So this is my new story...

Following a recent trend, this will also be seriously inclined. Romantic pairings may show up in the future, but are not set in any definite plans. This may or may not follow the epilogue.

Basically, it is, according to me, a realistic version of what life would be like immediately after the war ended.

I hope you enjoy it.

Standard disclaimer applies.

~conorlover~

Chapter 1

The Trial of the Malfoys

The light from the magically lit coal braziers lit the room dimly, providing the only source of illumination. The setting was designed to terrify and intimidate, and the lanterns so suited its purpose. However, an inadvertent effect was the reaction of those which it was not supposed to scare.

Two people, their hands bound by chains, their long blond hair matted and lank, sat in chairs at the center of this magical cavern, gazing wearily up at their captors. One was defiant, daring the occupants of the room to defy his wishes; his partner was softer, quiet whimpers escaping from her mouth at random intervals in apprehension of her fate.

They were surrounded on every side by tall stone benches, in which wizards and witches with expressions of stone sat, their professional masks barely disguising the air of animosity and disgust which pervaded the room. Their dark hoods hid their faces, providing an air similar to that of a congregation of Death Eaters, although these people were anything but. The mystic rituals which bound them to this post necessitated this particular likeness, and although the practice was widely condemned and disliked among its practitioners, there was little that one could say to alter one of the Ancient Laws. Besides, dress was never the prime problem when it came to a hearing.

On the other side of the room, opposite the scowling, terrified prisoners, one of the only uncovered heads sat in his chair, lips pursed with worry, grey eyes dark with apprehension, platinum-blond hair parted and combed perfectly on his head, matching with his dark, perfectly pressed official robes.

Far, far above, another uncovered head sat, although in quite different circumstances. His robes were un-pressed and wrinkled, quite obviously just pulled on at the last moment, his hair in even worse state, tousles in it becoming quite obvious through the messy mop. His face was thin from months of malnutrition followed by a few weeks of healthy eating, his face slick with sweat from apprehension despite the cool temperature of the room, and his round glasses in the danger of slipping off his nose. He occasionally raised his hand to run through his messy dark hair, mussing it up even further, and, when not occupied in that particular action, his hand tensely tapped on the arm of his chair, impatience and stress beating a tattoo on the finely aged mahogany piece of furniture. His sea-green eyes were clouded with fatigue, but bright and determined with the intention of the effect of his actions of this moment. He was merely waiting for the trial to start.

Far, far above, a dark-skinned man with an earring in his left ear cleared his throat and spoke in a low, authoritative voice "I now declare the trial for war crimes against Malfoy, Lucius Abraxas and Malfoy, Narcissa, nee Black, open."

Draco trembled in his chair.

This was the seventeenth hearing. The seventeenth, and the final one. Today was the day that they would finally make the decision as to whether they were going to let his parents' go free.

Or whether they would rot in the dank cells of Azkaban forever.

His fingers gripped the expensive material of his robes tightly, the nails digging through the velvet to press against his thigh. He was apprehensive of the outcome, to be sure, but also relieved – for there would be no more days of endless waiting, no more sleepless nights filled with terrible horrors and long, lonely conversations with his own sanity. This trial would be the last he would have to attend that involved his parents, and whatever the outcome may be, at least something would be decided today.

His own trial was another matter. He was being charged on the accounts of being a member of the organization 'the Death Eaters', and for carrying their offensive mark on his arm, but his own fate was nothing compared to that of his parents. Already it was to be proven that he was under severe duress when he had accepted the position, and that his denying it could have resulted in severe repercussions to those close to him. His own crimes were minimal at best, a few accounts of highly unsuccessful torture attempts, and that too under the presence and demands of Voldemort himself. He would most likely be let off with the equivalent of a slap on the wrist.

