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"Draco Malfoy stands trial before the Wizengamot for his role in the war. The defense tries to prove that he acted under duress, calling witnesses who reveal his fragility and the weight of family expectations. Among them, Helena Beckingham, a key figure from his past, whose testimony could change the outcome of the verdict." WORDS: 4,381 words
MASTERLIST
The Ministry of Magic had been in turmoil for weeks. Public opinion demanded justice, wanted exemplary punishments, and the Malfoy family seemed like the perfect scapegoat to throw to the wolves.
After the first guilty verdict for Lucius, who had been sent to Azkaban for fifteen years, it was now time for his only heir and his wife, Narcissa. Unfortunately for them, the Malfoy family had become the symbol of a fallen blood purity, the aristocratic face of those who had chosen the wrong side of the war. And now, beneath the gloomy vaults of the Wizengamot courtroom, their fate was being decided.
The courtroom was vast, with high dark stone walls and magical torches casting long, flickering shadows over the rows of witches and wizards seated on the elevated benches. The limited public in attendance murmured among themselves, whispering judgments before the verdicts were even announced.
Draco Malfoy sat at the center of the room, surrounded by Aurors armed with wands, though his wrists were still free of chains or cuffs.
He wore dark clothes, stripped of any emblem that could recall his family’s past. Even his beloved Malfoy ring was gone from his long, cold fingers. His jaw was clenched, his hands resting loosely on his legs. He looked like a wax statue, with slightly too-dark circles under his eyes, motionless.
Behind a tall stone bench, the judge lifted his gaze from the scroll in his hands. He struck the gavel three times, calling for silence before speaking in a firm, measured voice:
“Draco Malfoy. You are here today to answer for the crimes attributed to you during the Magical War. The Wizengamot has examined the evidence and will hear testimonies before deliberating your fate.”
The courtroom was still. The judge looked up at the accused and continued:
“You are charged with complicity with the Death Eaters and facilitating the entrance of hostile forces into Hogwarts, enabling the attack that led to the death of Albus Dumbledore. You are also charged with the attempted murder of Professor Albus Dumbledore using the Avada Kedavra curse, as well as the torture and coercion of other students under the regime imposed by the Death Eaters at Hogwarts.”
A heavy pause fell over the room.
“However,” the judge continued in a measured tone, “the court acknowledges that, at the time of the events, you were still a minor and under threats and pressure from You-Know-Who and his followers. This will be taken into account in the final verdict.”
Draco did not move. No sign of defiance, no gesture of defense. Just one long, slow breath and an extreme stiffness.
“The defense may proceed with the witnesses.”
One of Draco’s three attorneys, a middle-aged man with a calm, composed air, stood up.
“The defense calls Mr. Theodore Nott.”
A murmur spread through the courtroom as a young man with an elegant bearing stood and approached the witness stand. Theodore Nott, Draco’s classmate at Hogwarts and son of a known Death Eater, was no stranger to this court. But unlike his father, he had not been actively involved in the war, and his name was not among the main suspects.
The young man took his place at the stand, and the defense attorney stepped closer.
“Mr. Nott, can you tell the court what Draco Malfoy’s behavior was like during his final year at Hogwarts?”
Theodore did not hesitate.
“Draco was… distant. Different. He didn’t talk to anyone about what was happening, but it was clear he was deeply uncomfortable.”
“Did you ever see him commit acts of violence or abuse toward other students?”
“No,” Theodore replied firmly. “To be honest, he looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown.”
A light rustle went through the room, but the judge motioned for silence. The defense attorney nodded.
“So, in your opinion, was Draco Malfoy enthusiastic about what he was doing?”
Theodore let out a short breath.
“No. I saw him every day. It was like he was rotting from the inside.”
But the prosecution was not easily swayed. When it was their turn to question, the prosecutor, a tall man with a commanding presence—crossed his arms and studied Nott carefully.
“Mr. Nott, was Draco Malfoy alone in all this?”
Theodore hesitated for the first time, his fingers lightly gripping the edge of the stand.
“He didn’t talk to anyone about what he was doing,” he repeated.
“And yet, he couldn’t have done all this alone,” the prosecutor pressed. “Not for a plan like that. He needed help. Did someone help him?”
