It's Just A Tale

DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling. All credits should go to her.

WARNING: DH SPOILERS…well, basically all the HP books are spoiled here.

This is a response to the 36 Dramatic Situations Challenge by Incessant_Darkness.



It’s Just A Tale

By reiAlethea



Chapter 2: Confrontation

“She stands and waits, and in her posture the pain no longer tells you to live, and in her presence joy is unimaginable.”

Neil Gaiman, The Sandman: Endless Nights



It was late spring, but the warm night air was unusually crisp. While stars twinkled faintly in slow succession and the crescent moon, shining like polished silver, traveled along the expanse of jet-black sky, a pale sliver of moonlight pierced through a crack in a gray stone wall and illuminated upon a patch of platinum blond hair.

Draco Malfoy was tucked in the corner of a dark, dank cell, shivering from trepidation. In his mind’s eye, the stone walls of Azkaban seemed to tower over him; the sound of crashing waves echoed loudly in his ears. It had only been a week since he was imprisoned in the fortress, but Draco felt like he was there for months. He knew he made so many mistakes in his life, too many, and because of those mistakes he is paying the price.

He wondered how long he’s going to remain imprisoned, but there was absolutely no sign that he will be freed from the fortress in a long, long time. He clutched his legs close to his chest, trying to stop his body from shaking. It was hopeless. As his languid gray eyes looked at the dark ceiling, memories instantly flashed like a roll of film at the back of his mind.

A pause, then the sound of rejoicing filled the Great Hall. The Dark Lord lay cold and lifeless. War was finally over. The uproar of the crowd was deafening, but all he can hear was the rapid pounding in his chest. His heart wrenched with fear.

‘Are they dead?’ His fear wasn’t realized yet, but with the war, tragedy was possible, even inevitable. He was certain his parents were among the Death Eaters who broke into Hogwarts, and he was afraid of knowing that they might be part of the casualties. He weaved in and out of the crowd in quick steps, trying desperately to find his parents. But as he squeezed his way into the mass of people, he watched in horror as dead bodies of magic and creature folk alike lay among the ruins of the Great Hall. His fear seemed all the more real every second that ticked by.

And then he saw them.

His father’s and mother’s eyes darted in the crowd, seemingly looking for something. Their calls rang clear in his ears.

“DRACO!”

“WHERE ARE YOU DRACO?”

His pace quickened, in sync with his heartbeat. The crowd melted into a blur of colors. Before he knew it, he was already screaming.

“MOTHER! FATHER!”

As if in slow motion, he saw his parents turn towards him. His mother’s eyes widened somewhat, before fresh tears shone and streamed down her grime-smeared cheeks.

“DRACO! MY SON!”

His mother and father ran swiftly, and he only had time to blink before he found himself sandwiched between the two. He hugged his parents fiercely, his hands clutching at them hard. Relief washed over him just as tears flooded his eyes. Just a few minutes ago, he was almost driven crazy with fear of finding them gone. But at that moment all he felt was pure euphoria in knowing that his parents were here, still alive and well. In his parents’ arms he felt safe.

Then he went back to reality.

He opened his eyes and saw the crowd all around them. They were surrounded by the opposing camp, and he realized how vulnerable they were. He looked into his father’s eyes and saw that he, too, was watching the people.

“Don’t be afraid Draco,” he said. He felt his father’s hand on his shoulder, but he wasn’t reassured. Fear settled in once more. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he and his family are captured. And how right he was.


The rusty sound of a turning key broke him out of his reverie. His empty gray eyes shifted to look at the opening door when a man clad in a black uniform entered the cell, followed by a dementor looming far behind. Draco felt the room grow cold.

“You have a visitor, Mister Malfoy,” the deep, hoarse voice of the prison guard reverberated in the keep.

He stared at the guard with blank eyes for a second. ‘Who could the visitor be?’ he wondered. Surely, it wouldn’t be his parents. He was certain that they, too, were detained inside the walls of Azkaban. He couldn’t think of any relatives who would visit either, as most, if not all, would be hiding, dead, or imprisoned in the very same walls he and his parents are.