The fate of his parents was not so easily determined. Lucius Malfoy was a notorious Death Eater, renown for spreading terror through the realm of Great Britain, being charged on several offenses. The list of his war crimes included funding a terrorist operation, being a member of a terrorist group, discrimination against people of non-magical descent, murder, torture, kidnapping, and a thousand other despicable and equally true things. He didn't have such a ready excuse as Draco did, and the defense against him was far tighter. The chances of him escaping unscathed were unlikely this time, as money and influence within the Ministry had a limit, and he had exhausted most of his resources. Nonetheless, he had directed the faithful Draco towards contacts who might potentially change the outcome of the trial. Draco, being a good son had obediently followed his father's wishes and attempted to contact those who had previously leached off his father's generosity and good name – the fact that most of these people now wanted nothing to do with the Malfoys was another matter altogether.

The case of Narcissa Malfoy was slightly different. She, too, had been a member of the Death Eaters, and bore the Dark Mark on her left forearm, but unlike her husband, she had never directly been implicated in murder and torture scenarios. Certainly, if one was to look into her past, they would find certain people who had died or suffered by her hand, but such cases had not as of yet seen the light of day, and the best she could be implicated in was overshadowed by the terrifying presence of Lord Voldemort at her home. However, her willingness to accept the Dark Mark in the first place had raised some eyebrows, although some of the more conservatively-aligned members of the Wizengamot put it down as wifely obedience to her husband's wishes. She may yet appear unscathed from the chaos that had spread with the Dark Lord's defeat – but she may as well be burnt by the flames that licked close to her feet.

The last trial would not be long – it was not a place for presentation, but rather for decision-making. It was unlikely that anyone, either friend or foe, would testify at the trial, and the expected outcome was that the interim Minister for Magic, former Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, would immediately request for a vote from the Wizengamot.

The cold air seeped into the very bones of the occupants of the room, and several shivered and drew their long robes more tightly as a source of protection. Despite its gloomy bearing, they found the room to be significantly pleasanter than a few months ago, when Dolores Umbridge had presided over it with her silver, long-haired feline Patronus and her perpetually present Dementors. Several remembered the toad-like woman with a shiver of loathing, and a glimmer of satisfaction showed on their faces when they remembered that she, too, was being tried for war crimes.

Kingsley was droning on and on, his own voice exasperated with the official mumbo-jumbo that he had to repeat at the beginning of every trial. "On this day on 3rd September, 1998, we conclude the trial of Malfoys Lucius and Narcissa, who have been charged with accounts of war crimes, the list of which is many. Will there be any further additions to the list of charges?"

The courtroom was silent.

"Will there be any further statements from the prosecution?"

"None, your Honor," said the bespectacled, slightly pudgy young man who had led the charges against Malfoys Lucius and Narcissa. Long years of frustration had caused him to go prematurely bald, the shiny skin on his forehead alight with tiny drops of perspiration at the excitement of seeing the victims of his first case being successfully sent to prison. He felt a small surge of victory – both professional and personal, seeing as there were rumours that Lucius Malfoy had tortured his uncle.

Of course, that could never be proven as said uncle was now in St. Mungo's, in the ward for Extensive and Irreparable Spell Damage.

"Any statement from the defense?"

There was a small stir in the courtroom, and many gasped, as the untidy young man with the fierce expression on his face stood up rather clumsily, trying not to, but somehow managing to trip a little on his own dark robes. The expressions on the faces of many of the members of Wizengamot ranged from disbelief to anger, as the person they considered their savior cleared his throat before speaking.

"I would like to present myself as a witness for defense, your Honor," Harry Potter said, his glasses sliding off his nose for the umpteenth time.

The courtroom was silent, but not entirely so. Hushed whispers ripped across its length, conveying anger and disbelief at the current witness. The leader of the prosecution was the most visible in his surprise, his own glasses practically dangling off his nose, his mouth hanging open. Never had he expected this particular person to make his presence known in this case, and certainly not from the side of the defense. If anything, he should have been vehemently on the side of the offense.