Nott’s jaw tightened. He was under oath”he couldn’t lie. Everyone knew it.
In the end, with a long breath, he answered:
“Crabbe and Goyle.
A murmur rippled through the courtroom, and the judge banged the gavel to restore order.
“And in what way did these two boys contribute to the matter?”the prosecutor continued, and Theodore swallowed hard. He had thrown himself into a dead end from which there was no easy escape.
“...He made them transform into girls using Polyjuice Potion to guard the room while he worked on his plan. “He made them?”pressed the prosecutor.
Nott shifted in his seat and shook his head. “He didn’t threaten them, if that’s what you mean! He didn’t hold a wand to their throats!”he snapped, his tone laced for a moment with frustration. “But what were they supposed to do? Say no? When You-Know-Who expects someone to carry out a task, you just do it!”
The tension in the room spiked.
“So you admit that Draco Malfoy used his companions to further his plan?
Nott remained silent for a long moment. Then he lowered his gaze slightly.
“Yes.”
The prosecution exchanged a satisfied look with the members of the Wizengamot. It felt like the tide had turned, that the jury had just found a new angle from which to judge the entire case. And it only got worse when Theodore was dismissed and the prosecution called their next witness.
“The court calls Miss Katherine Lucie Bell.”
The name hit Draco like a whip, and he flinched imperceptibly. He forced himself not to squint as Katie stepped forward slowly, her face pale but determined. She sat and swore to tell the truth, her hands tightly folded in her lap in a nervous gesture.
The prosecutor approached, scanning the parchment in his hand.
“Miss Bell, could you tell the court what happened to you during your sixth year at Hogwarts?
Katie closed her eyes briefly, as if gathering her thoughts, then answered in a controlled voice.
“I was cursed... Someone gave me an object, a necklace, and when I touched it, I was cursed. It almost... cost me my life.” “And who gave you that necklace?
Katie looked up. “Draco Malfoy.”she whispered.
The tension erupted. Draco felt his muscles tense. He forced himself to stay still while she continued.
“Did he do it of his own free will?”
Katie hesitated.
“I don’t know. I think I was just a pawn... an unplanned collateral damage.” “No further questions, Your Honour,”the prosecutor said with a nod, and the judge scratched at his greying goatee.
Draco’s defense attorney stood and addressed Katie.
“Miss Bell, did you have any direct contact with the accused before or after the incident? Katie shook her head. “No.” “And do you have any proof that Mr. Malfoy intended to harm you?”
Another hesitation. Then, in a faint voice, she said: “No.”
The lawyer took the opportunity to underline that Draco had never intended to hurt anyone directly, that he had been forced. But the damage was done. Katie Bell’s testimony had reawakened doubts in the jury. The air seemed to turn against Draco.
The three defense attorneys huddled briefly, heads bent and pointing at something on their papers, before nodding in agreement.
The lead attorney stood and addressed the judge with composure.
“The defense would like to call a second witness,”he said, and after the judge’s nod, continued: “I call Helena Beckingham to the stand.”
The name swept through the room like a cold shiver. Helena walked forward with measured grace”tall and poised. Her hair, dark as midnight, fell in disciplined waves down her back, framing a sharp, aristocratic face. But it was her eyes, almost hypnotically intense, that captured more than a few glances in the room.
She stopped at the witness stand, chin slightly raised, her cloak casting long shadows on the floor. When asked to swear to the truth, she nodded imperceptibly, her voice steady as she spoke the oath.
From the corner of the room, Draco looked up. For a fleeting second, their eyes met. Then he clenched his jaw and looked straight ahead. They hadn’t seen each other in a year. They hadn’t spoken in two.
The defense attorney approached, flipping through his parchment before fixing his gaze on her.
“Miss Beckingham, you’ve known Draco Malfoy for quite some time, correct? “Yes. “How long, exactly? “Roughly eleven years. We studied together from childhood. “And how long were you in a relationship with him? “Two years. “More precisely? “Fourth and fifth year at Hogwarts. “So you’d say you know him rather intimately?
Helena hesitated a moment, then gave a slight nod.
“Yes.”
“Can you describe to the court who Draco Malfoy truly is, beyond the accusations made against him?”
