of journalists who had taken up residence outside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Colin Creevey in particular seemed bound and determined to snag an exclusive interview, and had not only dug up a host of information on Draco already, but had even managed to track down the hotel he was staying in, although the front desk clerk informed Draco later that they refused to talk to the young man. Colin was tenacious and unwilling to give up, though, and while under slightly different circumstances Draco might have admired Colin's gall, when Draco was on the receiving end of all that enthusiasm it was extremely grating. So Draco decided to give Diagon Alley a wide berth, in the vain hope that Colin might get bored and give up.
He holed up in his office at the Yard and made sure that Brown at the front desk wasn't going to let anyone up who didn't have identification. The peace and quiet were a welcome break from the cacophony of the Ministry anyway - between Justin Finch-Fletchley coming to visit Neville at odd hours and Cecil Dobbins chewing his moustaches and exhorting them to work harder, not to mention the press, the Ministry was even more of a zoo than usual. Draco was using the quiet time to catch up on his own paperwork, organizing his computer files and sifting through reports and statements relating to the case. It was nearly silent in his office, the only sounds the clicking of the heating unit and the dull hum that exists in the background of all office buildings, so the small whoosh of displaced air, when it came, was very loud. Draco turned in his chair, the back of his neck prickling.
Marcus Flint was standing in the middle of his office, dressed in tasteless plum robes that looked as though he'd slept in them. He smiled at Draco, showing a mouthful of badly stained teeth. It belatedly occurred to Draco that spell-protecting his Muggle office might be a good idea. "Hello, Malfoy. It's been a while."
"Hardly long enough," Draco replied coldly. Marcus was one of his least favourite people, a blunt, stupid man with little imagination and questionable personal hygiene. He and his father had desired nothing more than to be Death Eaters when Voldemort returned; Flint's father had borne the Dark Mark, but Marcus had been rejected by Voldemort as too stupid to be useful in the summer after Draco's fifth year. It was one of the few things the Dark Lord had done that Draco agreed with.
Marcus smirked and pulled out the visitor's chair, slouching into it. "Pansy said she'd run into you, Malfoy. How come you never owled to say hello?"
"Perhaps I simply didn't want to," Draco said. "I've been busy."
"Too busy to talk to your old friends? Malfoy, I'm shocked." Marcus flashed his nasty little smile again. "I would have thought you'd be eager to get back into things."
Draco stiffened. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"Oh, come on, Malfoy. Your dad was the Dark Lord's most trusted advisor. How could you not want that back, eh?" Marcus leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him comfortably. "See the old crowd again, pick up where your dad left off?"
"Unless I'm very much mistaken, Flint, the 'Dark Lord' was killed 13 years ago, and I imagine that the Ministry did everything in their power to make very sure he stayed killed. It's a bit difficult to be the trusted advisor to a dead man," he replied. "Even if I wanted to, which I don't."
Marcus scoffed. "Oh, come on, Malfoy. You don't expect me to believe that you're actually happy about being forced to live like a mudblood? You, of all people? Don't tell me
you don't want your old life back." He waved a hand at Draco's office. "You deserve better than this, living without magic, forced to hide who you are, rubbing shoulders with people like Longbottom." Marcus' voice was thick with scorn as he said Neville's name. "Chubby little prig."
Draco's eye's narrowed dangerously. "What you appear to be forgetting," he said quietly, snapping off each word, "is that I chose to leave, and I chose to live as a Muggle. In fact, had I not been required by circumstance to return, I never would have. If you want to delude yourself into thinking that dabbling in the Dark Arts will give you whatever it is you think you deserve, by all means go ahead, but don't expect me to play your foolish little games."
"Your father would have said differently -" Marcus began.
"My father is dead!" Draco snarled. "And for the last time I have no intention of joining you and your horrible little wife in whatever idiotic little hobby you've concocted to amuse yourselves with in your spare time!"
Marcus recoiled, his lip curling. "I would never have believed it...you've gone soft."
"I have not 'gone soft', Flint, I grew up. It's something you might try as well," Draco shot back. "Voldemort is dead, and if you had any sense at all, you'd be grateful for it."
"Grateful for it? Grateful for having our money seized and our homes ransacked by Aurors? Grateful to have to kowtow to mudbloods and Muggle-lovers at every level of society, to be ruled by a Ministry run by boot-lickers like Percy Weasley and the rest of his pathetic family? Although I hear that someone nearly had the chance to off two of Potter's horrid little by-blows by that little Weasley slut. Pity, really." Marcus sneered again, and Draco clenched his hands on the arms of his chair to keep from going over the desk and wiping the smirk off his face with a well-placed fist. "You may have forgotten who you are and what your family stands for, but the rest of us haven't. We're pure-blooded, back generations, and we should be grateful that we're being edged out by these half-bloods and mud-bloods with no breeding to speak of? That it's become fashionable to pretend to be Muggle? And we're just supposed to sit back and let them taint our world, let them over-run everything that the wizarding world has ever stood for?"
"You really have no idea," Draco said softly, his voice oozing contempt. "Voldemort was a Muggle, you idiot. He was Tom Riddle, before he became Lord Voldemort. His mother was a witch, but his father was as Muggle as they come. If it was the Muggle taint you were hoping to eradicate, I'd say Potter gave you a fine head start." Draco curled his lip as Marcus shook his head in denial. "The only thing Voldemort was really interested in was power for himself, not for anyone else. Even if Potter hadn't killed him, he would have sucked the wizarding world dry, not out of some deluded notion of purity, but because it was a means to his own ends. Ranting about purebloods and mudbloods and all the rest of it just got all the old pureblood families - the people with the money - on his side."