If there was any redemption for the flurried members of the Wizengamot and Draco Malfoy (not to mention his surprised and slightly wary parents), it was the fact that the interim Minister for Magic seemed just as disconcerted by this new development as themselves.

However, being a politician at heart (no matter what his Auror credentials suggested), Shacklebolt quickly recovered himself, and spoke in his best and most level voice "Defense presents its witness."

Mr. Potter had, by now, made his way down to the center of the black arena, and was seated in a chair rather resembling those of the captors, albeit infinitely most comfortable and definitely lacking in the menacing chains that bound the criminals' hands to their chairs. However, the sensation of being looked down upon quite literally by the members of the Wizengamot raised some uncomfortable memories in the Boy-Who-Lived, primarily his experience of being nearly expelled, and thus, he was slightly distracted. Nevertheless, he regained sight of his objective in a matter of moments, and spoke, his mind making nervous additions to his previously-prepared work as he began his rather eloquent speech.

"Your Honor, I, Harry James Potter, would like to narrate a particular account during the war that I believe would help supplement the defense's case. A few months ago, during the Great Battle of Hogwarts, I was at the mercy of Lord Voldemort himself when I received the help of one of the people implicated in this case."

He stopped nervously, almost as if to gauge the reactions of the people around him, and then continued more forcefully. "I was lying presumed dead at the feet of Lord Voldemort when he asked one of his followers to inspect the fact as to whether I was truly dead or not. The follower was Narcissa Malfoy, and she replied in the affirmative, thus saving my life."

A few gasps were emitted from the audience, as the members debated over the truthfulness of what their savior had just informed them, and if proven correct, then the implications of his statement. Draco stared in disbelief at the unlikely witness, and Narcissa Malfoy's head twitched up for the first time in what could be the faintest resemblance of hope.

Kingsley's voice was calm as he questioned his friend "At that point in time, did the defendant inform or ask you any question?"

Harry hesitated only for a moment before answering "She asked me if her son, Draco, was alive."

"To which?"

"I replied in the affirmative."

"But what proof is there of her collaboration?" an elderly member of the Wizengamot cried out as he sprung to his feet in indignation. His participation in the trials had been contested by many and greatly debated about, as it was widely known that his own son and daughter-in-law had been driven insane by the power of Lucius Malfoy's Cruciatus curse. "What if she truly believed that he was dead? Then she is merely reporting the truth, not helping a member of the Light side."

For the first time Harry showed anger, although it was restrained in the slight clenching of his jaw muscles. "She felt my pulse," he responded shortly. "And I answered her question, thus proving without a doubt that I was very much alive."

Draco felt as though the very breath had been knocked out of him. To hear that Mother had taken such an enormous risk – endangered her life by lying to the Dark Lord – simply to receive an assurance that he was alive, was mind blowing to say the least. He felt overwhelmed by the idea, and, for not the first time, felt small as he realised the true strength of his mother's love for him. An upsurge of filial affection welled in his heart, and would no doubt have shown on his face if it were not for the many years that Lucius Malfoy had spent training his only son to not reveal his emotions in public when he was in a delicate situation.

The rise of whispers in the court, meanwhile, was substantial, and the topics being discussed were clearly dividing the population. One side of the court was furiously debating over the implications of Narcissa Malfoy saving Harry Potter's life (for he could not have defeated Lord Voldemort dead), while the other was declaring that the one good act did not nullify her previous charges.

The fact that further complicated this process was that much of the Malfoy estate had been seized as remuneration for war losses. While Lucius and Narcissa were languishing in a prison cell, Draco was currently under heavy guard in the previously-ornate Malfoy Manor, watching his childhood possessions being carted away and auctioned off to repair war damages. The Manor itself was under threat of being seized by the Ministry – the land attached to it, combined with the rich history and security of the building itself was quite valuable – in which case Draco would be reduced to living at one of the small tenements that his family owned and regularly charged rent for.

