Monster

On the twenty-fifth of May, Draco woke up to vomit over the side of his cot. He didn’t care if he ever got out of here. He wanted nothing more than to curl up and wait for death.

A new guard stood outside Draco’s cell today, holding a small wash bowl in his hands. “Wash up, your trial is in ten minutes.” He unlocked the heavy cell door and placed the bowl of water on the floor, nose crinkled against the putrid smell of sick. With disgust coating his face, the guard locked the door back with a flick of his wand and settled down a few cells away, still keeping an eye on Draco.

Draco stared at the wash bowl blankly. Why must he try for no good reason? Potter wasn’t going to be able to save him. Potter wasn’t always going to win, he wasn’t always going to be able to play hero for everyone who needed it. Maybe Potter thought Draco deserved being saved.

He smiled a little at this. Well, if he wasn’t going to wash up for himself, he might as well wash up for Potter. Draco forced himself off his cot and, careful not to step in the vomit that slicked the floor, he stumbled to the wash bowl to splash some water on his face.

He could only imagine how terrible he looked. Stubble pricked his hands as he scrubbed last night’s sweat off his cheeks. His hair flopped low on his forehead in oily swaths. What was left of his robes smelled horrible. He rubbed more furiously at his face, hair, and neck in vain. He doubted he would ever look as pristine and composed as he did before all this mess.

Running his fingers through his hair once more, Draco stood on unsteady legs and pressed his face against the bars. “I’m ready,” he croaked.



Draco’s bony arm firmly incased in the guard’s meaty hand, they made their way down to the courtrooms. The guard would’ve been better off just carrying Draco, but he forced him to walk. Each step burned like fire. He was soon drenched in a cold sweat, undoing all the washing he had just done.

Other than the few times that Draco had been in the Atrium, he had never been in the Ministry of Magic, and never this deep into its belly. The guard dragged him a little further, taking him around twists and turns until they came upon a grimy door at the end of a hall.

“This is Courtroom 10,” said the guard, yanking Draco closer. “Your hearing will be held in here.” The guard opened the door and shoved Draco to the chair in the middle of the room. He had barely sat when chains snaked around his arms and legs, holding him down.

A large, balding wizard let out a great sigh from the middle of the front row of the stands. “I’ve done many of these hearings this month, boy, so I’ll be quick. The charges are as follows: The accused acquired a Dark Mark in the summer of 1996, almost two years ago, and knowingly became a Death Eater. This constitutes as an offense under section two of the Decree of Known Death Eater Activity, 1998.

“You are Draco Lucius Malfoy, of Malfoy Mansion, Wiltshire?” the wizard bellowed at Draco.

“Y-yes,” rasped Draco. He greedily searched the sea of faces for a familiar one and found nothing. He was going to lose this case, no doubt about it.

“Do you agree with these charges?”

Draco swallowed hard against the flaming lump in his raw throat. “Yes.” What was he supposed to do? Lie?

The wizard looked surprised. “Well, then. I henceforth sentence you to–“

“No!”

Draco craned his neck around to see who the newcomer was. His heart skipped a beat; there, in all his disheveled glory, was Harry Potter, boy savior of all.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” said Potter quickly, coming to stand next to Draco’s chair. He glanced down and gave Draco a small, encouraging smile. Potter returned his eyes to the judge. “I was given the wrong time. Apparently the Ministry is still resorting to their old ways of making innocent people guilty?” A few wizards and witches chuckled hesitantly. “What are the charges?”

The head wizard cleared his throat and looked back down at his parchment. “Mr. Malfoy has been charged with known Death Eater activity and the crime of having a Dark Mark branded upon his skin.”

“Oh, so it’s a crime to have physical features marred now? I suppose it’s a crime to have any type of scar, then? I guess I’ll just have to lock myself away too.” It was not a joke, but a few more of the Wizengamot laughed. Potter began to pace.

“Under the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, I believe the accused may present a witness for any given case? Well, here I am. And I, Harry James Potter, would like to say that though Mr. Malfoy has been branded, he’s innocent. He’s never killed anyone, and during the Battle of Hogwarts, he was neutral with his actions.”

“That may be so, but the charges still stand that he does have a Dark Mark,” the wizard wheezed.

“So he was a little stupid when he was younger,” said Potter, his voice growing louder so that Draco cringed. He wouldn’t have said that he was stupid. Maybe a little misled, but stupid was a bit harsh.

“A lot of us were stupid when we were younger. The Mark will fade eventually. Even though the damage Death Eaters and Voldemort did will never be undone, Draco Malfoy never participated in Death Eater activity to the risk of his own life.” Potter stopped pacing in front of the judge.

The wizard pursed his lips and all was silent for a few moments. Suddenly the wizard chuckled and shook his head. “All in favor of clearing Mr. Malfoy of his charges?” A good majority of the hands went up. “All opposed?” The remaining raised their hands. “Excellent. Bring in the next case.”

Draco let out a sigh of relief as the chains slid off of him and clanked threateningly back into place. He was safe. Potter had done his special magic, and Draco was cleared of his charges. He stood on shaky legs and joined Potter in walking out of Courtroom 10.