This fic was a gift for pettybureaucrat over on the hp_porninthesun fic exchange on Live Journal. It's three chapters long so I'll update it quickly. All the characters belong to JK Rowling - lucky wench.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"It is the preliminary decision of this Wizengamot that you, Draco Lucien Malfoy, be sentenced to a term no less than twenty years in Azkaban prison for crimes committed by your person during the Second Wizarding War."

Kingsley Shacklebolt's strong baritone echoed throughout the cavernous chamber, which was filled to capacity by every judicial and legislative member currently holding a position to include laypersons directly involved in Draco's sentence.

The young man in question stood silently upon the dais, a single shaft of bluish-white light shone on him from above, casting his scarred face in shadows. He showed no sign that the sentence affected him in the least, merely starring at the podium in front of Shacklebolt, his mind in a state of near lockdown.

"However, it has been brought to this court's attention of your redemptive deeds, and the resulting actions which led to the downfall of Voldemort," Kingsley intoned, not unkindly. "You are also the sole heir and owner of the Malfoy name and estates, since your parents' untimely demise. With these events in mind, the court has favored a commute of your sentence."

Draco continued to stare ahead, never hearing the Minister's pronouncement.

"Mister Malfoy, do you comprehend what I am telling you?"

Once again, there was no response, just a vacant expression.

"Minister, if I may?" Luna Lovegood inquired as she stood.

With a nod from Shacklebolt, Luna made her way down to stand in front of Draco who didn't register her presence until he felt her cool fingertips prying his tightly gripped hands apart. Slowly he lowered his gaze and blinked.

"Lovegood?"

She smiled enigmatically and held his hand. "Have hope, Draco… the truth will set you free."

He frowned fiercely, watching her pat his hand affectionately then return to her seat. Chit's still off her rocker, he mused, daring a glance to the dark man perched high above the crowd.

"Do we have your attention now, Mister Malfoy?"

The blond's eyes widened somewhat, realizing the daft blonde had stirred him from what would've been a disastrous chain of events. "Yes, Minister." He bowed from the waist. "My apologies."

Kingsley cleared his throat. "As I was saying, a light has been shed on your activities before the war came to an end, and being that you are now the only living Malfoy, it is this court's decision to commute your sentence."

"Yes, sir… thank you."

After several moments of silence, Shacklebolt chuckled in spite of himself. "Do you not wish to know the revised judgment, son?"

Draco bit the inside of his cheek to keep from reacting to Kingsley's assumption that he could call him 'son'. "I will, of course, abide by whatever the high court deems necessary."

"It is good to see the fire still resides within you," the Minister observed with a smirk, noting Draco's defiance in his eyes. "You've mastered several magical abilities and skills, have you not?"

"You would have to be more specific," the blond drawled. "I have so many."

The older man arched an eyebrow in amusement. "It seems a stint in Azkaban has not robbed you of your cheek."

"It is the only thing I can call my own… sir."

Ignoring the young man's jibe, Kingsley moved forward. "You are to work in the Development department, Mister Malfoy, and any creation or invention that is noteworthy will become intellectual and physical property of the Ministry. All others will be marketed and dispensed, the proceeds to be donated to charities that support victims of the war. You will receive a stipend as payment, but the Malfoy assets will be liquidated for reparation to those most affected by the war, namely the Weasley family."

Blood seeped onto Draco's tongue as he finally bit through a section of his cheek in order to control his emotions. Why was his family's hard earned - well, no, it was all old Pure-blood money, but still it was their money, nonetheless - going to pay for Fred and Ron Weasley's deaths when he had nothing to do with it? He didn't cause the explosion that sent Fred to his external joke shop in the sky. He wasn't the perpetrator of the killing curse flung Ron's way that fateful night just before Voldemort fell. So why should he be made responsible for…

"… and you will report to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Miss Granger. Do you understand and comply with this sentence?"

Damn, he missed half of the requirements he was supposed to fulfill. "Yes, Minister."

"Good. As a matter of note, you will be able to retain Malfoy Manor, seeing that it is a family estate and been so for hundreds of generations," Kingsley told him, closing a rather large tome on the podium.

Unadulterated relief swept through Draco's thin frame at this news. The family mansion would remain his; the antique furniture, his mother's things, his father's trappings – all to stay safe from thieving hands.

"Thank you, Minister," Draco said sincerely.

"You are free on your own recognizance, but you are being monitored, have no doubt," the Minister warned.

He expected no less. "Understood."

Having been dismissed, he stepped down from the dais as the manacles and chains that surrounded his ankles and wrists disappeared, leaving raised welts in their place causing him to rub his skin to regain feeling in them.

"Are you ready to go?"

Startled, Draco turned and peered at the platinum blonde girl once more. "Go where? And what makes you think you'd be going with me?"

Luna was unfazed by his gruff demeanor. "Back to the mansion, of course. Since I'm your court-appointed observation officer for the next few days, I need to set up the wards and safeguards on the property, so you may move about freely."