That is, of course, if those flats were left at his disposal.

"Order in the court!" Kingsley finally snapped authoritatively. "The matter shall be put to a vote. Has everyone received their slips of ballot paper?"

The movement was uniform for once, the nodding of the Wizengamot's heads. Draco felt a delicious and dreadful shiver run through his body, raising the fine blond hairs on his nape. It was time for his parents' fates to be decided.

"All in favor of charging Malfoy, Lucius Abraxas on all charges?"

A flurry of paper slips, magically elevated by the members of Wizengamot, flew into a neat pile in front of the Minister. Draco felt his stomach sink, as a bitter taste filled his mouth. It was too much, far too much – there was no way that any opposition would be able to overcome this.

Father was going to Azkaban.

In front of him, Lucius Malfoy's head sank upon his chest as the full blow of what had just happened hit him. Narcissa let out a low moan, her eyes widening in terror at her husband's fate, and fear at her having a similar one causing her mouth to tremble.

"All in favour of acquitting Malfoy, Lucius Abraxas of all charges?"

A single slip of paper floated down from high above Draco's head, coming down to rest gently on the floor next to the enormous pile that decided Lucius Malfoy's fate. It was from the hands of Antonia Carabelle – Blaise Zabini's mother – apparently a vocal supporter of blood purity till the very last.

Lucius looked up at his lone ally and tried to smile, but failed miserably. He knew the days were long gone from when he threw lavish dinner parties and talked politics with Antonia and whoever her current husband might be. Antonia, for her part, was trying to disguise the pity in her features while simultaneously thanking god that she had refrained from taking a side in the war. No victories for her, but no losses, either.

"'Tis decided then," Kingsley said decisively. "Lucius Malfoy, by the authority of the Wizengamot and the Ministry of Magic, I hereby sentence you to life term in Azkaban."

"No!" Draco cried, lurching forward on his feet. His cry, however, was drowned out by the animalistic howl of his father. Lucius had attempted to stand up and run, but had quickly been subdued by hidden guards from every side. He was writhing in agony as they were securing him, preparing to drag him off to Azkaban. "No, Father!" Draco wailed again.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Kingsley roared at the same time that Narcissa let out a little gasp. "You will restrain yourself from any uncomely behavior!"

"But -" Draco stopped himself as he looked at the pale, white set of his mother's face. Narcissa Malfoy was pale, and trembling like a leaf at having witnessed her husband's fate, but was shaking her head and mouthing 'No'.

"Kindly restrain yourself, Mr. Malfoy, or you will find yourself out of this courtroom," the icy voice of a very annoyed Mafalda Hopkirk announced. She had been appointed as official scribe of all war crime tribunals, but her position didn't deter her glee at seeing Death Eater's families' in pain.

Human nature was the same, after all. To cause pain to a hated one was pleasure.

Draco felt tears of helplessness well up in his eyes as Lucius Malfoy was dragged out of the courtroom and down to Hell. The fate that his father had just been condemned to… some would call death a better alternative.

And he was supposed to stay in Azkaban until he died.

The only factor that restrained him from performing any outrageous action was his mother's presence. He couldn't risk her safety now, not when it was already so compromised. So he sat like a good little Minister's boy, watching his father getting dragged away by faceless, nameless monsters, to forever lose his sanity, while his mother sat trembling in a chair, preparing herself for the same fate.

Harry Potter looked shaken from the spectacle.

Interim Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt cleared his throat and continued. "All those in favour of charging Narcissa Malfoy on all charges?"

A small, significant pile made its presence known on the floor, possibly condemning Narcissa to a life of insanity. Narcissa bit her lower lip, trying to keep her emotions in check like a good Black. Draco put his head between his legs. Harry looked anxious.

"All those in favour of acquitting Narcissa Malfoy of all charges?"