"You haven't a clue what you're talking about," Marcus growled.
"No?" Draco asked, icily politely. "I'm sorry, I could have sworn that it was my father and not yours who was a part of Voldemort's inner circle. Do correct me if I'm wrong."
"You'll want to watch that tongue of yours, Malfoy. You'll end up in exactly the sort of trouble you don't want," Marcus snarled.
It was all Draco could do not to laugh in his face. "Oh really. You think you can make trouble for me?" He swept Marcus with a derisive look and did laugh, bitterly. "You can't throw anything at me that I can't handle, Flint, I assure you."
"You're going to regret that, Malfoy," Marcus replied, rising from the chair with a sneer.
"You really are."
"Are you threatening me?" Draco asked softly, rising as well.
Marcus clenched his jaw, obviously debating how to answer. "All I'm saying is that you should be careful who you side with," he said finally. "There are some enemies you don't want to make." He held Draco's eye steadily as he jerked his wand out and apparated away.
Draco glared at the spot where Flint had been standing, then spun around in his chair in annoyance. He'd known, really, that it was only a matter of time before someone from the old crowd discovered he was here and tried to talk to him, someone besides Pansy, who had all the sense and tact of a gnat. The role he'd played in the rescue of Harry Potter's children was just the thing to bring them all oozing out of the woodwork, eager to latch on to the Malfoy name and money. He was actually surprised it had taken them all so long. Maybe Pansy had learned to hold her tongue. Draco ran one hand through his hair, pacing in a small circle. The only question was, what would Flint do now? How long would it take before Draco started receiving visits from Nott, or the surviving Goyle clan, or any of the other wizards who had supported Voldemort but evaded punishment? He snarled under his breath, grabbed his paperweight, and spun around to launch it at the far wall, needing to do something to release the surge of frustrated rage.
He narrowly missed decapitating Harry Potter with the heavy glass weight, which hit the wall with a dull thud and fell to the carpet. Draco jumped and swore. "Jesus! Haven't you heard of knocking?"
"I did knock," Harry said accusingly, glaring at Draco. "You didn't need to throw something at me. What's your problem?"
Draco closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "What do you want, Potter?"
Harry huffed. "Neville said I'd find you here." He walked further into the room, leaving off glaring at Draco to peer around curiously. He was dressed in Muggle clothes, casual black pants and a deep green t-shirt. He had stylish silver-framed glasses, and he'd unselfconsciously pushed his hair off his forehead, his scar a faint silver bolt above one eye. He had the same slightly gawky grace he'd had as a boy, balanced by an aura of powerful magic that was almost palpable. It wasn't for lack of magical ability that Harry had rejected a life of politics to play Quidditch - Draco knew from Neville that Harry had actually been offered the position of Minister of Magic after the war, and turned it down. The sheer force of his magic seemed to fill up the room. No wonder poor Brown at the front desk had let him upstairs.
Draco gritted his teeth. "How nice of him. What do you want?"
"He sent me by to talk about the trial," Harry replied absently. He wasn't even paying attention to Draco, having discovered the photos on his bookshelf. "Who's this?" he asked, fingering the picture of Draco and Laura.
Draco sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted. "Ex-girlfriend," he said wearily. He might have to put up with having The Boy Who Lived hanging about his office, but damned if he was going to give Harry any more details than absolutely necessary. "What did Longbottom want?"
"Oh," Harry said, ignoring Draco's question. "She's pretty." Draco growled under his breath as Harry set the picture back down and moved on to the others. "Who're all these people?" he asked
Draco blinked, momentarily distracted. "Um..." He craned his neck to see which picture Harry was holding. "Me and John, and Ed, two of his sons, some people from the neighbouring ranch who came over to help with round-up."
"Round-up?" Harry asked curiously, still examining the picture. "What's round-up?"
"It's herding cattle. You do it in the fall, to gather up all the calves for branding before the winter."
Harry raised his eyebrows so much his scar wrinkled, which made it look rather silly. "You know how to herd cattle?"
"Of course," Draco informed him loftily. "I lived on a ranch for almost a year."
"Oh." Harry absorbed this. "Who's Ed?" he asked finally.
Draco held his breath for a moment and counted slowly to ten. "What do you want, Potter?"
Harry shrugged aimlessly and set the picture back down, glancing over the one of John as well, his eyes drifting over the spines of the books. "I lied," he said finally. "Neville didn't send me." He turned around and faced Draco squarely, his arms clasped lightly behind his back. "I didn't come to talk about the case, I came to apologize to you."
Draco went very still, watching the other man guardedly. He was almost tempted to believe it was a joke, if it weren't for the fact that he knew Harry would never make a joke about something like this. "For what?"
Harry took a deep breath. "For misjudging you. And for lying about your father. I shouldn't have let people think it was my doing, and I'm sorry." He stopped and looked at Draco expectantly.
Draco stared back at him. He knew he should make some sort of reply, but in all honestly, he didn't have a clue what to say to that. Harry, apparently taking his silence for some sort of assent, soldiered on. "I also wanted to say that I understand that you're upset with me about...what I did, and I am willing to publicly admit to it. I can arrange to talk to the Daily Prophet and let people know the truth of what happened."