He pushed the thought at the back of his mind. It mattered not who the visitor is. Just a moment out of confinement is welcome. He slowly stood up and offered his thin pale hands to the waiting guard. And as soon as a soft click of locking metal handcuffs echoed in the cell, the silent trio went, treading through the narrow hallway.

It was not a very long walk to their destination. After a few minutes, Draco arrived in a well-lit chamber. His eyes squinted a little at the seemingly harsh glare, mildly amused at how quickly his sight adapted to the darkness of his cell. When his eyes readjusted, he saw a fairly young man quietly sitting on a chair behind a small wooden table. His dark brown hair cascaded up to his shoulders, and his tanned fingers were interlaced before his pursed lips. A pair of gleaming, blue eyes followed him like a hawk.

Draco’s eyes surveyed the enclosed area further. Two dementors hovered lazily just a few feet up. In each corner stood four black-clad wizards, each alert and firmly grasping their wands. The guard ushered Draco to sit on a chair opposite the man.

The room was wrapped in silence for a couple of minutes. Draco sat still in his seat, his lips unmoving. His face showed nonchalance, but he studied the man before him with intense curiosity. He looked familiar somehow. With the way the man carried himself, it reminded him strongly of Snape. But then there was someone else. He tried to think who it was but he just couldn’t put a finger on it…

Draco looked at the pale blue eyes staring back at him. He had the feeling that the man was seeing the depths of his soul, the very same feeling he had when he looked at Dumbledore.

“Good day Mister Malfoy,” a warm, melodious voice spoke.

Draco just stared back at the man, his lips a mere slash.

The man cleared his throat before proceeding. “I believe I haven’t introduced myself. I am Leander Apollo Wight, member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I was assigned to be the defense lawyer for your case, so here I am on behalf of the department to inform you about your upcoming trial.”

Draco blinked. He thought he was doomed in Azkaban forever. His heart thudded in his chest, and he felt a glimmer of hope stir within him.

“A trial?”

Mister Wight nodded curtly. He unfolded his hands and rummaged in his cloak’s inner pocket to retrieve an envelope. He handed it to Draco, and Draco, in turn, tore the envelope open and pulled the yellow parchment out. His glistening gray eyes skimmed through the letter.


Mr. Draco Malfoy,

As of May 25, you have been charged with the murder of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore and the alleged participation on the Death Eaters’ acts of terror.

Your trial will be held on June 5 at exactly 4:oo pm in the Ministry of Magic courtroom 10. You have five days to send a notification.




Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

Improper Use of Magic Office

Ministry of Magic





Draco stared at the yellow parchment blankly. This was it – his ticket to freedom! He browsed through the letter to make sure he didn’t misread it.

“I believe it says you have to give a reply,” Mister Wight said. As Draco shifted his gaze to the brown-haired wizard, a fresh roll of parchment and quill was thrust in his hands. He immediately set the letter down on the table and started scribbling on the parchment.



To Ms. Mafalda Hopkirk,

I received the letter regarding my trial. I will be in the Ministry of Magic courtroom at the specified date and time.


Draco Malfoy



He carefully folded the parchment and gave it to Mister Wight, who slipped it inside a new envelope and sealed it with wax. He placed it inside his cloak pocket.

“As you have already received the letter, we can now proceed with the finer details,” Mister Wight said, pulling another roll of parchment in his cloak’s pocket. “First off, we have to take care of witnesses. We will invite people who you think will be of great help in proving your innocence. And I would suggest you find one that has a clean record.”

Draco turned the piece of information over and over in his head. Witnesses? He couldn’t think of any at the moment. His mother and father…certainly they knew that he didn’t kill Dumbledore and didn’t take part in the Death Eaters’ movements. But they were Death Eaters too. The defense would be too weak if they stood as witnesses.

There’s Goyle as well. But he didn’t think he counted as one since his parents are Death Eaters. His thoughts grazed on Snape, the only one who could ever defend him. But then he heard that he was killed during the war, by none other than Voldemort. And even if he was alive, he would also be facing charges for being a Death Eater.

