Chapter Text
It felt like déjà vu.
The same cranky wooden chairs, the same mindless chatter, the same prosecutors, and the same accusatory tones. Harry looked around at the gallery filled with people who had never been part of the war, never raised a wand, and never cast a spell, yet were the loudest today demanding "justice."
Harry brushed a hand through his messy curls and sighed loudly. "Hermione, this is the last time I’m arriving early with you. We’ve been here for thirty minutes and it hasn't even started. I told you they wouldn't actually start at ten."
As if on cue, the heavy wooden doors creaked open. The Chief Warlock walked in, took his seat at the high bench, and cleared his throat.
"We are gathered here today," the Chief Warlock began, his voice echoing off the stone walls, "to preside over the criminal inquiry of the Crown versus Malfoy. In an era of reconstruction, this council serves as the scales upon which we weigh the gravity of past allegiances against the necessity of future peace."
Harry tuned him out. He’d heard some version of this speech at every trial since the war ended. His mind wandered, and his hand followed, slipping into his pocket to clutch the hawthorn wand. It had been sitting in his desk drawer for months; it was finally free, destined to either return to its owner or be confiscated by the Wizengamot.
"Bring him in, please," the Chief Warlock announced.
Harry’s attention snapped back. The doors opened again, and two burly Aurors walked in, dragging someone between them. Harry had to crane his neck to see. When he finally caught a glimpse, he blinked rapidly, trying to confirm what he was seeing.
It was Malfoy. But he was... wrong.
This Malfoy was much smaller, his skin hugging his bones so tightly it looked painful. His shoulders were hunched, making him appear short and fragile. His hair was still blonde, but the shine Harry remembered was gone; it was dull, dry, and hung in long, unbrushed strips over a face he kept tilted toward the floor.
The Aurors guided him to the center of the room and sat him in a high-backed chair.
Draco’s hands instinctively flew to his mouth, his teeth gnawing on his fingers. His feet didn't reach the ground. They swung in a jerky, mechanical rhythm—one foot up, then still, then the other following, a repetitive sway that looked entirely unconscious.
The prosecutor cleared his throat, looking down at his parchment. "Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy, you are brought before this council today to be held accountable for your actions during the occupation of Hogwarts and your documented service to the insurgent forces of the late Dark Lord. You stand charged with conspiracy, the use of Unforgivable Curses, and high treason."
Malfoy looked up for a few seconds, his eyes vacant, before focusing back on the rhythmic sway of his legs.
The prosecutor leaned forward, his voice sharpening. "Mr. Malfoy, did you or did you not facilitate the entry of Death Eaters into Hogwarts via a Vanishing Cabinet? Do you deny your presence at the astronomy tower on the night of Albus Dumbledore’s death?"
Harry wasn't listening to the questions. He was busy staring at Draco, unable to reconcile this creature with the boy he’d hated for seven years.
"Has he gone looney?" Ron whispered, elbowing Harry. "He looks like he’s truly lost his wits. Maybe the rumors were true."
Harry couldn't respond. His stomach churned.
Draco didn't seem to realize he was being addressed. He didn't answer a single question. Eventually, the prosecutor’s voice rose in frustration. "Mr. Malfoy! Look at me when I am speaking to you!"
Draco looked at him, looking genuinely puzzled. A single, small sound escaped him. "Hm?"
It was painful to watch. The prosecutor was essentially talking to himself. The only responses he got were shrugs or that tiny, confused "hm?" At one point, Draco cowered in his chair, swatting his hands near his face at an imaginary fly.
"Go away," Draco muttered, his voice thin. "No. Go."
The prosecutor sighed and turned to the Chief Warlock. "As the council is aware, we have been briefed on the defendant’s... condition. We have brought Mind Healers to perform a diagnostic spell to confirm whether this is a genuine affliction or a calculated performance to avoid the Dementor’s Kiss."
A witch stepped forward, standing a few meters from Draco. She raised her wand and cast a complex diagnostic charm. Golden threads of light pulsed around Draco’s head.
"The subject's mental state is drastic," she reported to the room. "Due to unknown triggering factors, his memories, emotions, and fears have become entangled. It is a massive knot of trauma. I wouldn't even know where to begin untangling it."
The Chief Warlock stood up. "Given Mr. Malfoy’s current mental state, a standard carceral sentence is impossible. He is to be immediately remanded to the custodial care of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries for rehabilitation."
The Aurors moved to lead Draco out. This time, Draco looked at the crowd in bewilderment, as if he had only just realized how many people were watching him. His eyes darted across the front rows. He locked eyes with Ron, who gave him an awkward, stiff smile. No reaction. He looked at Hermione. Nothing.
Then, his eyes landed on Harry.
The reaction was instantaneous. Draco’s eyebrows shot up, his eyes bulging in pure surprise. Then, a bright, wide smile split his face—a smile so sudden it literally illuminated his dull features.
Harry’s heart raced. He had never seen Draco smile like that. Never.
"Harry!" Draco suddenly shouted, his voice cracking with excitement. "Harry! It’s Harry! It’s Harry Potter!"
He pulled at the Auror’s hand, pointing a shaking finger at Harry. "Look! Look, it’s Harry Potter! Harry is here!"
Harry didn't remember his legs moving, but suddenly he was standing right in front of him. He gave a small, awkward smile. "H-hey, Malfoy. Uh, do you rememb—"
Harry’s hand flew to his holster as Draco moved toward him, expecting an attack. But Draco wasn't attacking.
Draco Malfoy was hugging him.
He threw his thin arms around Harry, breathing him in deeply and sighing with a sound of pure relief. "Harryyy," he dragged out the name, rubbing his face against Harry’s chest.
Harry’s heart ached. The smug, insufferable boy was gone, replaced by this. Slowly, Harry moved his hands to return the hug, snaking his arms around Draco’s back to steady him.
The second Harry’s arms closed around him, Draco stilled.
Then, as if an alarm had gone off, Draco gasped and flung himself backward. He stumbled, hitting the stone floor hard. He tried to scramble up but kept falling, retreating into the corner of the room. His pupils were blown wide, his lips quivering.
Harry stepped forward, trying to reach out. "Malfoy, wait—"
"NO! NO! NO!" Draco screamed, knocking over a small table as he sobbed. The sound was desperate. "GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE! YOU ARE NOT HARRY!"
He shook his head violently, hitting the sides of his skull with the palms of his hands. "LEAVE ME ALONE! PLEASE! DON'T HURT ME! I'LL BE GOOD! I'LL BE SO GOOD, JUST LET ME GO! OH GOD, NO! NO MORE! PLEASE, NO MORE!"
Harry froze. Ron and Hermione grabbed his arms, holding him back so he wouldn't make it worse. Draco was staring right at him, begging for his life, tears streaming down his face as if Harry were a monster.
A Healer rushed in, forcing the lid off a small vial of Calming Draught. The Aurors held Draco down while she forced the liquid past his lips.
Almost immediately, his screams turned to slurs. His body went limp.
"No more," Draco whispered, his eyes fixed on Harry with a profound, bone-deep exhaustion. "No more... please... I'm tired. I'm so tired."
His head dropped. He drifted into a drugged sleep before they even got him out the door