The First Day

The swell of sound emanating from the assembled reporters clustered in front of the lifts on Level Two told Peter Wilson that Harry had returned from Narcissa Malfoy's trial before he so much as laid eyes on the boy. Harry doggedly ignored the reporters, murmuring, 'No comment,' as he slogged through the mass of people, keeping his eyes fixed on the toes of his shoes, gratefully diving into his cubicle, and setting the charm that was the equivalent of closing and locking the door.

Peter rounded the corner of the maze of cubicles and studied the assembled witches and wizards, his hands in his pockets. Sighing, he stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly. It got their attention. 'Right. He's said all that he's going to say and it's no use camping outside his cubicle, waiting for something else. I suggest you leave, before I have you bodily removed,' he told them mildly.

'So...' A witch extricated herself from the group. Peter heaved a sigh. That square, mannish face would have been recognizable, even if she hadn't been on the slightly unkempt side. 'Do you do this often? Grant Harry Potter special treatment that you wouldn't do for any other Auror under your supervision?'

Peter exhaled through his nose. 'Ms. Skeeter, I treat Mr. Potter the same as any other Auror. No better and no worse.' He gestured toward the lifts. 'Good day.' He glared at them until one by one, they left, muttering all manner of unkind things. Once the reporters had left, he lifted the charm on Harry's cubicle. Harry sat in the chair behind his desk, staring into space. 'Go home.'

Harry jumped. 'What?'

'Go home. Draco's trial is in two days. Go home right now and stay there until then.'

Harry's shoulders hunched. He had heard Rita Skeeter's grating voice outside the cubicle. 'I don't need to leave, I can still -'

Peter's hand waved through the air, cutting off Harry's protests. 'That's an order.'

Harry glanced uneasily at his watch. It was barely noon. Molly would bombard him with all manner of questions about why he was home so early. He picked up his bag and threw is over his shoulder. 'What am I going to do with the rest of the day?'

'Whatever you want.' Peter stepped aside as Harry walked out of the cubicle. 'Just avoid Diagon Alley or the Leaky Cauldron.'

'Muggle London it is,' Harry mumbled, trudging to the lifts. 'What time is the next trial?'

'Ten o' clock. It's in... Well, it's in Courtroom Ten,' Peter said haltingly.

Harry's eyes flew up to Peter's. 'Courtroom Ten?' he asked faintly. 'Oh. Courtroom Ten...' His fingers fumbled with the clasp of his bag. 'I see...'

'There are those in the Ministry who want to make examples of them. If they could make it a public flogging, they would.'

Harry punched the button for the lift, a little harder than was necessary. 'It is a public flogging,' he spat. 'Just without the whips.' He strode onto the lift and leaned against the wall, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

*****

Hermione pushed a thick sheaf of parchment across the table to Ginny. 'Could you read that for me?'

Ginny chased a few carrot slices floating in her soup around the bowl with the spoon, and glanced over the first page. 'What is this?'

'My translation project for Ancient Runes.'

Ginny quickly scanned the first story. 'It's good. I remember Mum reading these to us when Ron and I were small. But this is lots better. Not as old-fashioned.'

'But it's the same story,' Hermione said in bemusement.

Ginny moved a basket of bread rolls aside and turned the parchment around. 'Yeah, but it's... I don't want to say modern, but...'

'It doesn't sound like someone's great-auntie,' Hermione finished.

'Yes!' Ginny exclaimed. 'Exactly.'

Hermione smiled in satisfaction. 'Brilliant.'

'You've been around Ron and Harry too much,' Ginny quipped.

Hermione laughed and shook her head. 'Not until I start saying "blimey" after everything that surprises me.' The laughter faded and she leafed through the parchment. When she came to the last story, she tapped it with her wand, producing a duplicate. 'I need you to do something for me...'

'Of course.'

'Send this to Harry for me. Tell him, if he doesn't like it, I'll not publish it.'

Ginny frowned. 'Why me? Why don't you do it?'

Hermione bit her lip. 'I think he'll take it better from you. It's sort of about him...'

Ginny's eyes dropped to the parchment. They widened when she saw the title written in Hermione's neat hand. 'You don't mention him and the... The things, do you?'

'No.' Hermione toyed with her fork. 'But you know how touchy he can get. No offense,' she added quickly. 'I love Harry like he's my brother, but...'

'He gets moody,' Ginny agreed.