A few slips of paper made their way onto the cold stone floor, barely a dozen. Antonia Carabelle's was among them. The number was far too small, too insignificant to matter against the much larger pile lying beside it. But…

There were more people in the Wizengamot than this.

Kingsley cleared his throat for the third time. "All those in favour of charging Narcissa Malfoy on all charges, with special consideration for the help that she has shown the Light side in winning the war?"

A pile, larger than both its predecessors, began to form on the floor. Narcissa gave out a cross between a gasp and a whisper. Draco lifted his head, looking at the Minister, trying to figure out the sentence.

Mother was charged on all charges. Which wasn't enough to warrant a life sentence, but might be enough to condemn her to a few years anyway, which almost certainly would mean insanity. But Mother had special consideration for the fact that she had 'helped' Harry Potter win the war. Which meant that everything was up in air for the moment.

Kingsley frowned and turned his head ever so slightly to converse with one of his numerous advisors. The two whispered furiously for a minute, oblivious to the hope budding in two individuals below.

Finally, Kingsley turned his head, and said, in his deep, gravelly voice "Narcissa Malfoy, you are charged on all charges, with special consideration for valuable services during the war. In accordance with this decree, I hereby sentence you to house arrest for the next three years in Malfoy Manor, as well as levy a fine of 500,000 Galleons."

"Draco!" Narcissa choked out, staggering to her feet as her bonds freed her. "Draco!"

She need not have worried. Draco Malfoy ran across the room, all consideration for behavior forgotten, hugging his mother fiercely as tears poured down both their cheeks freely. She was safe. She wouldn't have to go to Azkaban. House arrest at Malfoy Manor – she would be with him! The fine of 500,000 Galleons – what was that, compared to his mother's sanity and life? He would pay the amount ten – no, a hundred times over to keep her out of that hellhole.

"This meeting is adjourned," Kingsley said heavily. The members of the Wizengamot slowly filed out, whispering amongst themselves at the mother and son hugging below. Some were unhappy – their venomous looks could kill – and some resigned themselves, felt happy, even, about the reunion of a family.

Just the differences among people's characters.

Harry Potter stood behind Narcissa, watching awkwardly as Draco hugged her as if he would never let go. He thought about clearing his throat to attract their attention, but decided against it. What purpose did he have here, anyway? His function in the proceedings was over. He turned to go.

"Wait!" Narcissa cried out, detaching herself from her son and running most uncharacteristically after the boy/man who's testimony had saved her. He stopped and turned around quizzically, his glasses half slipping down his nose, bright green eyes vibrant behind the lenses. She stopped, suddenly embarrassed, but still conscious of his gift.

"I want to thank you," she said formally, if a little unsurely. "For – for saving my life."

She fell silent, unsure of how to articulate herself. But he knew. Harry himself had been in these situations himself far too many times to not understand the significance of what she was trying to say, but could not find the right words for.

"It's all right," he replied. "You saved my life – I saved yours. We're even now."

And he held out a hand for her to shake.

Narcissa looked at the hand, aware of its significance. It was so much more than a simple handshake. This action implied her leaving her past behind, abandoning centuries of traditions and customs, and embracing this brave new world that preached equality and fraternity.

To shake his hand meant forgetting the past and carving out a future.

Slowly, hesitantly at first, but then firmer, she reached up and grasped his hand, firmly shaking it.

"We're even."

Harry looked over her shoulder to where Draco was standing, silver tear tracks still etched into his face. He remembered the snotty little boy who had ridiculed him throughout his school life, remembered the pale boy lying on Moaning Myrtle's bathroom floor, bleeding bright red blood all over the wet tiles, remembered the scared, terrified individual who had faced Albus Dumbledore, threatening to kill him to save his family…

And Harry remembered how he loved his own mother.

"Later," he nodded to Malfoy, and strode out of the room, having just saved his childhood nemesis' mother from certain death or insanity.

And somehow, as he walked out of the double doors, he felt himself become a bigger person.