Draco's brain finally caught up to what Harry was saying. "No," he said vehemently.
Harry looked at him in surprise. "What?"
"No," Draco repeated. "I don't want you to."
Harry looked crestfallen, and Draco jerked his head in irritation. He'd expected Draco to agree, obviously, and he would be able to admit to his lie, be lauded in the press for coming forth with the truth, praised for his honesty and go on with his life, conscience clear. "Why not?" Harry asked in bewilderment.
"Because I don't care if the wizarding world knows what really happened," Draco said. "And frankly, the absolute last thing I want is a bunch of nosy reporters having a heyday with my private life. You want the accolades, Potter, you're more than welcome to them."
Harry stared at him, a strange expression on his face. "I thought you'd want people to know," he said finally.
Draco clenched his jaw."Well I don't. I don't care."
Harry watched him silently, bright green eyes searching Draco's face. Draco glared back, resisting the urge to loom a bit - he might be a powerful wizard, but Harry really was quite short. "All right," he said finally, and nodded, more to himself than to Draco. "But I do mean it. I am sorry." Harry held out his hand to Draco, green eyes meeting his steadily. "And I do want to thank you. For everything."
Draco stared back for a long moment before reaching out and taking Harry's proffered hand in his own. "You're welcome," Draco said shortly, and dropped Harry's hand.
"Um." Harry said awkwardly, and cleared his throat. "Right then." He looked at Draco consideringly, clearly debating whether to say something else. If you ask me about Ginny, I will hit you, Draco thought to himself. It must have shown on his face, because Harry thought better of whatever it was he was going to say, nodded firmly and turned away. He walked out the door, shutting it quietly behind him.
Draco leaned against his desk and rubbed one hand tiredly over his face, suddenly exhausted from the effort of having Marcus and Harry sprung on him one after the other. He wanted nothing more than to go and lie down somewhere quiet and not have to think about any of it. A sudden image came to him, of Ginny's tiny apartment, her worn and comfortable couch, the feeling of absolute peace that he felt there. "Shit," he said quietly. "Shit, shit, shit." Draco rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed. Del was right; he was an idiot. After the trial, he promised himself. I'll talk to her then.
~*~
The trial date came too quickly for Neville, who hated public speaking more than just about anything else. He was standing in the small room reserved for witnesses just off the courtroom, drinking the vile coffee left on the table there by one of the court clerks, and trying not to think too hard about the room full of people beyond the door. He paced in a small circle, waiting for Draco and Harry to show up and keep him company until the trial began. He didn't have long to wait - Draco arrived soon after he did, striding through the door and shutting it firmly behind him with an air of aloof arrogance. Neville choked on his coffee. "Malfoy," he gasped out, coughing violently. He nodded at his partner when he'd got his breath back. "You look..." he trailed off and coughed again.
"What?" Draco snapped irritably, glaring at Neville. He walked forward to lean against the table, frowning down at the coffee pot. There wasn't anything else to drink, which made Draco's scowl deepen.
Neville cleared his throat, not quite looking at Draco. "Oh, nothing. It's just, um, your jacket is very, um." He tugged at the neck of his own formal robes, which were a nicely subdued navy blue, and cleared his throat. "It's very...red."
Draco snorted and brushed at the jacket in question. It was very red, trimmed with brass buttons, and with a brown belt at the waist. "It's a dress uniform, Longbottom. Something wrong with it?"
"Oh, no, no, not at all, it's very...nice. You look...nice. I mean, you know, you look okay. It's fine, and - dammit." Neville gave up as Draco raised his eyebrows in amusement. "You look gorgeous, if you must know." He glowered at Draco, a slow flush creeping up his neck. "By rights you should look ridiculous, but you don't. Sex on a bloody stick. Happy?"
Draco grinned at Neville's discomfiture. "Thanks," he said brightly.
"Fuck off."
Draco smirked. "You want me."
Neville didn't think it was possible to blush any harder than he already was, but his cheeks were making a valiant effort to prove him wrong. "Whatever." He scowled at Draco, who leaned back against the table and smirked some more. "Should have known you wouldn't just show up in robes like every other normal person in the world."
"I don't own any dress robes, and I didn't have time to go shopping," Draco said, still grinning at him. "Though you don't look so bad yourself."
Neville scowled some more and tugged at his collar again. He was wearing his official Auror uniform, with the Ministry crest and his name over the left breast pocket. He could practically feel them wrinkling. "I hate dressing up," he said morosely.
"You look fine."
Neville sighed disconsolately. "Easy for you to say," he muttered. "God I hate these things."
"You look fine, and after all, it's only a trial," Draco said calmly. "It's hardly something to get worked up over. We already know what the outcome will be."
"It's not the trial bit, it's the public speaking bit. I'm crap at it." Neville glanced at Draco, who looked as unflappable as always. Of course he wouldn't have any qualms about standing up and talking in front of the largest crowd of people Neville had ever seen. With Neville's luck, he'd get flustered and forget his own name, but not Draco.
"There's hardly anything to worry about," Draco replied dismissively. "Though I'm a bit surprised there's so many people here."
"Of course there's a massive crowd, it's Harry and his kids. D'you think anyone within apparating distance would miss it? It's a zoo out there," Neville said. "I've never seen so many people."
"Wonderful," Draco said sardonically. "All come to play 'Spot the Hero', I take it?"