'Yeah.'

'I'll send an owl to him by the end of the week.' Ginny resumed her interrupted lunch and Hermione's shoulders relaxed slightly as she began to pick at her abandoned casserole.

'Have you made a decision about which Quidditch team you want to play for yet?'

Ginny's spoon dropped from her fingers, clattering against the edge of the bowl. 'No.' She raked her fingers through her hair. 'All three say the same thing. Tryouts with the team in July, where I end up is based on that. None of them promise anything more than the practice squad.'

'What's that?' Hermione blurted. 'What I know about Quidditch fits on the tip of a quill.'

'It's the squad that the regular players play against in team practices,' Ginny explained patiently. 'Sometimes they put young players on it to get them used to the pace of the professional game. If you're still on the practice squad after two seasons...' She drew a line across her throat with an index finger.

'But you won't end up on the practice squad,' Hermione said confidently. 'Is there anything that might make you reject one of the offers?'

'Kenmare,' Ginny said after a long pause. 'Even with the Floo and Apparition, it's a bit too far from home...'

'What about the other two?'

Ginny pushed her bowl aside. 'Holyhead and Tutshill. Both of them are in Wales. Tutshill's not terribly far from Ottery-St.-Catchpole, and Holyhead's further north, but Charlie's there now.' She reached for a bread roll and began to methodically rip it shreds. 'If I sign with Tutshill, Mum might expect me to stay at the Burrow.'

'And you don't want that,' Hermione stated.

Ginny gave her a severe look. 'Do you want to live with your mum and dad when you finish school?'

'Not especially...'

'And Holyhead... It's all women players...'

'What's wrong with that?' Hermione chuckled.

'Nothing,' Ginny said hastily. 'I think it's amazing they've been around so long. They're one of the oldest currently active teams, and they've always been an all-witch team.' She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. 'I've never been around women that much. Just the ones here. Not very many girls in my class and even the Gryffindor team is mostly boys...'

Hermione felt her brows rise. 'And that's something to banish them to the discard pile?'

Ginny thoughtfully pushed a piece of the bread roll around the table. 'No... It might be nice. The few times I've met Gwenog Jones, she seems like an all right sort. Doesn't mince words or try to hide behind a load of flowery language. And for the most part, her players don't find themselves in the pages of the tabloids. Either they're all exceedingly discreet or they eat, breathe, and sleep Quidditch.'

Hermione glanced at her watch. 'Damn. I'm going to be late for Arithmancy... But I think that's your answer, don't you think?' She grabbed her bag and took off for the Arithmancy classroom at a run.

'I think I do,' Ginny murmured.

*****

Harry boarded the train at Charing Cross and slumped in a seat. He thought he might spend the rest of the afternoon at the zoo. It was relatively peaceful there, and the chances of him running into someone from the wizarding world were low, but he was restless. He felt trapped inside the train and stood up, as the train approached the next stop at Piccadilly Circus. Harry lunged for the sliding doors and ran up the stairs to the street. He took a deep breath, feeling some of the tightness in his chest subside. He stood on the pavement, adjusting the strap of his bag. People rushed by him, into shops and cafés. He might have been invisible for the attention the others spared him.

He ambled down the street, stopping to look in shop windows. He'd almost forgotten how it felt to be completely anonymous. Harry felt a small smile lift his mouth. He nearly passed a nondescript brick building, but a small hand-lettered sign caught his eye. Flat To Let. Harry drifted toward the building and opened the door, quite without thinking. An elderly man emerged from the flat just off the foyer. 'Can I help you at all?'

Feeling inexplicably shy, Harry mumbled, 'There's a flat available?'

'Top floor. Door on the left side of the landing. Just Alohamora the door to go in.'

Harry's head snapped up and he gaped at the man. 'I'm sorry?' he stammered.

The man chuckled, displaying the handle of his own wand. 'I know who you are, lad. Had to have lived in a cave for the last five years to not know you.' He gestured toward the stairs. 'Go on. The top two floors are reserved for magic folk. Fireplaces are connected to the Floo. Can Apparate from the landing, if you want. Flat's got a sitting room, kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms. Close to the Leaky Cauldron. It's a pretty quiet building. People keep to themselves, and in this neighborhood, nobody'll look at you twice.'

Harry gazed doubtfully at him. 'Are you sure?'

The man wheezed with laughter. 'Look out in the street. You're so normal-looking, the rest of 'em won't notice you.'

