Chapter Text
Prologue: A Hearing - June 22, 1998
"Mr. Malfoy and I are not friends," Harry Potter addressed the Wizengamot. "Most would consider us enemies, and I gain nothing by speaking for him today," Harry continued confidently.
Draco inwardly cringed at Potter's words. Most? Really, Potter? EVERYONE would consider us enemies, including me! Why would Harry fucking Potter and Hermione know-it-all Granger volunteer to be character witnesses at his trial? Draco knew he was a lost cause, so it didn't make sense that two-thirds of the Golden Trio, or whatever-the-fuck they call themselves, would tarnish their reputation for him.
"While Mal-," Harry paused and corrected himself, "Draco. While Draco and I did not get along, I do not believe he is an evil person. By lying about Hermione, Ron, and my identities to his father and aunt, part of Voldemort's inner circle, mind you, he prolonged our lives, which eventually allowed us to escape. When it comes down to it, he put himself in great danger to save us." The former Death Eater held himself back from rolling his eyes. It would do no good to appear insolent while the Golden Boy tried to save his pathetic life. Fuck! I can't go to Azkaban! Would suffering the dementor's kiss be better or worse than being forced into the Dark Lo-... Voldemort's war?
For the first time during the trial, Draco's eyes shifted to Granger as she nodded emphatically to Potter's words. If they only knew that lying for them that night wasn't selfless; it was a means to an end for Draco. He caught a glimpse of his mother clutching Hermione's hand but quickly looked away. He wouldn't look at his mother now or even begin to contemplate a world where she was holding onto Hermione Granger for dear life. Flashes of his life in Malfoy Manor during the war began to attack Draco's mind, but he sucked in air and attempted to push those thoughts away. Now is not the time. Fuck! Fuck! Shit! Fuck! He couldn't get enough air in his lungs. His heart. It was out of control. It felt like it was going to pound out of his chest. Suddenly, he felt a cold sweat claim his entire being. He tried to discreetly wipe his clammy hands on his prisoner robes. Focus. Focus. Focus. He repeated the mantra in his mind until he felt his heart begin to slow down. Though his hands still had a slight shake, he was finally able to control his face. He stared straight ahead, trying not to think of anything but Potter's words.
"...and he was forced into this life," Harry announced.
What? How would he fucking know? Harry produced a vial from his blazer pocket. Draco stared at the wisps of floating memories inside the little glass container as his once-nemesis handed it over to the chief warlock of the Wizengamot.
The room was captivated by Harry's memories featuring Draco. They were mostly of Draco and his father, disappointment etched onto the elder Malfoy's face whenever he interacted with his son. The memories bounced from Draco with his father buying school supplies in Diagon Alley to Lucius easily dismissing Draco in the halls of Hogwarts, father and son inside a shop in Knockturn Alley, the night on the Astronomy Tower when Draco was supposed to kill Dumbledore, and finally to memories from the Dark Lord's point of view as Draco looked terrified in the background. While Draco's first question should have been about how Harry obtained some of these memories, it was not the first thing that crossed his mind. The main theme he saw in those memories was himself worshipping Lucius's every word, while from an outsider, an enemy, he could clearly see his father's constant contempt for his only son. Draco was disgusted with himself in these memories which stirred the unadulterated anger he had been harboring toward his father since Voldemort decided to take over the Malfoy family home. There wasn't one memory where his father looked proud of him or saw him as any more than a common house elf. Draco felt silly thinking about the boy he once was, who longed to please Lucius more than anything in the world. To think he had once wanted to be just like this man was embarrassing, especially now he could see it through the viewpoint of others.
Draco had subconsciously started questioning his father's pureblood prejudice long ago. As a first year, it seemed impossible for a mud- er...Muggleborn like Granger to beat him in every subject. His first few years at Hogwarts coming in second to her made him hate everything about her. His father fueled that hatred, jealousy really, with the constant reminders of Granger's blood status. Even many of the half-bloods he knew were more than competent, including Potter, which Draco loathe to admit. As he sat in front of the Wizengamot as a prisoner, everything seemed to come together like a puzzle in his mind. It all was bullshit. His life, his beliefs, his jealousy.., all of it! If he wasn't such a coward and spoilt little git, he might have actually respected Hermione and Harry. Not the Weasle, never him. Draco felt embarrassed by his inner revelation. He knew he deserved to suffer, yet part of him was desperate for a second chance.
