Wanderer

Can You Forgive Me?

Chapter Twenty Four- Can You Forgive Me?

Hermione had never been to a Wizarding trial. Though she had read all of the reports Harry and Ron had managed to get their hands on, sitting there in the stands, she realised that none of it could have prepared her.

The room was more of an atrium itself, with high, arching marble grey ceilings, held up by towering columns. The seating curved from one side of the room, dark grey benches stretching up in levels, open to the public. Hermione noticed a shimmer, like a curtain of magic, and realised there was a Shielding charm separating the stands from the floor. Opposite were the rows of the Wizengamot. There must have been about fifty of them in total, split into two halves, all in the same crimson robes and square hats, faces sharp and distant, raised from the floor. There was a box off to the side. A single chair sat in the centre of the room.

Draco shifted on it.

The two Aurors, one of them Ron, pointed their wands at him. Hermione frowned, sitting up straighter and craning her neck so she could see more clearly. The strand of magic was gold and translucent, encircling Draco's wrists, tying him to the chair. Another two glowing ropes slid round his ankles, turning the existing band green, then gold.

They left him then, alone, to face his future, his past of unatoned sins. Hermione wanted to be there next to him, just so she could remind him that he would never be alone, not really, that she was rooting for him, that it would all be okay, no matter the outcome.

A few minutes later, Ron sidled onto the bench beside her. Hermione whirled on him.

"You tied him up?" she hissed.

Ron's eyes widened, and then he stared at her, and Hermione didn't like the pity in his eyes, so she looked away quickly. He took her hand, his fingers rough, the sleeve of his Auror robe coarse and thick. She squeezed his hand tightly. He returned the gesture. "He's going to be fine," he murmured.

Hermione chewed on her lip.

"It's busy," continued Ron, turning round to stare at the stands. He frowned. "Looks like half the Ministry have turned up."

She didn't dare look, keeping her eyes firmly on the blond halo of hair in the centre of the floor. "Of course they have. He's a Malfoy. They're here to see him fall."

"Shacklebolt's here too."

Hermione glanced behind her, and realised that the Minister for Magic was sitting in the very back corner of the room, next to Professor McGonagall. Kingsley caught her staring and dropped his head in a nod. She nodded back. Hermione couldn't help but scan the faces of the other people who had come to watch: some, it was clear, were Ministry workers, attending to keep updated with the Death Eater Trials; others, were staring at Draco with hardened faces, cruel eyes, like a villager wielding a pitchfork at a witch burning; there were very few who looked nervous, who shifted in their seats, eyes flicking around the room. Vaguely, Hermione wondered if Draco's mother was there, hidden in some shadow like the Minister.

A sudden hush fell across the atrium.

Ottaline Warbeck stood from her position amongst the Wizengamot. She cleared her throat and her voice, magnified, rang around the room.

"All present for the trail of Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, for his crimes against Wizarding Britain and the Ministry of Magic."

A magical quill, not unlike the one that blasted Rita Skeeter used to carry around constantly, floated in the seat beside her, scribing the event.

The Chief Warlock continued, reading from a script in front of her, eyes now fixed on Draco, "Mr Malfoy, you are on trial for the illegal use of the Imperius Curse against one Madam Rosmerta; the attempted murders of Mr Ronald Weasley, Miss Katie Bell and Albus Dumbledore; and acting as accomplice in aiding and abetting known fugitives and Death Eaters gain access to Hogwarts School. How do you plead for the use of an Unforgivable Curse?"