Neville gave him a wry half-smile. "A goodly portion of them are here to see you as much as him, I'd bet."
"That'd be more along the lines of 'Spot the Death Eater', Longbottom. I read the papers." Draco shook his head in disgust and tipped the coffee pot on the table slightly toward himself, peering into it mournfully. "It didn't occur to them to give us water, too?"
"We don't rate," Neville said, and sipped at his coffee. "You're not missing anything, the coffee's unbelievably vile."
"Harder to screw up water."
"Where there's a will, there's a way," Neville replied, chuckling, and relaxed minutely. He glanced up as the door to the hall opened to admit Harry, who shut it quickly behind him.
"Hullo, Neville. Malfoy." Harry nodded stiffly at Neville, then raised his eyebrows at Draco. "Nice outfit."
Draco sneered at him. "It's a dress uniform, Potter. Not that I'd expect you to recognize that." He raked his eyes over Harry's rather plain black robes.
Harry clenched his jaw and smiled tautly at Draco. "Actually, Malfoy," he said, "it makes you look a bit like an over-ripe tomato. But then, I suppose you can't afford to be too picky."
Draco's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'll remember that the next time you need a spare 5 million Galleons, Potter."
Harry bristled and started forward. Neville caught his arm before he got to Draco and pulled him back. "Stop it," he said sharply, and pushed Harry toward the opposite wall. "You too," he said to Draco, who was still sneering. "Quit baiting each other. Honestly."
"You sound like Hermione," Harry muttered sullenly. He tugged at the collar of his robes to straighten them, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. Despite Draco's dig, they were high quality and well tailored, with his war medals and Order of the Phoenix crest pinned over his breast. He looked sober and serious, every inch the hero. Unlike Neville, he wore them well - but then, Harry'd had years of practice to perfect his public image.
Neville shook his head again and turned back to Draco, who was leaning against the table with his arms crossed over his chest, silently ignoring Harry. Neville sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. There was a short uncomfortable silence, while Harry and Draco each pretended the other wasn't there, finally broken by Justin Finch-Fletchley opening the hall door and peering around the corner. "Oh, good, you're here," he said, and came into the room, shutting the door behind him. "We're about to start. Just so you know, Malfoy, they've asked you to stay behind in the room until you're called to the stand. I've talked to the defense and we all feel your presence in the courtroom be too much of a distraction for the spectators. So if you wouldn't mind, we'd like you to stay in here until you're called upon." He said all of this without ever quite looking at Draco.
Draco rolled his eyes, which Justin missed. "If that's what you want."
Justin nodded, and beckoned Harry and Neville to follow him through the door to the courtroom and into the small area set aside for witnesses. Neville flashed Draco a small, nervous smile, and the other man nodded slightly as the door closed, cutting him off from view.
~*~
Ginny and Hermione filed into their row on the benches behind the desks for the defendants. Molly and Arthur were seated to Ginny's right, Percy and Penelope to their right, with Ron, Fred and George on the other side of Hermione, all of them chatting quietly with each other while Ginny sat nervously and clenched her hands in her lap. Angelina and Natalie had offered to watch the scores of Weasley children and were at Ginny's flat, as her apartment was the closest to Diagon Alley. Everyone else in the wizarding world appeared reluctant to give this trial a miss, however, and the courtroom was packed to the rafters with people eager to see Harry Potter and the infamous Draco Malfoy. The trial itself seemed almost incidental to the thrill of seeing both men in the flesh. Ginny could see people pointing at her family and whispering - they were understandably recognizable, with the omnipresent Weasley hair.
The buzz in the room finally died down as the representatives for the Ministry and for the defendants filed into the room. Ginny kept looking over the crowd from where she sat, on the left-hand of the room, side close to the rail that separated the floor from the seats for the press, searching for a glimpse of white-blonde hair. Neville, who was sitting with Harry in the reserved section for witnesses in the case, beside the defendant's table, caught her eye and nodded reassuringly. It didn't make her feel any better.
The preliminary proceedings had been taken care of the day before, and today would be for the meat of the trial - witnesses and presentation of all the facts of the case, and, hopefully, a judgment. Harry was sitting near Neville, in the witness section, and he, too, smiled at Ginny reassuringly when he caught her looking. She smiled feebly back, and Hermione reached over to pat her hand gently.
The defendants were brought in, two unprepossessing young men, one with sandy blond hair, the other with a shock of orange curls. Ginny stared at them with ill-concealed dislike, not inclined to be charitable toward the two. The noise from the spectators spiked as the defendants took their seats, and once the court was called to order, Neville was called to the stand by Justin Finch-Fletchley, who was acting as the representative for the Ministry.
"State your name for the record, please."
"Neville Horatio Longbottom," Neville said clearly. He looked a little flustered. Ginny knew how much he hated speaking formally, and thought he was doing rather well.
"Occupation?"
"I am a senior Auror for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
"And your involvement in this case?"
"I was assigned by my supervisor, Cecil Dobbins, to track the defendants. We suspected their involvement in a series of crimes against the Muggle community, and were asked by the Muggle police to provide a liaison to the wizarding community in order to help track them down."
"Thank you," Justin said politely. "Now, if you don't mind, could you tell the court what you know of the events leading up to the capture of the defendants?"