He rummaged his brain for other potential witnesses but to no avail. There was always something negative that was hooked with the people he thought of. The glimmer of hope that was blazing within him minutes ago was now slowly dissipating from the dawning realization. Despite the chance, he knew he was doomed to get the end of a short stick. There was no hope for freedom after all.

The warm, melodious voice of Mister Wight pulled him out of his self-reflection and back to the enclosed, well-lit chamber they were in.

“So Mister Malfoy, do you have any person in mind that would be helpful in your case?” he asked.

Draco’s eyes rested momentarily at his metal-bound wrists. “Yes,” he said. “Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson.” As he said the names of the two people he considered as friends, Mister Wight furiously scribbled at the new roll of parchment in his hand.

“And?”

“There’s no one else,” Draco replied.

“This is not good, Mister Malfoy,” Mister Wight commented. “Judging from the weight of the accusations against you, two witnesses are not enough to even merit you a single step outside these walls.” He set the quill on top of the wooden desk and clasped his hands in front of his chin. “I hate to ask you this, but were these two people even present on the scene of the crime?”

“No, they weren’t,” Draco replied, trying hard to mask the discouraged tone. Mister Wight heaved a disappointed sigh.

“Well then, they’re not that good, are they? Nevertheless, I would still include them in the lineup. But I suggest you think hard on other witnesses this time...someone who is present at that moment. Perhaps, you can start with the time Albus Dumbledore was killed.” Mister Wight got his quill again and readied himself to write.

Draco felt irritation rise in him. Wight was pushing him to come up with witnesses, but how can he do that if there isn’t any? He wanted to give in to anger and sass, but he was quick to cease the urge. Malfoys don’t show emotion, and he was taught well in this fine art. He dared not disappoint his father with such a slip up.

He raised his bound hands instead and rubbed his eyes slowly. Images of the night at the Astronomy Tower resurfaced at the forefront of his mind, and it took all of his willpower not to shake like a leaf at the horrible past he was haunted with. The previous headmaster’s death still rattled him to the core, and revisiting the events just intensified the horror that lingered. But it must be done, he thought, and despite the unpleasant feeling, he played the memories over and over in his mind.

The bitter night chill, Dumbledore’s words echoing faintly in his mind, masked individuals running up the wooden spiral staircase, then a flash of green light…fragments of that night flickered quickly like a passing train. He reviewed each detail, but try as he might, he couldn’t think of people other than Snape, the Death Eaters and the members of the Order who could defend him. He was certainly doomed. Until he remembered…

“Harry Potter.”

“I beg your pardon?” Mister Wight tilted his head on one side to get a better hearing.

“Potter. Harry Potter,” he replied. Draco’s spirits hit an all time low as Mister Wight scribbled once more on his parchment. He knew it’s a lost cause. ‘He wouldn’t come. He despises you,’ he said to himself. ‘Why would he defend a Death Eater’s son who participated in the demise of Dumbledore and caused the attack at Hogwarts two years ago?’

“Excellent, excellent,” Mister Wight exclaimed. “With Harry Potter standing as a witness for you, nothing is impossible.”

Mister Wight was just about to open his mouth when Draco stopped him. “I would like to go back to my chamber, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, of course,” Mister Wight said. “I should be going as well. I also have to write an invitation to the witnesses you mentioned.”

Mister Wight signaled the prison guard to come in. He rolled the parchment and stuffed it, along with the quill, inside his robes. Draco stood up and was slowly being led away by the guard and dementor when the man spoke once more.

“I will be back tomorrow for your statement, Mister Malfoy,” he said, his voice echoing inside the chamber. “For now, I wish you the best of luck. Let’s hope your witnesses accept the invitation.”

Draco slightly nodded and left the lawyer sitting in the visitor’s chamber, his heart sinking as he plodded back to the dark, empty cell that imprisoned him.



***

“Your move, Harry.”

Harry blinked a few times. He saw the white queen piece dragging the fallen black knight to the side. A coffee cup stood beside the chess set, its contents already gone cold. He tore his gaze away from it. The sound of dishes washing on the sink and knitting needles clicking aloft a chair nearby rang louder in his ears. Suddenly he was reminded that he was still in the Weasley Burrow. The house that day was empty save for Ron, so Molly Weasley invited Harry and Hermione for lunch. He was now spending the rest of the afternoon in the family’s living room, playing wizard’s chess with Ron while Hermione watched.