Harry's head swiveled and just at that moment two rather tall, stocky, but expertly made-up, and perfectly-coiffed women strode by. 'Blimey. Those are two, erm, interesting women...'

'That's Bob and Ted.'

'Bob and Ted?'

'Yeah. They live in a flat on the first floor. Perform in some cabaret in Piccadilly Circus.' At Harry's continued baffled expression, the man sighed. 'They're blokes, lad. Like to dress up like birds.' He shrugged. 'Live and let live, I say. They were great friends with my wife.' He patted Harry's shoulder. 'See? Nobody'll notice you round here unless you want them to.'

'That's a selling point,' Harry muttered.

'Go on up, then. Look around. Take your time.'

Harry slowly climbed the stairs. 'Five flights... No worse than going up to the attic at the Burrow...' He went to the door the landlord had indicated and tapped it with his wand. It swung open, creaking softly. Harry peered through the gap in the door and his mouth fell open. Running down the center of the flat was a large room. The polished hardwood floor changed to black-and-white tile as it passed under an archway. Harry walked through the sitting room into the kitchen, letting his fingers trail over the counters. He twisted a few knobs on the stove, turned on the tap at the sink, and peered into the empty refrigerator. There was a large window that opened onto a wide ledge, surrounded by a wrought-iron railing. It wasn't what Harry would term a balcony, but he reasoned he could fit a chair or two out there if the weather was nice. The smaller bedroom was just off the kitchen. Even though it was a bit narrow, it was full of light from the windows. He tiptoed into the larger of the two bedrooms, grinning slightly. He could have a larger bed, and Teddy could sleep in the other bedroom on weekends. Harry hadn't planned on giving the bathroom more than a cursory glance. Bathrooms weren't places to tarry, in his experience. The Dursleys had allowed him just enough time to wash or use the toilet, and he'd had to share with four other boys at school. There were five of them at the Burrow, six when Ginny was home for a holiday, seven if Hermione was staying over the night. The bathroom itself wasn't overly large; it was perhaps the same size as the one in the Burrow. But without the clutter of five people, it seemed much bigger. Feeling slightly self-conscious, Harry toed his shoes off and awkwardly climbed into the bathtub. He sat with his knees pulled up to his chest at first, then glancing over his shoulder, even though he knew perfectly well, he was alone, then eased his feet out in front of him. Feeling more than a bit foolish, Harry draped his arms over the sides, wondering how it might feel after a day like today to come home and loll in a hot bath for hours.

Harry contemplated his options. Stay in the Burrow indefinitely, which he knew Molly wouldn't mind, but at some point, he'd have to go out on his own. Wait for Ron to approach George about the flat over the shop, and even then, the flat wasn't quite large enough for the two of them, plus Hermione and Ginny, as well as Teddy. And even then, Harry was well cognizant of the fact Ron would have something to say about it if Ginny stayed the night. Or, he could take this flat. This perfectly suitable flat. Harry leaned back in the bathtub and stared at the ceiling. 'Right...' he breathed. 'Stay in the Burrow for now or move here.' He searched his pockets for a spare Knut. 'Heads the Burrow, tails, here...'

*****

Harry stacked his hands behind his head, waiting for Ron to settle into his bed. 'I let a flat today,' he said softly.

Ron sat up suddenly in a tangle of bedding. 'You did?'

'Yeah...'

'Where? How...?'

'It's in London. In Soho... And this afternoon... I was walking around after Narcissa Malfoy's trial, trying to avoid the mob of reporters. Just happened to find it.'

'You want to live there alone?' Ron asked, after a moment's hesitation.

Harry sat up, reaching for his glasses, shoving him on his nose. 'I thought, maybe...' He wrapped his arms around his knees. 'I know you and I talked about the flat over the shop...'

Ron's face displayed unmistakable relief. 'Oh, thank Merlin... I sort of want to live there with Hermione when she finishes school, and well, there's just the one bedroom.' He and Harry shared a look with each other before they began to laugh. Ron wiped tears from his cheeks. 'Oh, Godric... I've been trying to figure out how to tell you that without hurting your feelings.'

Harry flopped back into the camp bed, snorting with mirth. 'I've been trying to figure out how to tell you I found this place all afternoon,' he chuckled. 'And here we both were, wanting the same thing.' He blew out a long breath. 'You're still my best mate, Ron. Doesn't matter where we live, or whether I end up with Ginny. You'll always be best mate.'