Neville went through the events of the case, seeming to relax as he spoke. Ginny guessed that it was because he was on familiar ground, talking about his work. He was periodically interrupted by both Justin and the lawyer for the defense, Terrence Higgs. Higgs, a Slytherin who had been on the house Quidditch team in the early '90s and narrowly escaped prosecution after the War, tried mightily to poke holes in Neville's testimony, but Neville was hard to phase.
Finally Higgs barked, "Nothing further," at the judge and slumped back in his seat. "Next witness."
That was Harry, who ignored the buzz of the audience and the flash of the reporters' cameras as he took the stand. He submitted to the questioning stoically, relating the events of the kidnapping with calm efficiency. Higgs was surprisingly tame, perhaps knowing that neither Harry nor the large audience would stand for any of the bullying tactics he'd tried on Neville. Ginny breathed a sigh of relief as Harry stepped down and retreated back to his seat - she hadn't been asked to testify herself, and she was profoundly grateful for that. She had never liked being the focus of attention, and hated public speaking almost as much as Neville did.
There was a brief pause, then the judge nodded at Justin Finch-Fletchley, who cleared his throat and said loudly, "Draco Malfoy."
Loud murmurs rose from the crowd as the entire audience began to whisper and crane their necks, trying to catch a glimpse of the infamous Malfoy. His involvement in the case and his return to the wizarding world was well known by now, but he was adept at avoiding reporters, and few had seen him since the War. Every wizard in the courtroom was desperate to see him in the flesh. Ginny scanned the room quickly, but she didn't see Draco anywhere; she tried to get Neville's attention, but he wasn't looking in her direction. He was looking toward the door behind the reserved witness seating expectantly. The door opened and Draco stepped into the room.
He had gotten his hair cut sometime in the last couple of months; it was now cropped close to his head, and shone like a silver halo as he started across the floor of the courtroom. He'd lost weight as well, Ginny thought, which combined with the hair made him look younger; it was as though he'd been whittled down to essentials. He was wearing a scarlet thigh-length jacket with a high collar and brass buttons that stood out like a beacon in the room full of dark-clad Aurors and lawyers. It was belted at the waist, and he wore black jodhpurs with a yellow stripe up either leg, and had a brown hat tucked underneath one arm. The heels of his knee-high brown boots rapped against the wooden floor as he walked steadily toward the stand in the centre of the room. Draco turned sharply on one heel and stood facing the courtroom, face impassive, back straight, his left hand resting lightly on the wooden rail in front of him. The crowd of spectators, most of whom were craning their necks to get a good view, whispered loudly to each other as they stared at Draco.
Draco, for his part, didn't look at the crowd, and barely glanced up when Justin Finch-Fletchley called for quiet and moved to stand in front of him. "Name?" Justin asked brusquely, much less politely than he had spoken to Neville.
"Draco Lucius Malfoy"
"Occupation?"
"I am a corporal for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, in Alberta, Canada." This statement caused another ripple in the courtroom, and Justin had to wait impatiently while quiet was restored. By the set of his shoulders, Ginny guessed that Justin wasn't happy about the spectacle Draco was making.
"Your involvement in this case?"
"One of the suspects in question was a known criminal in Canada. I was assigned to keep tabs on him, and when the suspect came to England, I followed, working with both Scotland Yard and the Ministry to apprehend him."
Justin fired a few questions at him, his lips pressed in a tight line, and Draco answered them all calmly, with barely a change in inflection. The crowd muttered restlessly as Justin finished and retreated to his seat, as though the questioning was far more boring than they had expected or desired.
After Justin sat down Terrance Higgs rose silkily to his feet. He smiled unpleasantly at Draco, brushing at the hang of his robes before walking closer to where Draco stood, watching him with narrowed eyes.
"Draco Malfoy," Higgs said softly, pure venom in his voice, and a thrill of apprehension crawled up Ginny's spine. "Welcome home. You've no idea how happy we all are to see you alive."
Draco gazed back at him impassively and didn't reply. Higgs smiled nastily and paced in a very small circle in front of the stand. The room was silent for the first time since Draco had entered, all attention focused on the two men. "Tell me, Malfoy," Higgs said finally, "where have you been, all this time?"
"Canada," Draco said expressionlessly.
"Indeed. And what were you doing in Canada?"
"As I said, I work for the RCMP."
"Ah," Higgs said. "The RCMP. And what do they do again?"
"We are the Canadian national police force."
"Oh? I thought the Canadian force was called the Department of Magical Inquiry. I didn't know they'd changed their name." Higgs widened his eyes innocently at Draco.
"The RCMP is not a wizarding police force." Draco bit off each word sharply, but he didn't change expression or raise his voice. It was hard to tell from where she was sitting, but Ginny thought he was beginning to be angry.
"Not a wizarding police force?" Higgs gasped in mock astonishment. "You mean to tell me that you've been working for Muggles all this time?"
"Yes."
Higgs rocked back on his heels and waited for Draco to continue. When he didn't, Higgs paced very slowly in front of his seat. "And how did this come about?" he finally asked. "A Malfoy posing as a Muggle seems terribly unlikely, if you don't mind my saying. How on earth did such an unusual state of affairs come to be?"
Draco set his jaw and glared. "I hardly think that's any of your business."
Higgs met his glare and nodded. "Yes, well," he said airily, waving a dismissive hand. "So. From the review of the details of this case, it appears that you've become quite the hero. By all accounts -" Higgs retreated to his desk to shuffle through his papers, "- you actually put yourself into danger to prevent Harry Potter from being injured when one of my clients allegedly pulled a weapon."
