Let Me Be Your Voice

Part 3

“Draco Abraxas Malfoy,” Dawlish’s voice echoed through the dark courtroom, whistling slightly, making the hairs stand up on the back of Harry’s neck. “After careful deliberation following the testimony of Harry James Potter,” he read from a scroll which rested on the table before him, “the Wizengamot has agreed to uphold the last wishes of Albus Dumbledore and to see that you are given a second chance at becoming a qualified member of our wizarding society. You will be released into your mother’s care for the duration of the summer under the supervision of Dark Detectors placed upon your residence by the Ministry of Magic. You will be expected to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, equipped with a limited-use, Ministry-issued wand to re-take your final year of your magical education and to sit your NEWTs. After one year has passed, the Wizengamot will reconvene to make a final judgement as to your freedom.”

Dawlish pushed the scroll to the side, apparently not personally satisfied with the court’s decision. He furrowed his bushy grey eyebrows and looked at Malfoy down his long nose. “I think you must realise that you have been granted a great deal of leniency, Mr. Malfoy. I advise you to thank the Wizengamot for their generosity, and to prove yourself worthy of their grace. This is your only chance, and you must not mess it up.”

Malfoy stared coolly back into Dawlish’s eyes, his own face an unreadable mask. He gave a firm nod, and turned to the rows of benches where what was left of the Wizengamot sat looking down at him. He nodded towards them as well, and that was the extent of his response.

Harry wondered what was going through Malfoy’s head right then. Why wasn’t he speaking? He knew Malfoy had the ability to appeal to people with social grace, but the prat wasn’t even pretending at remorse or trying to suck up at all. It boggled Harry’s mind.

He watched as Malfoy returned to focusing on his knees, and then noticed Kingsley taking Dawlish’s gavel away from him out of the corner of his eye. Kingsley appeared to be livid at Dawlish’s impromptu advice.

“Let this signify the end of these court proceedings until one year’s time,” Kingsley’s deep voice rumbled through the room, reverberating off the stone walls. He brought the gavel down with a sharp crack against the wood, and the members of the Wizengamot rose, talking animatedly amongst themselves as they shuffled out of the room.

Narcissa Malfoy had been allowed to attend Draco’s sentencing. She sat, flanked on either side by a Ministry watch-wizard. The instant the gavel came down, she stood up, her tall figure glowing in her graceful pale blue robes illuminated by the torches.

Harry felt Mr. Weasley squeeze his shoulder from behind and got to his feet, finally tearing his eyes away from the centre platform. He looked up into Mr. Weasley’s smiling face.

“There you have it, Harry,” he said, giving Harry’s shoulder another squeeze. “You are affecting change already and I want you to know I am proud of you. Your parents would be very proud of you.”

Harry got to his feet, aware of the stiffness in his joints from sitting in tension for too long a period. “Thanks, Mr. Weasley,” he said.

“I think it would be prudent for you to give Mrs. Malfoy the opportunity to express her gratitude,” Mr. Weasley suggested. “I’ll wait for you in the hall outside, shall I?”

Harry agreed, though all he really wanted was to leave so he could gather his things at the Burrow and make the move to Grimmauld Place.

He approached the platform, where Narcissa Malfoy watched an Auror release Malfoy from his chair. She looked at Harry as he drew near.

Her expression was hidden behind the aristocratic poise she always displayed in public, though Harry could see the thankfulness in her eyes.

“Mr. Potter,” she addressed him, extending a graceful hand.