Ron blushed and rolled the edge of the sheet between this thumb and forefinger. 'Same here, Harry...' He pushed his feet under the bedding and began the process of preparing for sleep. 'When are you moving?'

'April first.'

'That's handy,' Ron remarked. 'Ginny and Hermione'll be home for the holiday.'

'Yeah. I thought I'd ask Dean, Seamus, and Neville to help. Luna, too.'

'That ought to be fun,' Ron commented. 'Wonder if Luna'll arrange your furniture to suit some barmy superstition she's got.' He turned on his side, propping his head in his hand. 'So when are you going to tell Mum and Dad?'

'I haven't quite figured that out yet...'

Ron yawned widely and pulled the bedding over his shoulders. 'Better do it soon. First of April's only two weeks away.'

'Don't remind me,' Harry sighed.

*****

Harry slipped into the small room off Courtroom Ten. Draco was already there, with a hulking Hit Wizard standing behind him. To his surprise, Narcissa sat next to him, accompanied by her own Hit Wizard. 'I didn't expect to see you here,' Harry said in a low voice. 'After what happened on Monday.'

'The Minister graciously granted me permission to attend today,' Narcissa replied calmly. 'It was most kind of him.'

Draco looked terrible. He looked even worse than he had their sixth year. He was pale, shaking, with deep shadows under his eyes. He looked as if he might be sick any second. Mindful of the possibility, Harry took a seat as far away as possible. Draco perched stiffly in his chair, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. The door scraped open and a Hit Wizard poked his head through. 'Mr. Malfoy, they're ready for you,' he intoned quietly. The words were as effective as a Calming draught. As Draco rose to his feet, his hands unclenched and stopped shaking. He inhaled slowly, and his chin lifted just a fraction. All signs of his nervousness disappeared, and his customary hauteur draped over him, like a cloak. All in all, it was a remarkable transformation.

Draco followed the Hit Wizard out into the courtroom. He stopped at the large chair in the middle of the floor, glancing at it fearfully. Harry knew how he felt, especially when the chains looped around the arms clinked threateningly as Draco lowered himself into it. Harry took his place off to the side, gazing at the assembled Wizengamot. All of them were there, including Shacklebolt. Harry toyed with a button on his jacket while Shacklebolt completed the procedures to open the trial. He eyed the reporters, clustered like vultures. Waiting to feast on the carcass of Malfoy's life, Harry thought sourly.

'Draco Magnus Malfoy, you have been accused of willingly joining the Death Eaters, of plotting the murder Albus Dumbledore, of using an Unforgiveable curse, and of conspiring to bring Death Eaters into the grounds of Hogwarts with the intention of destroying the school. How do you plead?'

Draco licked his dry lips before he said softly, but firmly, 'Guilty.'

'Could ye show us yer arm, then, lad?' called out a frail, elderly wizard. 'Jus' fer proof, ye understand.'

Draco's eyes closed briefly, and he stood, doffing his dark jacket and draping it over the arm of the chair. He unbuttoned the cuff of the crisp white shirt he wore and resolutely rolled it back to his elbow. The tattoo was still there, although it had lightened considerably since Harry had first seen it on Draco's arm nearly two years ago. 'It's been fading since he died,' Draco said gruffly. He pushed the sleeve back down to his wrist, and buttoned the cuff brusquely, then picked up his jacked and jerked it back over his arms.

'Mr. Malfoy, how did you come to be a Death Eater?' Shacklebolt asked.

Draco's lips pressed together. He said nothing further.

'According to the pre-trial transcripts and your mother's testimony, you were forced to do so,' Shacklebolt persisted.

Harry could see Draco's jaw clench.

Shacklebolt refrained from heaving a sigh. 'Mr. Malfoy, you have every right to speak in your own defense.'

A muscle in Draco's jaw jumped, but his lips remained stubbornly closed.

Shacklebolt ran a hand over his bald head. 'Why were you charged to kill Albus Dumbledore?'

One of Draco's eyebrows quirked upward slightly, but he didn't answer the question.

'Why didn't you correctly identify Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, or Hermione Granger when they were captured last year and brought to your house last April?'

Draco's face remained expressionless, and he still refused to speak.

'Why did you use an Imperious curse on Madam Rosmerta?

Draco merely met Shacklebolt's eyes and remained silent.