"Allegedly?" Draco raised one eyebrow. "Is that what they're calling it?"
Higgs smirked back. "Innocent until proven guilty, Malfoy. But as I was saying, by all reports you rather heroically put yourself into danger for Harry Potter." He looked at Draco for confirmation. Draco nodded warily. "And you expect us to believe that?"
"That's what happened."
"Really. We're to believe that you risked your life for the man who killed your father?" Higgs asked softly, his words dropping into the silence of the room like pebbles in a pool. "How very noble of you."
"I swore an oath, to serve and protect the people who fall under my care," Draco replied steadily, locking eyes with Higgs. "It happened, in this case, that Harry Potter and his children were those people. I keep my promises."
"Really. Like you kept your promises during the war?"
Draco stiffened, narrowing his eyes. "I made no promises during the war," he said icily. "Whatever you might be implying."
"I'm not implying anything," Higgs said smoothly. "Just curious, that's all." He paused, and walked away from Draco before turning back again, raising his voice slightly. "So. I admit, I am curious, Malfoy. If, as you say, you're not and never were a Death Eater, and you don't have a Dark Mark, and you were never involved with He Who Must Not Be Named...why did you leave England? Surely you weren't afraid, were you?"
"That is none of your business," Draco said coldly.
"Oh, come now," Higgs replied integratingly. "Am I to believe that the son of Lucius Malfoy vanished from the wizarding world out of cowardice? Was it fear of Azkaban, maybe?"
"No."
"No?" Higgs repeated. "You weren't scared that some overzealous Auror would decide that arresting a Malfoy would be a coup and drag you off to prison, protesting your innocence all the way?"
That made Ginny smile, because it was fairly close to the reason Draco had first given her for wanting to leave England after the war, but Draco merely shook his head. "No."
"So why did you leave?"
"That's none of your business," Draco replied again.
"You've said that a lot, Malfoy," Higgs sneered. "Lucius Malfoy was the top man for He Who Must Not Be Named. Don't you think it is the business of the wizarding public to know where you have been the last twelve years, when your own father was killed at Voldemort's right hand?"
"Actually, I don't," Draco said flatly.
"Really?" he asked. "Now that doesn't seem like the Draco Malfoy I remember. In fact, I remember you saying at Hogwarts that you planned on being the right-hand man of He Who Must Not Be Named."
Draco visibly rolled his eyes and raised his voice over the rising noise from the crowd. "And I recall you saying that you were going to play in the Quidditch World Cup, Higgs," he replied mockingly. "Whatever happened?"
Higgs smirked. "You mean you've changed your mind, then? No desire to conquer the world anymore?"
The corner of Draco's mouth twitched, as though he were suppressing a smile. "It didn't seem like a career with much of a future."
There was a small ripple of laughter through the audience. "Indeed," Higgs said with a glare. "Yet isn't it true that you were invited to become a Death Eater in the summer of 1997?"
That quelled the laughter. Draco raised his chin and stared at Higgs venomously. "I was invited to, yes."
"You don't deny it?"
"The invitation was extended, and I turned it down." Ginny could see, from her vantage point, that Draco had gone rigid, his eyes cold and hard.
Higgs raised his eyebrows. "Why?"
"That's none of your business."
There was another small murmur from the crowd. "Cor, he doesn't half look like his father," whispered a blue-haired old witch behind Hermione and Ginny. "He puts on a good show, but he's rotten to the core, I bet, just like all o' them Malfoys."
Ginny stiffened and whipped her head around, but Hermione caught her arm. "Don't!" she hissed. "That's exactly what Higgs wants...he's trying to sway opinion against Malfoy, get people thinking that he was secretly a Death Eater or something. Trying to get people to doubt that he'd act for anyone's best interests."
"That's not fair!" Ginny whispered back hotly.
"I know, but I'll bet Higgs is worried. Half the jury probably wanted to hang them on sight, because it was Harry's children they took...he's just trying to use everything he can against Harry. If discrediting Malfoy will help, he's going to do whatever it takes."
Ginny nodded and swallowed against the surge of bile in her throat. It felt like the war had happened so long ago, it was easy to forget that thirteen years isn't a very long time in communal memory. She glanced down at Harry, whose face was set in angry lines, his hands curled into fists. Neville leaned over and whispered something to him, but Harry shook his head abruptly, and Neville leaned away. He glanced up, caught Ginny's eye and shrugged. Harry looked up too, and even at this distance, she could see the rage in his face.
Higgs was still silkily trying to lead Draco into saying something - anything - that would be incriminating. Harry, however, had had enough. He surged to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. "I don't think," he said loudly, his voice ringing across the courtroom, "that this is necessary." Higgs whirled around to face the other man, and Harry glared at him, green eyes sparking. The judge himself had given up all pretence of being in control and was watching as avidly as everyone else as Higgs stalked toward Harry, eyes narrowed dangerously. Harry continued, "Malfoy is not the one on trial here. Air your personal grievances elsewhere, Higgs."
"And how do you know that this is personal, Mr. Potter?" Higgs replied smoothly. "I find it hard to believe that you, of all people, would stand in defense of the son of Lucius Malfoy."
"You have spent the last ten minutes asking him about everything under the sun but the one thing he is here for. Which is to give evidence against the people who kidnapped my children. Whatever private issue you have with Malfoy has nothing to do with that."