As the memories cycled through, Mrs. Malfoy's fingers steadily gripped more tightly until Hermione had to gently pat her hand. The older witch mouthed an apology and loosened her slightly loosened her hold. Hermione studied Draco's face as it jumped from the scared, young 18-year-old man he truly was to his usual schooled mask of indifference. His eyes occasionally grew wide as he sucked in deep breaths like he couldn't breathe. His mouth would occasionally drop, momentarily agape while Harry spoke to the Wizengamot about Draco's life like he wasn't sitting there bound to a chair. His entire life was on display in front of the fifty members of the Wizengamot, his mother, and his two perceived enemies. Hermione's heart clenched for him. She never thought she would feel sorry for the boy that once made her life hell, but here she was wishing she could do something to comfort him.
His life. It was almost unbelievable the amount of neglect one person could endure. With the exception of the late Professor Snape, the boy hadn't had one single adult in his life that he felt he could count on. Though she wanted to blame Narcissa for her inaction, the woman had confessed during her own trial that she was paralyzed from fear of what Tom Riddle would do to control and punish her family. Tears drowned her face when she described the desperation she felt to protect both her husband and son. She even shared a memory of an afternoon tea with Mrs. Parkinson and Mrs. Greengrass where they covertly discussed plans to escape the country with their children under the guise of a conversation about gardening. Should Harry Potter fail to defeat Voldemort, the three mothers had a tentative way to escape. Narcissa was plagued with guilt that she would flee with or without her husband to save her son because she knew Lucius would be killed either way.
Hermione understood this sort of sacrifice. She herself had wiped her parents' memories to save them and was also consumed with guilt. Her parents had never been anything but proud of her. They loved her and showed it any chance they could. She couldn't imagine growing up like Draco. Just Harry's memories, an outsider to the Malfoy family, painted a picture of his terrible upbringing, so how bad were Draco's own memories of his life? The thought made Hermione's heart sink further in her chest.
Draco watched in a daze when Harry squeezed Hermione's shoulder as it was her turn to testify. His eyes were wide as she slid her chocolate brown eyes to him. After a moment held in her gaze, he swallowed hard and looked away. He couldn't stand her pity. He felt his face flush as he fought off another panic attack. Not now. Fuck! Not now! Breathe, breathe, breathe! Bloody hell! Focus! Draco closed his eyes, trying to control himself. It was all too much. And on top of everything else, now he had her fucking pity.
"...if he continues his eighth year at Hogwarts, I volunteer to dedicate my time rehabilitating him toward a new wizarding society free of old prejudices."
What? Eighth year? Rehabilitation? Draco steadied his features while he internally imploded. He missed Granger's entire testimony with his weak show of anxiety. Some Slytherin he turned out to be. What the fuck was she on about 'volunteering her time' to him? He didn't know if he should feel grateful or petrified. Azkaban or Granger's fucking pity project?
Hermione finished her speech, seeming quite proud of herself like she did when she answered a question correctly in school. Harry smiled at her while Narcissa Malfoy, eyes brimmed with tears, looked gratefully at the girl he'd spent his school years hating. Draco allowed himself to search the faces of the members of the Wizengamot. Most were nodding their approval down at the two heroes that stood up for the poor Death Eater, while some glared at him with the hatred he deserved.
The room was silenced as the Chief Warlock announced his sentence.
"Draco Lucius Malfoy, you will serve a one-year sentence on a modified house arrest. This afternoon, you will begin your sentence at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry under the watch of Headmistress McGonagall and will be stripped of your wand until you begin the school year on September 1st. You will sit for your N.E.W.T.s with the seventh and eighth-year students in the spring. An Auror from the Ministry will serve as your parole officer during this time, and Hermione Jean Granger will serve as your sponsor while you attend school. Though your mother has been cleared of her own charges, you will only have limited contact with her via owl once a month. If you don't agree or violate the terms of this contract in any way, you will be sent immediately to Azkaban to serve out the maximum sentence for your crimes. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir. I understand," Draco whispered, nodding his head. He sat up straight and made direct eye contact with the chief warlock, attempting to show some semblance of composure and dignity.