Shacklebolt, it seemed, had reached the limits of his own patience. 'Aren't you going to say anything for yourself?' he exploded.

Draco's mouth opened. 'No.'

'Mr. Malfoy, are you aware of what the consequences of this course of action might be?' Shacklebolt asked quietly.

Harry thought he saw Draco gulp before he answered, 'Yes. I am.'

Shacklebolt turned to Harry. 'Mr. Potter, please describe the circumstances of your capture by Snatchers.'

Harry took a deep breath, and avoided looking at Draco. 'It was my fault, really. I always refused to refer to Voldemort as You-Know-Who, and Dumbledore had always called him either Voldemort, or by his birth name of Tom Riddle. I thought it was a bit mad to be afraid of a name, and didn't quite believe it when I was told they could trace us if we said the name Voldemort. It was habit, I guess. Anyway, we - Ron, Hermione, and me - were captured and taken to the Malfoy mansion. And even though Draco was pushed by his parents to identify us, he wouldn't do it. Why, I don't know. You'll have to ask him.'

'I would,' one wizard retorted dryly, 'but seeing as how the defendant won't say one way or another...'

'You've said he was offered sanctuary with the Order of the Phoenix by Dumbledore before he died,' a witch stated. 'For both him and his mother. Why didn't he take it?'

'I'm not a mind reader,' Harry said. 'He just said he didn't believe Dumbledore would be able to protect the both of them from Voldemort,' he added, noting how Draco's fingers curved over the arms of the chair each time he uttered the word, "Voldemort". 'The others were coming up the stairs, anyway. And Dumbledore wasn't well because of...' Harry stopped and tugged at his shirt collar. 'He wasn't well. And there wasn't really anywhere to hide on the tower -'

'If there wasn't anywhere to hide, where were you?' interrupted a witch.

'Under my Invisibility cloak,' Harry told her. 'We - Dumbledore, Malfoy, and I - couldn't have gotten away before Bellatrix Lestrange, Fenrir Greyback, and the others fought their way to the top of the tower. That might have been a reason why he wouldn't take up Dumbledore on his offer. Maybe if Dumbledore had been able to get to him sooner...' Harry shrugged. 'But I suppose we'll never know, will we?'

'What about the Room of Requirement?' Shacklebolt asked.

'What about it?'

Shacklebolt's eyes narrowed at Harry, but he continued, 'You mentioned in your preliminary hearing that you, Ron, and Hermione had a bit of a skirmish in it with Draco and two of his friends.'

'Oh, that.' Harry scratched his nose, more to buy himself some time than out of any need to relieve an itch. 'Malfoy wanted to take us out alive. He wasn't interested in hexing us. His mate, Crabbe -'

'That would be Vincent Crabbe,' Shacklebolt clarified.

'Yeah, him. Crabbe tried to use the Killing curse on us. Then he set the room on fire with Fiendfyre. I don't think he quite knew what he'd done until it was too late. Killed him in the end.'

'But Draco had no part of that?' asked a wizard dubiously.

Harry shook his head. 'No. He managed to drag his other friend to safety. Probably saved his life.'

'And in the rest of the battle?' inquired a witch.

'Spent more time trying to convince the other Death Eaters he was on their side than any actual fighting. He didn't have a wand at the time. I had his wand from when I Disarmed him at the mansion. He'd been using his mother's. It got lost in the Room of Requirement.' At that moment, Harry paused long enough to wonder how Narcissa had managed to procure another wand. Maybe she has Bellatrix's... I can't imagine Hermione would have continued to use it, especially after the war was over and Ollivander reopened his shop... I can't believe I've never asked...

'Mr. Potter...?'

Harry shook himself. 'Sorry...'

'Do you need a recess?'

'No, I'm all right.' Harry shifted in his chair. 'I gave Malfoy's wand back to him after the battle. I had my own wand and had no reason to keep his.'

'Going back to the winter and spring of nineteen ninety-seven...' one of the wizards behind Shacklebolt asked musingly. 'Katherine Bell, Evangeline Rosmerta, and Ronald Weasley...'

'Yes?' Harry responded in an almost bored tone of voice.

'If Mr. Malfoy used an Unforgiveable in the case of Miss Bell and Madam Rosmerta, according to our own laws, he ought to be in Azkaban right now.'