"And what if I say it does?"
Harry didn't give an inch. "I say it doesn't," he replied firmly. Harry glanced at the judge
who, along with everyone else in the courtroom, was staring at him. "I suggest you speed this process along, Justice MacGregor."
The judge nodded quickly and cleared his throat, banging his fist on the edge of his chair. "Mr. Higgs, please keep your questions to the issue at hand."
Higgs scowled darkly and clenched his fists, glaring at Harry with undisguised hatred. Harry ignored him and glanced at Draco, who caught his eye and held it for a long moment. Draco gave him a small nod, which Harry returned stiffly before returning to his seat.
Higgs spun around and walked back to his desk, where he shuffled some papers sullenly before curtly demanding that Draco recount his version of the events leading up to the kidnapping. Draco did, calmly and without a hint of emotion, but he seemed relieved to Ginny when he was finally allowed to step down from the witness stand and join Neville and Harry.
The rest of the trial was actually rather dull. Statements from Ginny and the children were read out, statements from the Canadian Ministry and Muggle police. The two kidnappers weren't allowed to take the stand at all, which left Ginny confused until Hermione whispered that it would probably be very bad for the defense for them to be cross-examined. After all, there were half a dozen eyewitnesses that said that those two were the kidnappers, not to mention the damning tape Draco and Neville had gathered during their investigation. The outcome of the trial was almost an anticlimax; no one was very surprised when the verdict came back guilty for both of the men. Ginny breathed a huge sigh of relief as the Weasleys swarmed down from the seats after the announcement, to stand in a great crowd on the courtroom floor, near the sectioned off seats for the witnesses. The rest of the spectators were being ushered out, although Colin Creevey was dodging the guards quite nimbly, sneaking forward to snap pictures of the family.
Molly was in tears, hugging everyone within reach. She bustled up to the rail, dabbing at her eyes, and pulled first Neville, then Harry, into fierce embraces, even dragging a startled Justin Finch-Fletchley into a tight hug. Ginny had accepted her own hugs from her brothers and sisters-in-law, beamed a smile at Harry and Neville, then leaned against the rail a little way away from the crowd as Molly exclaimed over how well they had done and how proud she was.
She could feel him standing there, a few feet away from where she stood, and Ginny looked up. She caught Draco's eye almost unintentionally, and gave him an uncertain smile. He nodded back and walked toward her slowly, almost reluctantly. Draco leaned against the wooden rail and looked down at his boots. "Can I speak with you?" he asked softly.
"Of course," Ginny replied. He looked tired, and she was sure that there were a few lines around his eyes that hadn't been there before. He wouldn't quite look at her, and her heart contracted.
Draco raised his head and glanced at her family. "Would you mind if we went somewhere else? I'd rather not have this conversation with Harry Potter trying to drill holes in the back of my head with his eyeballs."
Ginny glanced over his shoulder, and sure enough, Harry was glowering at them both. Neville had noticed, and was looking at all three of them anxiously. She bit her lip and ducked her head, hiding a grin. "Do you think they might let us use the witness room?"
"Good idea." Draco pushed himself off the railing and walked over to the door. He opened it slightly and poked his head in. "It's empty," he said quietly, and motioned to her, pushing the door open further.
"Just a minute," she said, and went back to the rail, tapping Hermione on the shoulder. They spoke for a moment in low voices, then Ginny turned and came back. Hermione was making her way over to Harry, who was still glaring at Draco. Draco couldn't help flashing the other man a smirk before he followed Ginny into the room and shut the door behind them.
Draco walked over to the table and rested one hand on the tabletop. He took a deep breath and turned to face her; she hadn't moved beyond the closed door, watching him with wide brown eyes. Now that she was here, standing in front of him, he had no idea what to say.
"How have you been?" she asked finally, her tone extremely polite. It made Draco's chest tighten to hear her.
"Well enough," he replied quietly. "Not entirely back in shape, but I'm doing all right, all things considered."
Ginny nodded politely, her face unreadable. It made his heart constrict, to have her so close, but not with him. He'd refused to let himself look at her in the courtroom - he had missed her so much that he didn't quite trust himself to be able to get through the trial without doing something embarrassing if he had to watch her. Not that having her stand there looking collected and aloof, like she was simply waiting for him to say what he had to say so that she could get back to her family, was any less embarrassing. Draco cursed himself silently; if this were a movie or one of the ridiculous romantic books Del devoured he would simply know the right thing to say and she would stop being so distant and fall into his arms or something equally silly. "I'm sorry," he said finally. "Before I say anything else, I owe you that." Ginny didn't say anything, just stared at him, her face unreadable. Draco gazed back at her steadily.
She nodded vaguely and looked down at her shoes. "Why didn't you call?" she asked finally. "It's been months."
Draco shrugged uncomfortably. "I didn't think...I thought you wouldn't want to talk to me."
"I wouldn't want to talk to you," Ginny repeated flatly, jerking her head up sharply to stare at him. "I thought that you weren't talking to me because you were angry with me, because I didn't stay."
Draco stared at her, stunned. Why on earth would he think that? He opened his mouth, then closed it again, lost for words. "Oh," he finally said, inelegantly. "Um, no."