"Malfoy Manor already has wards and-"

She shook her head. "They were removed by Bill Weasley after your parents died. It was the only way the Ministry could approach the house without being burnt to a crisp like a vampire on a sunny day."

Crossing his arms to keep his anger from escaping, the frail man's lip curled into a sneer. "What makes you think I can't break through anything you conjure, Lovegood? You're not a genius with fail-safes."

"I have no doubt you'd be able to break through them… in time," she countered with a smirk. "But with the longevity component of the wards, it would take you three-hundred and twenty-two years to do so… and I don't think you'll live that long."

"Am I allowed to swear at you?"

"If it makes you feel better, by all means."

For the next five minutes, Draco Malfoy let loose a string of blue curses the world, Muggle and Wizard alike, had never witnessed before. Such epitaphs included, 'I hope Centaurs gnaw on your limbs and leave the bones to bleach in the scorching sun,' and 'If my father were alive today he'd be drinking himself into a stupor with that stench-filled, pus blossom of a caretaker, Hagrid.'

"Pus blossoms are actually quite nice smelling," Luna corrected during his tirade.

He stared at her incredulously. "I smell like pus blossoms, you barmy bint!" he hissed, pointing at himself. "And I can't stand it!"

"It's an acquired scent, I must admit."

Realizing the certifiably insane woman would never rise to his baiting, he heaved a heavy sigh and muttered, "Can we just go then?"

"Oh! Are you done? I thought you had a few more left."

He snorted. "I do, but I'm saving them for a more appropriate time."

She smiled serenely and wrapped her arms around him, paying no attention to the stiffening of his body. "Okay, let's get you tucked in!"

As they Apparated to the Manor, Shacklebolt broke down with laughter, turning to the woman sitting right behind him and out of view. "Miss Granger, you definitely have your work cut out for you."

Rich, brown eyes met the Minister's and Hermione smiled thinly. "I do, indeed."

~*~

Five hours later, Luna sat across from Hermione Granger in the darkened office, a single luminary casting a soft and comforting glow around the two women.

"Is it done?" Hermione asked.

Luna tilted her head and contemplated her friend. "Yes. Are you going to tell him that it was your testimony that persuaded the court to revise his sentence?"

The brunette narrowed her eyes. "Stay out of my head, Luna."

"That's not where my focus was directed." Leaning forward, the blonde crossed her arms on the edge of the desk separating them and laid her chin atop her forearm. "I was aiming more towards your heart. Besides, I think he deserves to know."

"Well I don't want him to know," she replied petulantly. "Then all I'll hear is how he doesn't want pity or some other nonexistent emotion from a Mudblood and he'd rather be shipped back to Azkaban."

"Perhaps," was all Luna would say.

"I just…" She groaned in frustration. "Sometimes I curse the fact that Professor Snape survived and Ron didn't, that Snape chose Ime/I to see his interactions with Draco through the Pensieve, that Draco refused to identify us to his parents and deranged aunt, that Draco gave Harry the Elder Wand, and-"

"That's a lot of cursing," Luna mused. "Did you know Draco can curse like a Muggle sailor?"

Even though she'd know Luna for years, Hermione could still be taken aback by her offbeat comments. "Uh, no… I didn't."

"Yes, he was rather fond of the word 'fuck'."

Hermione snorted with laughter. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me."

Luna smiled slyly, knowing she diverted her friend away from a possible stress meltdown. "His scar still pains him, though. I don't think they allowed for proper treatment in prison."

"The one on his face, from the chandelier?"

She nodded. "It's quite a long gash, running from the middle of his eyebrow to the underside of his chin. It looked very angry today."

"But that was over a year ago!" Hermione huffed. "Surely they mended it with-"

"From what I gathered, he was refused treatment because one of the guards was a distant relation to Katie Bell and he took great exception to the necklace incident," Luna explained. "I can tell you though, even if you healed it now, it would still leave a mark because it's been left for too long without proper care."

"Do you think…" She paused for a moment as she thought of something. "Do you think he'd allow me to look at it, see if there is something that can be done with it?"

Luna shrugged. "I could ask tomorrow."

"No!" Hermione nearly yelled. "I mean, no, don't ask him… he'll just see it as some way to bring down his defenses, saying he'd rather have Harry touching him than a Mudbl-"

"Through all of his cursing today, he never once used the slur of Mudblood, Hermione," Luna stated with a bit of force.

Her eyes widened. "Not once?"

"Not even a hint."

"So do you think…"

Rolling her eyes, Luna smiled. "I'll ask him."

Hermione smiled tentatively for the first time since this whole mess started. "Yes, please, ask him."

~*~

One week later, a black-cloaked figure stood in her doorway, the cowl so far over his face Hermione couldn't tell at first who darkened the entrance to her office.

"Can I help you?" she asked politely, figuring someone got lost on their way to a different department, which happened often.

Instead of answering, the stranger stepped over the threshold and shut the door, moving around the spacious room slowly as he perused the photographs adorning her walls. The lanky frame stopped before one particular picture, the one of Hermione, Ron, and Harry standing together before the Hogwarts Express. He studied it intently with his hands behind his back, then moved away, only to halt his steps in front of her desk.