Harry felt his head spin. 'Then you'll have to put me in there, too,' he said, his voice sounding like it came from a great distance away. 'I've used them a couple of times. I didn't particularly enjoy it.' Liar, a small voice inside him said. He'd enjoyed it immensely when he'd performed a Cruciatus curse on Amycus Carrow. He could hear the gasp from the spectators. It gave him a grim measure of satisfaction. Ha-bloody-ha, he scoffed to himself. Turns out little Harry Potter isn't quite so perfect after all.

Shacklebolt's voice murmured quietly, yet forcefully into the tides of whispers from the spectators. 'Mr. Potter's use of an Unforgivable had been reported to the Minister previous to this trial by none other than the current Headmistress of Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall only felt it was right to do so, as she admitted her own guilt in the matter. And in light of the fact nobody was seriously injured, or killed by either of their actions, and they both occurred in the heat of a battle, the Minister regards this matter as closed.'

Harry felt a bead of sweat trickle down his chest. He nearly heaved a sigh of relief. 'Ron... Ron wasn't meant to drink the mead. It was supposed to go to Professor Dumbledore, but I guess Malfoy didn't know Slughorn as well as he thought he did. If Slughorn intercepted something tasty, he'd keep it for himself. That bottle of mead was, in Slughorn's estimation, a choice vintage.' Harry cut a sidelong glance at Draco before he added, 'Malfoy wasn't trying very hard. Too many people in his equation between himself and Dumbledore. He was doing enough to make it look like he was trying, but I don't think he really wanted to do it.'

'Thank you, Harry, I think we've heard enough,' Shacklebolt told him.

Draco sat stiffly in the chair while the Wizengamot argued amongst themselves. He stared straight ahead, fingers clutching the edges of the arms of the chair.

It took a long time for them to decide Draco's fate. Harry watched the minutes tick by on Fabian Prewett's watch. First thirty minutes, then an hour passed, and they were no closer to a decision than they'd been when they started. Draco's fingertips began to beat a muffled rhythm on the arm of the chair. Harry bit back a yawn. It was well past one in the afternoon, when Shacklebolt lifted the Silencing charm around the Wizengamot.

'Draco Malfoy...' Shacklebolt consulted a scrap of parchment. 'Normally, a Death Eater would receive an automatic sentence in Azkaban. However, due to the information we've received from your mother's trial and from the evidence submitted by Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, and Severus Snape, we - the Wizengamot - are prepared to grant you a measure of clemency. While you were charged with the task of murdering Dumbledore, it was by all measures a colossal failure. However, in your attempts to murder Dumbledore, you nearly killed Katherine Bell and Ronald Weasley in the process. That cannot pass unpunished. And even though you were unwillingly made a Death Eater, you were still a Death Eater.' Draco nodded once. 'You are hereby sentenced to house arrest for no more than one year from today. You are confined to the Malfoy mansion and a distance of no more than twenty yards from the perimeter of the house. You will also pay a sum of twelve thousand Galleons to the fund to aid and support children left orphaned by the war. Any and all visitors to your house must undergo a background check by the Aurors. You are also sentenced to probation for the remainder of your life. You will be under surveillance by the Aurors for the rest of your life. Twice a year, you must submit to interviews about your whereabouts and activities. Normally, we would use Legilimancy, but since you're a rather skilled Occlumens, you will drink the strongest Veritaserum it is possible to brew. Your wand can be checked at will for Unforgivable curses. You may not travel outside the environs of England, Ireland, Wales, or Scotland, unless you have permission from Magical Law Enforcement and the Minister of Magic. Travel within Britain and Ireland is possible, but only after first informing the Aurors where you intend to travel.

'Do you understand these terms?'

'Yes,' Draco rasped.

'Very well, it begins as soon as this trial is adjourned.'

Draco nodded mutely. He looked a little lost.

Shacklebolt gathered the piles of parchment on the table in front of him. 'This trial is adjourned.'

Draco stood and numbly stumbled to the door, leading to the room where Narcissa waited. The door closed with a thud behind him.

To Harry it sounded like the door slamming on Draco's life.

*****

A/N: Draco doesn't have a middle name in the HP Lexicon or the HP Wiki, so I've given him one. I thought I'd continue the Malfoy Latin-themed names... And I couldn't find a first name for Madam Rosmerta, either, and Evangeline popped into my head (no, I haven't been watching Nanny McPhee, but it's a great movie!). I thought a fanciful name would go well with a lady who wears sparkly high heels.