Helena remained composed, her voice steady and unwavering.
“A boy raised under the weight of impossible expectations. Extremely protective, extremely ambitious.”
A heavy silence fell over the courtroom.
The lawyer studied her for a moment before continuing.
“Have you ever seen him commit any acts of violence?”
“No.”
“Has he ever expressed the desire to hurt or kill anyone?”
“No.”
The lawyer nodded, then paused, allowing his words to settle.
“Miss Beckingham, based on your knowledge of Draco Malfoy, would you say he acted out of personal conviction, or out of fear?”
It was at that moment that Helena’s voice cracked, ever so slightly, for the first time.
“Out of fear, she said, her fingers tightening just a little.
Draco closed his eyes for a second. No other reaction, no movement. The lawyer turned to the judge.
“No further questions.”
The judge nodded toward the jury while Helena remained still, her face impassive, though her shoulders had stiffened slightly.
The prosecutor stood with composure, adjusting his robes with a precise gesture. A man with sharp features and a piercing gaze, whose job was not only to reveal the facts, but to cast doubt, to fracture certainty.
He approached the witness stand and lifted his eyes to Helena.
“Miss Beckingham, you've described Draco Malfoy as a boy raised under great pressure, ambitious and protective,but surely this boy has his flaws, wouldn’t you say?”
Helena didn’t flinch. “Of course.”
“Could you name a few?”
For a moment, silence.
Then, with her usual composed voice, Helena answered:
“Proud. Stubborn. Sometimes arrogant. He shut down when things went wrong instead of asking for help.”
“And towards you? Was he ever cruel?”
Draco remained still, eyes downcast.
“Never deliberately.”
The prosecutor raised an eyebrow. “So he was cruel unintentionally?”
“I mean that I considered it cruel the way he would shut me out whenever something troubled him.”
“Like when he cut off all contact with you after Lucius Malfoy’s arrest, without explanation?”
Helena’s fingers tensed slightly around the edge of the stand, but her face didn’t change.
“Yes.”
The prosecutor gave a small smile, as if confirming something he already suspected. Then he went on.
“You said Draco Malfoy has a deep instinct to protect those he cares about. Could you elaborate?”
“I saw with my own eyes how much he was willing to sacrifice for his mother. She was his priority, always. And not just her. Even when he didn’t want to admit it, there were others he would’ve done anything for.”
“Including you?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
Draco tensed just slightly, as if those words had struck him cleanly, but he didn’t lift his gaze.
The prosecutor appeared to weigh her answer, then his tone sharpened.
“Interesting, Miss Beckingham. You come from a rather well-known family in our community.”
Helena gave no reaction, but she felt the weight of his words.
“...Though not involved in recent events, your family was among those prosecuted after the First Wizarding War. Your surname is no stranger to this courtroom.”
A hush moved through the audience.
It wasn’t new information, but saying it here, in this context, made it feel like a shadow cast over her credibility.
Was this young woman actually a conspirator? Had Draco Malfoy perhaps been aided by her all along?
Helena clenched her fingers briefly, then responded with icy precision.
“My surname has no relevance to what I’m saying here today. I’m not the one on trial.”
“No, but you come from a family that once supported He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. So the question naturally arises: how objective is your testimony truly? Could it be influenced by a certain… alignment with the Malfoy family’s ideals?”
Helena’s jaw tightened slightly.
Not because the question had hit a nerve, but because of how deliberately it had been phrased. She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t let indignation show,only a cold, measured certainty in her reply.
“My testimony is based on facts, not assumptions. My surname doesn’t change the reality of what I’ve seen and lived.”
The prosecutor stared at her for a long moment, then paused deliberately, letting the silence stretch like a wire about to snap.
“Did Draco Malfoy ever speak to you about his Dark Mark?”
A shiver rippled through the crowd, a shockwave spreading like a wave, while the members of the Wizengamot exchanged subtle glances. Helena remained still. A shadow of tension flickered in her dark irises, but her face betrayed nothing.
“No.” The word sliced through the heavy air like a sharp blade. “When he received it, Draco had already cut off all contact with me for months.”
The prosecutor didn’t flinch.
“So, you found out the night Albus Dumbledore died?”
