It was ridiculous. All of it. He was pathetic, he knew that. He was getting what he deserved. Draco didn't want to go to Azkaban- he truly didn't. He was terrified. But what else did he have? His father was dead, and his mother was currently in Saint Mungo's without the slightest chance that she'd ever come out. There was nothing left for him. So why were they trying so hard?

The courtroom buzzed quietly. Papers were shuffled, names were muttered. A certain ex-Death-eater stood at the center, practically under a microscope in front of all of these people, some known, others unknown. He stood with his head bowed, his hands chained together and his messy, platinum-blonde hair covering his face. His body was thin beneath his slightly tattered suit—they'd let him keep it in the week that he'd been in Azkaban, but they hadn't been too kind about it.

Finally, something like a charm seemed to settle over the circular room, which smelled to Draco of ink, parchment, and shoe polish. The man at the huge podium before him, his face worn and withered and his small, beady black eyes unyielding, folded his leathery hands and stared down at Draco as he addressed everyone else.

"Today we continue to trial of one young Draco Malfoy in his crimes against the Ministry of Magic, and his role in the murder of several innocent wizards and witches that occurred during the war." There was a buzz of conversation that alighted amongst the others, and though Draco tried to block it out, he couldn't help but catch a few key words such as "…has to be guilty!" and "coward… he even left his poor mother! Don't know what's going to happen to her now…" Draco flinched slightly at this one, but remained silent.

The old wizard raised his hands, and the conversations ceased. He picked up a pair of old glasses and set them on his crooked nose, looking down it at a piece of parchment.

"Now, to call the first to testify in favor of Draco Malfoy… Harry Potter." There was a large gasp, and Draco's eyes widened beyond belief. What the bloody hell? He couldn't believe it—he thought he'd gone utterly mad, or the old man was dyslexic and had read the wrong name. But despite this, the door opened behind him and in walked the Boy-Who-Lived himself.

Draco stared at him disbelievingly, not realizing or caring that he probably looked like an idiot. Harry didn't look at him, but he nodded to the man standing at the podium and came to stand beside Draco. Draco forced a snarl.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" he hissed under his breath. Harry didn't respond except for a small glance at him, and Draco was forced to wonder, what the hell is he doing here?

"Mr. Potter," the old man greeted, bowing his head a little. Harry returned the gesture.

"Sir."

"You are here to speak on Mr. Malfoy's behalf, is that correct?"

"Yes sir."

"Very well. Proceed." Draco practically held his breath. All eyes in the room were attached to Harry, and Draco peeked at him from the corner of his eye, under his bangs.

This was all some bad prank, right? To get Draco back for all the times he'd teased Harry and his friends, or all of the horrible things he'd done? Draco swallowed and tried to push out this frame of mind; he was spiraling, his mind growing darker—he could feel it. Soon he would be absorbed. He couldn't help but wonder if this was what his mother had gone through.

"Sir," Harry started, before turning to everyone else and nodding in greeting, "everyone… I know that Draco has a Dark Mark on his arm- I have seen it, and so have others. I know Draco's family was under control of Death-eaters, and his father was in fact loyal to Voldemort." Draco flinched at this and hissed.

"You're not helping, Potter. Why don't you just leave?" Harry glanced at him again but continued, and Draco wondered at him again. What the hell?

"But I don't believe that any of that was Draco's fault," he continued, meeting the eyes of almost everyone in the room. He had their complete attention, and Draco again couldn't help but feel that old pierce of envy. Harry went on.

"He was a victim of circumstance. His entire family was under Voldemort's control—if any of them did anything wrong, they would die. Now, all of us I'm sure would do whatever it took to keep our loved ones safe. Yes, Draco let Death-eaters into Hogwarts. He was given the task to kill Dumbledore. But he didn't do it, and I don't think he ever wanted to. Draco shouldn't be punished for his father's poor choices, because his father made wrong decisions that put Draco in that kind of position."

There was a term of silence. Draco's hands curled, and he stared at the bones almost visible through the paper-white skin. There was no way. Harry was charismatic, sure—he had the power to win over almost anyone. That was part of the reason Draco envied him as much as he did. But there was no way—after everything that had happened, everything that he did, that anyone could pardon him.

"Very well," the ancient wizard said after this bout of silence, dipping his head toward Harry, "We thank you for your appearance here, and for your place in the war. But there are other things to consider. We have had no occurrences where someone has told us what happened whilst Draco was away with his family at Malfoy manor. He could have very well killed a number of people for all we know, and he himself refuses to say anything on the subject. We need a witness of any of those events to give any thought of pardoning Mr. Malfoy."

Despite all of his tries at keeping his hopes down, Draco felt his heart sink even lower and ache even deeper. Harry took a step forward and started to protest.

"But sir, I-"

"I believe I can help you with that." Everyone turned towards the source of the dreamy voice, and Draco's eyes widened as he recognized it and whipped around, though he couldn't move much due to the chains cutting into his bony wrists.

Standing in the doorway, her head slightly tilted and a complacent smile on her lips was none other than Luna Lovegood. Her messy blonde curls spilled over her shoulders and down her back, and her pretty blue eyes observed everyone in the room evenly, obviously unperturbed by the fact that all attention was on her.

"Hello, Harry," she greeted once she caught sight of the boy, who stared at her.

"Luna!" Her eyes finally found Malfoy's, who was gaping at her. She continued to smile at him with the same calm expression. Just then the old man on the podium coughed, drawing attention back to him.

"And who might you be?" Luna's smile widened by a fraction as she came to stand by directly beside Draco, Harry on her other side.

"Luna Lovegood," she answered breezily. The old man shifted his glasses and leaned forward slightly.

"And you say you witnessed things that happened at Malfoy manor while Mr. Malfoy was away for his seventh year? Do you have any proof of this?"

"Oh, yes," Luna answered, neither her smile nor face changing a bit as she began to sway, "After all, I was a prisoner in his basement."