Ginny stared back, her brown eyes alight with what might have been laughter. She took one step toward him, then another, then another, until she was flying across the room. He met her halfway, scooping her up in his arms, as she clutched at his back and buried her face in his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. It felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from him, just to be able to hold her again. Draco grinned. All things considered, having her fall into his arms wasn't really that silly.
"I swore I wasn't going to cry," she said finally, moving her head slightly and shifting back a bit, untangling one arm to wipe her cheeks with the sleeve of her robe. Her cheeks were wet, but she was half-laughing at the same time.
"I'd offer you a handkerchief, but I don't have one with me," Draco said.
Ginny laughed shakily. "I brought my own, actually. Just in case." She dug around in the pocket of her robes and fished out a tissue, which she used to wipe at her cheeks, one arm still wrapped around Draco's waist. He wound his hands into her hair gently, running the bright strands over his fingers.
"I am sorry, you know," he said softly.
Ginny crumpled her tissue and looked up at him. "I am too. I wanted to stay, to see if you were all right, but with the children..."
"John told me about that," Draco replied. "And I understand why you went home...I wouldn't have expected you to stay."
"I wanted to. It was so horrible, being here all alone, and not knowing what was going on. Neville is terrible at details, and I had Mum and Dad and Percy and Ron all trying to convince me that I didn't really need to know, and I felt so badly about not being able to be there..." she trailed off and sniffled, blinking. "I'm sorry. And then you didn't call or anything, and I thought that maybe you didn't want to talk to me, that you were horribly offended that I didn't come back, and I half-convinced myself that you probably hated me for it, and I was too frightened that it was true that I didn't want to call you and find out for certain. Silly really, but there you are."
"It's not silly, I - " Draco stopped and laughed ruefully. "Actually, I had almost convinced myself of the exact same thing. That you must have thought me a hopeless failure and didn't want to speak to me."
Ginny looked horrified. "Why would I think that?" She stared up at him, aghast. "Please don't tell me that you've been thinking, all this time that -" she stopped and shook her head. "I never thought that." She leaned into his chest and wrapped her arms around him, holding on to him tightly. "Never."
The last knot of tension unraveled itself in Draco's chest at her words. "That's good to hear," he whispered into her hair.
Ginny raised her head and looked at him, raising one hand to cup his cheek lightly. "You look tired," she said softly, her smile fading.
Draco shrugged uncomfortably. "I'm all right. Mostly just stress from the trial."
"And you cut your hair," Ginny continued. She sounded disappointed.
"Don't you like it?" Draco asked teasingly.
"I don't mind it short, but it's not...it makes you look younger." Ginny frowned thoughtfully, sifting her fingers through the short hairs at the base of his neck and sending small, distracting shivers down his spine. "Not that you look old, with long hair. It's just different."
"I had to cut it when I went back to work. Not allowed long hair, it's unprofessional. I only got away with growing it because I was far away from my supervisors." Draco grinned at her. "It was a bit of a rebellion thing."
"Well you looked very official today," Ginny replied, running one hand over his red serge jacket. "I like the uniform."
That made Draco flush slightly. "Really? I think it's horrid. Makes me feel like I'm wearing a big sign saying 'Shoot me!'" He shifted self-consciously.
"Oh, no, it's terribly sexy." Ginny grinned mischievously and glanced up at him through her eyelashes.
"You can't possibly be serious. It's ugly, it makes me a walking target, and it itches something awful."
Ginny laughed delightedly. "It is sexy! I imagine Neville had fits when he first saw you in it; I know Lavender did. And she was sitting three rows behind me."
Draco rolled his eyes. "And I suppose Lavender is a good judge of what's sexy."
"Well, she was the boy-crazy one," Ginny giggled. "And anyway, it wasn't just her...more like three-quarters of the women in the room."
"Hah," Draco snorted.
"It's true! I daresay you've made a few converts to your side amongst the witches, just based on the fact that you look edible in that uniform."
Draco raised an eyebrow at her. "Edible?" he purred. "Really."
Ginny blushed, but smiled. "Something like that. Not that you don't most of the time, mind you."
"I'm going to get a big head if you keep this up," Draco grinned. "But don't let that stop you."
Ginny giggled again and hugged him, resting her head against his shoulder. Draco held her close, savouring the feel of her in his arms. It felt right. Ginny tightened her arms around him. "What do you plan to do now?" she asked softly, her voice slightly muffled.
"I don't know," Draco replied quietly. "Cecil's offered me a position again if I want it, but I haven't given him an answer yet. I wanted - well, I wanted to talk to you first."
Ginny raised her head to look at him, her eyes searching his face. "Do you want to stay?"
"I want you," Draco said honestly. "I want to be where you are. Here, or anywhere else."
"You -" Ginny stopped and hugged him tighter, taking a shaky breath. "I love you," she whispered, and blinked, tears sparkling on her eyelashes. "My mother will likely die of shock, but I do. I know we never really talked about what would happen after... but if you want to stay, I -" Ginny paused to look up at him earnestly."I would like you to."
"Nothing would make me happier," Draco murmured. "Nothing. I love you," he said softly,
and kissed her.
~*~
When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. And now abide faith, hope, love, these three;
But the greatest of these is
love.
- 1 Corinthians 13
~*~
A/N: Please check out the story notes at my personal website
The End.
Fearthainn is the author of 12 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 177 members. Members who liked The Past Didn't Go Anywhere also liked 1735 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 177 members. Members who liked The Past Didn't Go Anywhere also liked 1735 other stories.
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