"I don't know. Can you?" the voice rasped.

She leaned forward in an effort to see under his hood, but he retreated. "Draco?" she asked hesitantly.

The dark figure bowed his head. "You wanted to see me?"

"Luna spoke with you?"

"It's why I'm here, isn't it?" he drawled.

She huffed in irritation. "Do you answer every question with a question?"

"No, do you?" he chuckled lightly.

"Prat," she muttered, indicating he was to sit though he ignored her.

"At least you don't have some idealized notion that my personality has changed because of my incarceration."

"I have no grand illusions on that part, no." She sighed, rising from her chair and coming around to lean against her desk since he refused to take a seat.

"Then why am I here? Lovegood spins me a nice little ditty that within a week's time I'm to report to you for a check up," he groused. "Why? Is my work not satisfactory?"

When she saw Luna the next time, she was going to have a serious discussion on what information to pass on to their charge. Looking over her shoulder at the latest potion's formula coming from his lab gracing her desk, she shook her head in amazement.

"Your work is exemplary, especially this particular chemical compound," she explained, pointing to the paperwork. "Luna was supposed to offer you the chance to heal your wound, not report for a check up."

Moving quickly, he stood directly in front her, the tip of the black hood touching her forehead yet still she couldn't see his face. "You think you can heal this?" He gradually pulled the cowl down to reveal his damaged face.

Unable to help herself, Hermione gasped at the inflamed, red, and puckered wound that ran the length of his face, from eyebrow to chin. He glimpsed the revulsion in her eyes and backed away.

"I've tried to heal it myself, but I have a limited use of magic allotted to me," he enlightened her. "I can't even conjure a simple sleeping draught with what I've been given," he growled, threading his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I have to do practically everything by non-magical means."

Her jaw dropped slightly. "Even your calculations for the formulas?"

"What part of 'they restrained my magic' did you not understand, Granger?"

Grabbing the documentation, she flipped through the parchments, her brows drawn in confusion. "Draco, these equations are beyond most experienced professors. I wouldn't even dream of attempting them without magic."

"So?"

She narrowed her eyes, exasperated. "You mean to tell me you configured all these calculations by hand?"

He leaned into her face, his nose touching hers. "Let's go over this slowly, Granger… I did… everything… by… bloody… hand."

Licking her lips, she dared to return his stare, his gray eyes belying the hurt and confusion swirling inside him as he watched her tongue in fascination. "I can help you," she whispered.

His eyes darted back to hers. "Sod off," he growled and turned away.

"But I can help ease the pain from-"

"I don't want your fucking pity!" he roared. "You have no idea of my pain!" He was seething with anger now, clutching his chest, hinting at something altogether different.

"You deserve a chance to-"

"Spare me your deluded notions of my part in the war… Granger," he spat, struggling not to use the old insult. "I was a coward, end of story."

"It's a constant, unanswerable question whether any behavior based on fear of punishment can be regarded as cowardly," she insisted fervently, trying to contradict his opinion of himself.

He laughed mirthlessly. "And what tome did you regurgitate that from?"

"None," she ground out. "It's a simple observation."

"Dear Merlin's balls," he huffed. "I'm not some hero like Potter, why are you being so bloody persistent in this?"

"Because I can help." She came to stand in front of him and cupped his cheeks, wincing as he did when she touched the edge of the irritated welt. "And just for the record, you are a hero, Draco Malfoy."

Rolling his eyes, he tried to remove his face from her hands, but she held on fast. "Leave off, woman!"

"Quit being such a bloody git," she murmured absentmindedly, studying the wound.

Closing his eyes, he gave up the struggle and allowed her to do as she pleased. A sense of peace washed gently into him as her soft fingertips probed the painful area, infusing him with relief and comfort, the pain lessening significantly. Opening his eyes in astonishment, he caught a spark of something brilliant in her eyes, as she smiled shyly and continued her work.

"What are you doing?" he whispered, puffs of his breath causing strands of her hair to sway.

"Helping you," she answered softly.

"Why?"

"Because I see something different in you. Plus, you saved my life. I'm only repaying the debt."

His eyes shuttered as he withdrew into himself. "I'm not a fucking hero!" he hissed.

She stopped his recoil by gripping the strands of hair at the nape of his neck. "A hero is no braver than an ordinary person, Draco," she assured him. "It's just that a hero is braver five minutes longer."

Waiting until she relaxed her grip, he forcibly removed himself from her grasp. "Spare me your endearing platitudes, Granger." He pulled the cowl over his head. "I need to get back and finish my current formula… since I'm resorted to doing everything by hand it takes much longer than normal."

The slam of her office door startled her even though she knew it was coming. Slumping onto the overstuffed sofa, she wiped her eyes free of the scant tears that had gathered whenever she delved deep into someone's psyche, wishing desperately the blond Slytherin would trust her.

But just in case, she wouldn't hold her breath.