“Harry, are you alright?” Hermione asked. Harry sighed resignedly. He was doing it again – drifting in and out of his thoughts. How many days has it been when it started, he thought.

“What’s up, mate?” Ron frowned, sipping his cocoa. “You don’t look so good.”

“Is something bothering you Harry?” Hermione inquired once more. “You can talk to us about it, you know?”

Harry looked at his two friends brooding over him like a mother hen. He would have laughed at the sight. However, there was something more disturbing than the worried faces of his friends. He stared blankly at them, his head swimming in thoughts of a certain blond individual…

“Malfoy.”

Ron spluttered on his drink.

“Blimey, Harry!”

“Sorry,” Harry stammered, breaking out of his rumination. “What did I say?”

“You said ‘Malfoy,’ Harry,” Hermione said while wiping the brown stain off Ron’s shirt. “Ron! Why do you have to spit your drink every time you are surprised?” she followed exasperatedly.

“Hey! I don’t enjoy this you know,” Ron stammered while helping Hermione wipe the cocoa. “I can’t help it. It just happens automatically.”

Harry closed his eyes and inwardly cursed himself for unconsciously saying his thoughts. He didn’t intend to disclose the matter to his friends, for he knew they wouldn’t understand – most especially Ron.

Hermione raised her eyebrow. ““Why did you suddenly bring up Malfoy? Isn’t he in Azkaban?”

He looked at Hermione and Ron’s inquisitive eyes, and he knew there was no turning back.

“I received a letter a couple of days ago,” he said. “Malfoy is having a trial, and, well…he asked me to be a witness.”

Ron’s face flamed. “That prick’s got some nerve! After all that he’s done!”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry said flatly.

“Well then,” Ron continued, “why even bother with that stupid letter? Surely you’re not thinking of actually becoming his witness…or are you?”

Harry remained silent.

Ron’s eyes bulged. He threw his hands in the air exasperatedly. “Dammit Harry! You ARE planning to do just that!”

Harry stared at the fidgeting chess pieces, obviously impatient waiting for the next move. He knew Malfoy was innocent, that he has been a victim of Voldemort’s ploy to destroy him. He also owed Malfoy his life for not giving them away when they were captured in Malfoy Manor. He thought becoming a witness would settle everything and show his gratitude. However, he couldn’t tell Ron all of these. Not now especially, for he wouldn’t understand it. He knew his best friend still mourns for Fred’s untimely death and blames all Death Eaters for it – innocent or not.

Ron looked piercingly at Harry. “Doesn’t Fred’s death mean anything to you, Harry?” he asked grudgingly. “What about Professor Lupin? Tonks? Don’t their deaths mean anything to you?”

Harry sighed. “Ron, it’s not Malfoy who killed them – ”

“HE IS STILL ONE OF THEM!”

“Stop it, you two!” Hermione snapped.

Mrs. Weasley came rushing in the room, a wooden spoon in hand. “RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!!” she roared. “What is happening in here?”

Hermione couldn’t do anything but bury her head in her hands. Harry avoided Ron’s angry eyes. He knew standing as a witness for Malfoy is the right thing to do. But why did it feel like he was betraying his best friend?

“Fine,” Ron whispered harshly. “If their deaths do not mean anything to you Harry, do whatever you want. Go and save that fucking Death Eater. But don’t ever look at me for support. You’re on your own.”

Ron stood up abruptly. “Sorry mum,” he mumbled, “but I think I have to get some fresh air.” With that, he stormed out of the house. Hermione looked helplessly at Harry before running after the redhead.

Harry closed his eyes and massaged his throbbing temple. What did he expect anyway? Approval? Preposterous! It had only been a few days since the funeral, and the wounds were still fresh. He couldn’t expect Ron to understand now. He inwardly cursed himself for the blunder he has done. If only he shut himself up.

“Harry.”

He looked up and saw Mrs. Weasley standing before him, staring at him with serious, unblinking eyes.

“We need to talk.”



TBC