Draco By Trial

Sweet the sin

But bitter the taste in my mouth

I see seven towers

But I only see one way out

You got to cry without weeping

Talk without speaking

Scream without raising your voice, you know

I took the poison, from the poison stream,

Then I floated out of here

U2 - Running to Stand Still

Draco has two scars on his face; parallel lines that run from his left cheek bone to his chin. They were left there to remind him of the last time he saw Harry's eyes. He refused to let the doctors heal them.

He ran his hand softly over them now, tracing the slightly raised lines with his fingertips; a habit he'd picked up, sort of like a nervous tick. He knows that Fudge has noticed, but also knows that he won't mention it. Not yet anyway.

"So at the beginning of term, everything was as it had always been?" Fudge asked for clarification. Draco hesitated.

"No, it wasn't. Weren't you listening? Things between me and Harry were the same; I was still an arrogant prick towards him and he was still a sanctimonious little bastard, but I wasn't the same person anymore." Draco said all of this slowly, as though testing the words to make sure they tasted right.

"Why not? What changed?"

"You have to realise the effect that my father's imprisonment had on me."

"Your father, Lucius Malfoy. He was given a life-term sentence to serve in Azkaban for being a Death Eater."

"Yes," Draco said softly. "When he went away, everything changed for me. I was Mr Malfoy now, not just Lucius' son. I expected everything to be better; to be less constricting."

"Constricting? What do you mean?" Fudge asked sharply.

"My father is a very strict man, Cornelius." Draco revelled in the slight twitch his use of Fudge's first name caused on the man's face. "As far as I could see, there weren't many choices ahead of me that hadn't already been made for me. It was quite insulting actually, that they didn't trust me to make the right decisions on my own. Anyway, what I didn't realise was that by inheriting my father's name, I had just as many responsibilities and just as many expectations to live up to."

"Such as?"

"I was expected to follow in my father's footsteps. As I'm sure you know, my family has been attached to the Dark Arts for generations, my father was tame compared to some of the horrors in my family's past."

"So this was a problem for you? Becoming involved in the Dark Arts?" Draco hated Fudge merely for the disbelieving tone of voice he used to utter that sentence.

"Yes," he said icily. "I wasn't about to go and throw myself at Voldemort's feet for a whole lifetime of being controlled when I was sick of it after sixteen years."

"So what did you decide to do?"

"I did nothing. I went back to school and tried to forget that anything had changed. Unfortunately, things didn't work quite the way I'd planned. Everyone there knew all about everything that had happened to my family; every embarrassing detail. I found that even at Hogwarts I couldn't escape the legacy my father had left me. I came under increasing pressure to act and prove myself worthy of my name. Instead of taking up the role that was expected of me, I distanced myself from many of my house-mates; made myself unavailable to them. I saw them carry on without me, plotting, scheming, coming up with what they thought were devious plans to get themselves noticed by their parents and Voldemort. It was so frustrating to watch! These were my friends, and I was unable to do anything but sit on the sidelines and watch them throw their lives away because I was too afraid to go against my father's wishes." Draco took a deep breath, trying to calm himself; it was becoming very difficult for him not to show just how much this had all affected him; to not show just how much he cared. Sympathy was not something he needed from this audience.

"Is this where the trouble between you and your housemates in Slytherin began then?" Fudge asked. 'What an asinine question,' Draco thought harshly, 'isn't that obvious?'

"Yes," he said quietly. "I voiced some, urm, 'unpopular' opinions of mine. They didn't really agree with me." He'd been so stupid; so foolhardy thinking he could change their minds when they were so afraid. It should have been so obvious that they would turn on him.

*

Draco entered the Slytherin common room silently, expecting that at this late hour it would be deserted. He'd been out after hours smoking by the lake, a habit he'd picked up earlier that year in France. He was assured of immunity from the rules due to his position as a Slytherin prefect, a position he took great pride in having acquired the previous year. He'd found himself going for long walks more frequently recently, in an almost unconscious attempt to distance himself from his friends, and his smoking was a convenient excuse. Draco found that he quite liked the simple act of smoking; a pure and simple occupation for his hands whilst he thought. He also found that he had his best ideas and was at his most lucid whilst smoking; it calmed him.

He was thinking vaguely this night that maybe smoking was something he should give up, if only because of the way he smelt afterwards, when he heard quiet voices coming from the direction of the large fireplace at the far end of the common room.

"Yes, but what can we really do here? We're so cut off!"

"I know it's frustrating, but-"

The voices stopped when their owners finally registered Draco's presence. 'I should have known,' Draco thought, before stepping closer. Pansy, Millicent, Blaise, Vincent, Gregory and a few others were all sitting in the light of the dying fire. He was surprised to see a few students from the younger years also present, something he would have avoided if he'd still been active. They had all turned to stare at him and were looking uncomfortable; like naughty children caught with their hands in the biscuit tin. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Did I miss anything important?" he asked casually. Pansy, her voice slightly higher than usual, stood.

