Prelude

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September, 1998.

Everything was happening in his life like he wasn't present himself.

Truth to be told, he always have felt as his decisions and opinions were unimportant – and for most of his life, they weren't; Father and Mother had his path planned since the moment of his birth. What was he if not the product of his parents, after all? He had a surname, titles, fortune, a mansion, a path planned and his position was already secured – what use his opinions had anyway?

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However, that moment seemed different.

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He felt empty, a shell of what he should be and spared of a destiny he probably should've had. He was a war criminal, after all. Mind you, not by choice or his outright decision. He had done everything Father wanted and then some more, because Mother was out of tears and he couldn't bear the thought of she being punished for his father shortcomings and his own failure and cowardice. For all their fortune, Mother ought to have chosen a better family to marry – she was always so dutiful and resilient that he sometimes wondered if she belonged to his House at all. She was the glue that held the family together after Father's first trial; what kept them all alive during the war.

She was the one whom the title of Head of Family should've gone, not him.

After Father's trial and conviction, he was the one who held her at night while she sobbed for all the pain Father have put the Family through, for all the years he would be locked away, for the relief she felt when Father was spared of the death sentence, and finally for the loneliness that would come the coming years.

He tucked her in bed and whispered sweet nothings to try and ease her worries – he was still there, beside her and he would take care of everything.

His and Mother's trials were the day after: she was released of all of her accusations. Draco, however, was guilty as charged and he would have his wand taken from him for a period of three years; he would have to pay a lot of money to the Ministry for all his wrongdoings in the years before and during the war; he ought to help the reconstruction of the school; he would have to talk with a therapist every week and if deemed appropriate by the end of a period of one year, he would be realised of the house arrest.

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His sentence was somewhat light and that was as confusing as fuck. Perhaps because he had plead guilty when asked.

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"Draco Lucius Malfoy, you are hereby accused of treasure; of three attempts to murder the former Headmaster Albus Dumbledore; of the use of unforgiving curses; of causalities and therefore almost murder of Katia Bell and Ronald Weasley; of pledging allegiance to the terrorist group of Dark Wizards named Death Eaters. How do you plead?" the voice of the Ministry of Magic boomed around the chamber, talking above the flashes of the reporters and the public at the stands behind him.

"Guilty" his voice was firm and emotionless while he heard his mother sharp intake of breath.

"Very well then" the Minister sound surprised as well by his bluntness "we shall hear your defense and then discuss what your punishment shall be".

The most unexpected thing happened when Shacklebolt asked for a defense attorney to enter and a bloody lanky, barely-of-age young man appeared from the Court's doors with his modest robed billowing behind him.

He felt as he was underwater or maybe above his body, like an entity - it felt so out-of-body experience that Draco could not describe it like anything else. That or spending the last two years serving a madman has finally got his mind and he would become something akin to his dreadful aunt.

Apparently he had a stupid, recently graduated boy who was so desperate that he would take the job of defending the heir of Malfoy House and a bloody Death Eater. Figures how Mother got the kid in their pockets what with their money and assets frozen in Gringotts since the War was over.

Amazingly enough, Draco was not so angry with Mother giving her memories as testimony of the circumstances surrounding his admission in that bloody murderer group. Hell, the whole Britain could see the sheer despair in his eyes when he returned home from Hogwarts to the knowledge that Father had failed and he should redeem his House in the eyes of the Dark Lord and Draco wouldn't give a fuck if it meant that he wasn't going to rotten in some shitty cell in Azkaban.

To his utter disbelief, Harry sodding Potter was called as a bloody defense witness, recalling to the Court everything the hero had overheard and seen and then their delightful encounter in that miserable bathroom and his almost death by hemorrhage. His amazement was, unfortunately, long lived since the Wizengamot called his mother to report under the Veritessarum and then his mouth literally dropped when the Minister called the next witness.

"Hermione Jean Granger".

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Grangergrangergranger.

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He still had nightmares with her screams while being tortured by his mad aunt right at his drawing room, his aunt's hair going at every direction while she cackled and asked about that damn Gryffindor sword and her eyes looked so out of this planet that he felt petrified even though he could only think no, nonono. Not her, not now. His nightmares were full of screams and his aunt's hysterical laugh and sneer and he would wake up wet and sobbing.

Draco couldn't have controlled his face even if he wanted to. His eyes almost fell of its sockets and a look of shame and shock and fear danced through his eyes - the last time he had seen her, she was duelling with a whole lot of Death Eaters while he was trying to find his parents. She had looked so exquisite with magic crackling through her whole body while fighting grown men and women, her eyes set on determination to immobilize them as fast as possible.

In the middle of the Court pertaining his case however, she didn't look at all like that girl. Her head was held high, her voice even while retelling some graphic circumstance in which she was at his Manor, she looked as the epitome of the rightness and justice but her eyes… where they were ablaze while fighting and at their years in the castle, they seemed dull and frightened at the Court. Her fingers twitched even when her hands were resting atop of her lap, her skin was thin and very pale. Though she looked poised, her eyes betrayed her and she looked as broken as he felt, maybe more because he would've cracked under the duress that was his aunt's favorite curse after so long and casted with that horrid passion.

She didn't look at all like the heroine and brains behind the fall of the latest Dark Wizard to terrorize Great Britain and the whole Continent.

"Yes" she confirmed something that his attorney had asked while he was busy scrutinizing her. She swallowed hard "Draco was the one who his aunt asked to identify us because they need to be sure before they summoned Voldemort. They couldn't make mistake because he was already furious and frustrated with Greendwald and no one wanted to brag they had Harry Potter, his mudblood friend and blood-traitor one to be wrong in the end. So Draco was dragged across the room and shoved into our faces and although I had hexed and disfigured Harry, charmed me and Ron, he could recognize us all because we had spent six years studying and antagonizing each other, so how could he not? He eyed Harry' scar and he held my gaze, looking unsure what to do because if he did confirm, he would sentence us all to death but if he didn't and then they discovered the truth, he would surely suffer. So he did neither and said that he couldn't tell for sure, he supposed but couldn't confirm."

He was sure he looked like a fool hearing her testimony but how could he not when she recalled the night she was tortured right in front of him and yet tell them that he somehow, with that tiny action of cowardice, saved their lives? Draco couldn't be more astonished than he was at that moment, somehow she had payed attention to his subtle actions that screamed how terrified he felt that dark night - the night he was entrusted to identify the only people who could stop the madness that he and the whole wizard community had gotten themselves into.

Maybe he really deserved to go to prison, to pay for his mistakes. He was sure that he didn't deserved that bright, bright witch to stand up and defend him after everything he and his family had put her through.

When the Wizegamot stated his sentence while he was standing in the middle of the room, jaw set and flashes going on and on and on , he could only stare at that pair of bright brown eyes while a single tear rolled down his face.

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He was freefreefree .

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Finally free.

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Was he not?