The Malfoy Case

Chapter 8

That backstabbing, shameless son of a-

"Draco."

He heard her voice in the distance, as if through a heavy curtain. He couldn't move his eyes from Nott's as his old classmate took a seat, his gaze straying to Draco with heavily masked derision as an Auror spoke to him in a low voice.

How dare he come into the courtroom clutching at Macmillan's skirts like some righteous, timid witness; as if he hadn't forced him against the wall of his own house while he was petrified, as if he hadn't threatened his and his mother's lives? How dare he stare at him so calmly with that keen, thin face, taunting him with his gaze? Was he here to prove himself right? That the Wizarding World would believe anyone if it got a Malfoy imprisoned?

"If you say a word about what happened with Scrimgeour, I'll have someone kill you before you even leave the courtroom. Believe me; it isn't hard to find someone willing to do it."

He could feel the blood rushing through the artery at his neck, pushing against his throat. He could almost hear it. The Auror finished speaking to Nott and stepped away; had Nott paid this one off also?

He remembered the sound of Nott's seventeen-year-old voice in the hall of the Manor, remembered the shape of the shadow he had cast on the shining floors and the way his eyes had gleamed as Rufus Scrimgeour had been dragged in through the doorway... had he been alive or dead then? It didn't matter. All that had mattered was the reflection of Nott's stooping form against the dead's glassy eyes as he surveyed the damage with silent, eerie interest.

And Draco had kept near the walls, staying in the shadows, powerless to look away but terrified that his eyes might wander and catch sight of a pair of gleaming red ones...

And here was Nott, testifying against him. It wasn't even a move to save his own skin; Draco could forgive that, though it wouldn't heighten his esteem in the least. But Nott had nothing to gain from it.

Nott smirked at him through his eyes, his face impassive but his gaze like a taunting cry. You can't tell anyone. They'd never believe you.

They would think he was merely trying to shut the witness up.

"Draco."

He snapped out of his reverie almost violently as Greengrass' hand touched his shoulder. She was staring at him almost with alarm.

"You're shaking," she stated evenly, in a low voice.

His hands were already curled into fists again. He forced them open and saw the faint crescent lines of his nails dotting his palms, his muscles reluctantly relinquishing their brutal hold. He spoke through gritted teeth, forcing his body to let go of the rage it seemed inclined to allow invade him.

"I'm fine."

She smiled at him, but he knew it was just for the benefit of anyone who might be watching. He could see the alarm in her eyes, but she held back, turning as Macmillan stood up once more and Nott introduced himself at his request. He looked away and forced himself to keep his eyes on the desk in front of him, watching Astoria's fist open and close just within his line of vision.

His mind had connected the dots the moment he had seen Nott, and he didn't want to look at her.

"How do you know Draco Malfoy?"

Nott spoke with all the calmness the other witnesses had lacked. "Our fathers knew each other. We saw each other a lot when we were children, and we went to school together. We were in the same year in Slytherin."

"Would you say you were the accused's friend?"

"No. We knew each other, that's all. We didn't speak much in school."