"Draco! We tried to find you, but you weren't in your room and no-one had seen you and..." her voice trailed off, withering under the force of his piercing gaze.

"Well?" he asked. Pansy swallowed, and then straightened her shoulders, determinately matching his stare.

"You've been so quiet and detached lately, ever since the beginning of term really. You haven't been yourself. I mean, you haven't even been torturing the Gryffindors for fuck's sake!" She glanced around at the others for support, who all refused to meet her eyes, and shifted uncomfortably. "So we thought..."

"So you thought you'd have your little Young Death Eaters Association meeting without me this time? Without your leader?" Draco finished scathingly, not really knowing why he was getting so angry.

"Yes," Pansy finished defiantly. "Well what else did you expect us to do?" Draco was suddenly hit by a wave of guilt. He looked around at his friends, and saw how lost they looked. They had no guidance, no inspiration, novoice of reason. They must feel completely useless without him.

Emboldened by his silence, Pansy carried unthinkingly on. "Besides, some of us don't want to just sit around and wait for our parents-" She stopped abruptly, obviously thinking she should have stopped talking whilst she was ahead. Draco's eyes narrowed,

"Parents, Pansy? You seem to forget that some of our parents have already sacrificed far too much for this worthless cause." Pansy closed her eyes and turned her head away. Then Draco's words finally registered, and she turned back to openly gape at him.

"Worthless, Draco?"Blaise had apparently found his voice, rising from his chair to stand beside Pansy. He fixed his brown eyes on Draco, providing an unflinching gaze. Draco's irritation returned with full force. After everything they had seen happen over the summer; after everything they'd seen happen to him, he'd still come across them, plotting and planning as he used to do with them. Forming stupid little plans that would, in their minds, show their resistance to Dumbledore, but that really just showed everyone else how petty they were. But then, Draco remembered the fear he used to feel, when he didn't think his father would ever think him worthwhile enough to pay any attention to; the fear that, without this one thing to aim towards in his life, he would be left adrift in a heartless world that despised everything he stood for.

He understood these people standing in front of him; these pathetically frightened and intimidated teenagers, because he used to be worse than all of them.

"Yes Blaise, it's a worthless cause," Draco said quietly, managing to remove the anger and irritation from his voice. His statement was met with complete silence, but he jumped on the opportunity. These were his friends, his companions; his kin. He was their leader, and it was his responsibility to take care of them. It was his responsibility to make sure they all stuck together. Maybe they would be able to put their faith in him instead of in some insubstantial and unattainable goal. "What are you doing here?"

"Well we were thinking about ways to sabotage-" Vince began, misunderstanding Draco's meaning completely.

"I mean, why are you doing this?" Draco asked patiently.

"Why? Because it's our duty; it's what we do," Pansy said, looking surprised that Draco had asked such an obvious question.

"Doesn't that strike you as a particularly stupid reason for doing something?"

"Not really, no. Look, what are you getting at?" Blaise was clearly becoming annoyed.

"I just want to know why you're wasting your time and effort thinking up stupid little plots to piss off the Gryffindors, when you know no-one's going to pay any attention. The only person we ever got anywhere with was that stupid bitch Umbridge, and she's not even here anymore!"

"Draco, it is our responsibility as Slytherins to-"

"To what? To be petty and childish and make ourselves look like fools at every turn? Haven't you ever noticed that we never seem to get anywhere? We just seem to siphon off our pride, a tiny bit at a time."

"What the hell would you know about being a Slytherin anyway? It's not as though you've been much of a part of our House this year." Draco was stopped in his tracks, hurt by Blaise's words, even though he knew there was an element of truth in them. He carried on in a much quieter voice than before, saying,

"I know a damn sight more than you do apparently and I will always be faithful to my House. I just think that maybe it's time for a change."

"A change? What kind of change?"

"A change of attitude.It's time we showed everyone that we're not just a bunch of pathetic Voldemort supporters who can't think for themselves. I, for one, do not want to be controlled anymore, that's not who a Slytherin is."

"Control? It's not about control! It's about making our world safe from Muggleswho would seek to destroy us because they can't understand us. It's about keeping bloodlines pure and unsullied. It's about right and wrong Draco, something you seem to have lost sight of."

"Oh, everything's just so black and white isn't it? Grow up for God's sake Blaise. Are you that naïve that you can't see what is really going on here? It's about power and fear, not pure blood. Voldemort's a half-blood you know?"

"What? What the hell? Shut up Draco, just shut up!" Blaise turned away, clearly distressed by this piece of information but unwilling to show his ignorance.

