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Let Me Be Your Voice	By : Queenie_Mab Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8660 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations from Harry Potter, created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers: Bloomsbury, Scholastic, and Warner Bros. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended

Chapter List
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Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat of honour in Courtroom Ten of the Ministry of Magic. The dark stone walls, rising overhead to a dizzying height, made him feel as insignificant as a droplet of water clinging to the lens of a long telescope.

Light from the dimly-burning torches on the walls fell upon the wretched figure of Draco Malfoy, seated in the centre of the room, shackled to his chair with chains while the looming figures of the assembled Wizengamot in the balcony above kept a sentinel watch.

Malfoy’s face was ghostlike in the torchlight, his pale blond hair practically glowing against the gloom.

The sight made Harry’s stomach turn. It was as awful as he imagined it would be to see a Patronus bound and gagged or a Unicorn hooked up to a plough.

The reedy voice of Dawlish called the proceedings to order. He was the newly appointed Head Auror, though Harry knew it was due to lack of qualified applicants rather than his own prowess, having heard Kingsley Shacklebolt bemoan the appointment in the days following Voldemort’s defeat.

“Draco Abraxas Malfoy,” Dawlish said, looking sternly down at the resigned figure. “You stand before the Wizengamot on charges of treason against the Ministry of Magic. You are marked as a Death Eater and played an instrumental part in the murder of Albus Dumbledore. Do you have anything to say in your own defence?”

Harry’s skin crawled with cold. It couldn’t be happening this quickly, could it? He waited, absently holding his breath, for Malfoy to speak for himself, perhaps to explain how he’d been coerced into the part he’d played, or to attest to the fact that he was not yet a fully qualified wizard and shouldn’t be sentenced as one. But Malfoy said nothing. Instead he looked helplessly up into the faces of the Wizengamot, seeming to draw in on himself at the sight of their faces, grim with disapproval. He turned his eyes back to Dawlish where he sat beside the regal figure of Kingsley Shacklebolt, and to Kingsley’s left, Amos Diggory, newly appointed Undersecretary to the Minister. Malfoy shook his head, conceding defeat.

Harry watched, horrified, as if time had suddenly gone into slow motion. Dawlish was speaking, his gavel rising as he prepared to announce his judgement, and Harry could stay silent no longer.

“I’ll speak for him!” he called out, jumping to his feet as the world righted its pace.

The hand holding the gavel paused mid-air, almost comically, as murmurs broke out amongst the assembly. Dawlish turned to Kingsley for instruction.

Amos Diggory’s face had gone puce with anger, but Harry was relieved to see Kingsley silence him with a raised hand. Kingsley’s dark face nodded his approval to Harry, and Dawlish resignedly put the gavel down.

“Very well. Harry Potter will address the court before the sentence is passed,” Dawlish said, clearly unhappy at the delay.

Harry shifted nervously from one foot to the other, wondering what was possessing him to put himself more in the spotlight than he already was, but he supposed it was his “saving people thing” kicking into gear out of habit. He was tired of the war, and sick at heart of witnessing injustice, powerless to stop it.

His body ached from not having had a proper night’s sleep in ages, and he felt gawky and unsteady on his feet. Malfoy scowled at him from his chair, but Harry refused to be put off. He stared back, wondering if Malfoy would speak in protest, but Malfoy simply dropped his eyes to his lap.

Harry’s fringe was wet with perspiration. The chill in the courtroom made it feel like ice against his skin. “Er…” he stammered, then, putting on as much bravado as he could muster: “Draco Malfoy is as much a victim of Voldemort as the rest of us.”

He paused, aware of the whispers of dissent rising around him, but soldiered on.

“I was there the night Albus Dumbledore died,” he explained, his voice growing steadier as he went on, bolstered by his conviction. “Malfoy lowered his wand. He told Dumbledore he was acting against his will. He was being forced to act by Voldemort himself, under the threat of Voldemort killing him and his family. How many of you wouldn’t have done the same thing?”

He stared down the whisperers, daring any of them to contradict him. “I know it may not have been the most noble of actions, but you must admit that protecting one’s own family is most people’s priority.” He stopped again, thinking about how he’d have acted in Malfoy’s shoes.

“Family is important,” Harry stressed. “I never got to know my family because Voldemort killed them, but I can’t say that I wouldn’t have done the same thing if they were alive and I was put in the position to choose as Malfoy was. Consider your own lives, your own parents and children. Would you not do everything in your power to protect them? But more than that. Albus Dumbledore forgave Draco Malfoy before he died. He offered to protect him and his family if Malfoy would come over to the right side, even though Malfoy’s father is a Death Eater. And he was about to do it, but the other Death Eaters charged into the room and took the opportunity away and Dumbledore was powerless to stop them.”

Harry’s eyes burned with emotion at the recollection. He had no tears, however; wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of breaking down to grieve until the Death Eater trials were finished and there was some semblance of normality in the world again.

He went on, his voice shaking slightly, but he was determined to see Malfoy was given the second chance Dumbledore had offered him. “Draco Malfoy is not the bravest wizard I’ve ever met. We’ve never got on well. In fact, we’ve despised each other for years, but he tried to save my life.”

The whispers grew again, swelling in wonderment and demands for an explanation.

Harry waited for them to quiet. “During the war, I was captured by Snatchers along with several of my friends. I was disguised by a Stinging Hex Hermione had thrown at my face. We were taken to the Malfoys’ house, taken directly to Voldemort, though thankfully he was away at the time. Malfoy had the opportunity to identify me and my friends, but he didn’t. Even as his father pressed him, promising that everything would be better if they were the ones who handed me to Voldemort. He didn’t do it.”

Harry paused a moment, aware that he held the room at rapt attention. “I’ve already spoken on behalf of Malfoy’s mother. She was cleared of criminal charges and placed on a year-long house arrest by this same assembly. I ask you to look at yourselves. How brave were you when you were sixteen? Draco Malfoy is just a kid, as am I. We are still not even fully-qualified wizards. I beg you to look past your hatred of Voldemort and his Death Eaters to see the person who sits before you. The kid who wanted nothing more than to please his father and found himself in too deep with true evil. Dumbledore thought Malfoy deserved a second chance, and I say the same. It’s up to you whether or not to grant it.”

Harry stopped talking. He looked at Malfoy once more, but Malfoy continued to stare at his own lap. Harry turned and addressed Kingsley. “Er… That’s all I have to say,” he stammered, and sat back down, feeling the jitters of stage fright crawling across his skin, but determinedly ignoring them.

Kingsley nodded his head majestically. “Well said, Mr. Potter,” he said, and reached over to take the gavel away from Dawlish. “The Wizengamot will retire for consideration of this testimony. Court will reconvene tomorrow morning at 9 o’clock.” He brought the gavel down upon the table, and the assembly rose and began to disband.

Harry watched as Malfoy was released from his chains, watched as he was led away by a pair of Aurors, his head bowed, and still showing no signs of speaking.

His silence unnerved Harry. It seemed out of Malfoy’s character for him to not speak for himself, but he supposed the position Malfoy was in had humbled him.
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Let Me Be Your Voice