"Listen to me now," Draco said, turning his attention to the rest of them. "You're Slytherins; do you even know what that means? It doesn't mean being dark and evil, and it doesn't mean being Voldemort's minions. We are more than the stereotype this fucking school has forced on us and frankly, I've had enough! We're intelligent, cunning, ambitious; all positive attributes. We are all destined to be great wizards and witches. Don't you think it's time we rose above all of this petty bickering?" He looked around at them again, challenging them with the force of his glare. Many looked away, unwilling to meet his eyes, but Pansy stood her ground once more. Hands on her hips, she matched him glare for glare.

"What's happened to you?"

"I grew up Pansy."

"You grew up? Do you even realise what you're saying?" she asked incredulously. "You're suggesting we go against our parents, our heritage, the Dark Lord; you're suggesting we just turn away from that?"

"Yes," said Draco quietly.

"Are you completely fucking insane?" she screeched. "What the hell is wrong with you? What would your father say?" A collective shudder ran through the group as they contemplated an angry Lucius Malfoy.

"My father is in prison. Personally, I don't give a flying fuck what he would say."

"You don't seriously believe that he's going to stay there do you? One of the Dark Lord's strongest supporters? Left to rot in Azkaban when the dementors have already gone and all that's left to keep him inside is brick walls? Even you aren't that stupid."

"I'm not afraid," Draco said, and suddenly discovered that he really wasn't. After spending so much time trying to avoid making any decisions, it seemed that he'd already made them.

"So what're you going to do? Run off to Dumbledore and his cronies and 'fight for the light side'?" The scorn in Pansy's voice was evident.

"Don't be so obtuse Pansy. I'm not going to do anything. I'm sick of being told I have to take a side."

"What you're saying is dangerous Draco. You'll get us all killed. What about the Dark Lord? What happens when he hears about all of your new 'ideals' and 'morals'? Aren't you afraid of him?"

"Voldemort, Pansy, is so intent on destroying Dumbledore and Potter, he won't even notice."

"You're a fool Draco."

"Maybe, but at least I'm not going to hide in the dark, mouldy dungeons for the rest of my life."

*

And that was it, in those few words; such a short amount of time, Draco had destroyed everything.

He felt a chill come over him as he remembered it; everything he'd said, every look exchanged. He remembered feeling emboldened by his friends' weaknesses; kinks in their armour that he'd picked up on long ago and had used shamelessly to meet his own ends. He'd thought that, in their eyes, he was infallible; that they would follow him to the end. He hadn't realised that he was really seen as the leader that would help them reign victorious and shine like stars amongst the ranks of Voldemort's minions.

The truth serum forbid him from lying, as much as he wanted to. He wanted to hide his shamefully high opinion of himself and the way he had once again tried to manipulate his friends. He hadn't wanted to help them to drag themselves out of mediocrity, he had merely been too afraid to do it on his own. He had known that he could no longer stand being imposed upon by a higher power that had no right to try and control him. He had known that he no longer wanted to live in fear of his life because he might not be good enough to please a power-hungry half-blood. What he hadn't understood was the power that that fear could have over those less strong-willed than himself. He hadn't realised that, having voiced his opinions, he had made himself a threat to their tenuous equilibrium and that they would stop at nothing to crush him.

His father had once said to him:

"Always remember Draco, magic makes you a god amongst men."

It was only now, in hindsight, that Draco realised just how wrong Lucius had been.

*

Hermione listened to Draco's cold and impassioned voice telling the court things she already knew, and hated every breath he took. She felt so stupid and angry with herself for trusting Draco as little as she had. How could she possibly have been so blind as to not realise that something like this would have happened? But Harry had been so insistent and genuine about Draco, that she hadn't been able to resist. Harry had a way of drawing you in and subtly turning you around to his point of view. He'd also seemed so much happier this year, as though he'd managed to work through a lot of his anger, and Draco, as much as she hadn't wanted to admit it, was good for him. She'd watched them sometimes, bouncing friendly insults off of each other as though they'd been doing it for years, and had sensed that they shared something special; something she would never understand.

'Poor Harry,' she thought. 'Look where it's gotten him now.' A wave of sadness washed over her as she thought of her friend, but she pushed it quickly away. Now was not the time.

She could feel the anger rolling off of Ron from where he was sitting next to her. He was glaring at Draco, unable to turn his eyes away, as though he was trying to make the boy combust in front of his eyes by sheer mental ability. She was concerned that she'd have to stop him later from jumping down and killing Draco with his bare hands.

She had, of course, been deeply concerned by what had blossomed between the two boys. Draco was too dangerous for Harry to be around; he was an unknown factor, unreliable and erratic. Harry had enough problems of his own without adding the confusing Draco-variable. However, things had appeared to be relatively peaceful between them. If anything, Harry had the upper hand in their friendship; Draco had appeared so dependent on him, almost doting. How wrong she had been. Harry had never been in control.

Now, Hermione was here, like everyone else, to find out what had really happened between Harry and Draco, and why Draco had tried to kill Harry.

*