“No.”
A split-second pause.
The prosecutor raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly with an expression that seemed to analyze every inflection in Helena’s tone. Then he smiled.
“Very interesting. So, you knew Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater before Albus Dumbledore’s death?”
He let the words linger in the air, articulated with near venom. Then he tilted his head a little more. “…And despite that, you didn’t think to report him? Silence out of affection, perhaps?”
The audience shifted restlessly on the benches, some jurors exchanged glances, and Helena felt the wave of judgment crash against her back like icy water.
“Objection! He’s implying guilt without evidence!” The defense lawyer’s voice sliced through the tension with surgical precision. “Sustained” the judge said, striking his gavel and casting a stern look at the prosecution.
The prosecutor wet his lips slightly, then rephrased the question with a less insinuating,but equally pointed,tone.
“When, then, did you discover Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater?”
Helena inhaled slowly, her fingers tightening around the edge of the stand. When she spoke, her voice carried a hint of restrained anger, a quiet flame burning beneath her icy composure.
“I found out one evening in the Hogwarts infirmary.”
The prosecutor remained motionless, waiting.
“The same night Harry Potter decided to attack Draco with a Dark Magic spell.”
The prosecutor moved quickly.
“Objection!” he barked. “The witness is making an implausible accusation against the boy who saved us all! This statement is irrelevant to the case!”
The judge didn’t flinch. His gaze drifted momentarily over the parchment in front of him, then he lifted his chin.
“Overruled.” His voice was firm. “The event has been confirmed in a separate hearing. The witness may continue.”
Helena allowed one eyebrow to lift slightly. She turned back to the prosecutor, her face impassive, but with a subtle spark in her eyes.
“Word spread quickly among the Slytherins… Everyone said Draco Malfoy had been gravely injured, if not nearly killed. I went to see for myself that very evening.”
She paused briefly, as though she were there again, in the infirmary, among the sterile white sheets, the floor smelling of healing potions and iron.
“There was blood everywhere.” Her voice was flat, descriptive, as if painting a scene. “Draco was covered in bandages and filled with sleeping potions, I assume. It only took a glance under his sleeve to see the Mark.”
From his seat, Draco stiffened. The tension in his body was subtle, almost imperceptible, but Helena noticed. Everyone noticed. He hadn’t known. He had never known that Helena had visited him in the infirmary that night.
“The following night, Albus Dumbledore died. I couldn’t have told anyone… There wouldn’t have been time.”
The courtroom was silent. No more whispers, no murmurs, no hushed comments.
The prosecutor remained still for a long moment, then finally lowered his gaze to his parchments.
Helena didn’t look away.
“No further questions?”
The prosecutor didn’t respond immediately. Then, with a small nod, he murmured:
“No further questions.”
The judge struck the gavel.
Helena remained still for a few more seconds. Then, with the same calm she had entered with, she rose from the witness stand. As she passed Draco, she felt his gaze on her, a silent weight resting on her shoulders.
She didn’t turn around.
She had said all there was to say. Her part there was over.
❖✧✦✧❖
Helena pushed through the crowd of journalists and onlookers gathered beyond the courtroom doors. The air was thick with excited voices, quills fluttering overhead to capture every detail, camera flashes lighting up faces,some exultant, others outraged.
The trial had lasted three days, and now that it was over, Helena had Apparated straight to the courthouse steps. She didn’t stop for even a second. She didn’t turn around, not even when she heard someone say Draco Malfoy’s name with a mix of awe and disapproval. She already knew the verdict.
Innocent.
The relief had hit her like a punch to the gut. A knot she hadn’t known was there had suddenly loosened, but there was no time to process it. She pushed forward with determination, ignoring the elbows bumping into her and the questions bouncing off her like hail. She knew exactly where she was going.
She crossed the main hall and headed decisively toward the wing reserved for the lawyers. She didn’t knock. She opened the door with the same bold confidence she’d displayed during her testimony.
Inside, the scene was nothing like the chaos outside. There was calm. Quiet and low whispers, in stark contrast to the clamor of the press.
The three people in the room turned to her, and the lawyer lit up with a pleased smile.
“There’s our impeccable witness” he said with satisfaction, offering her a glass of champagne.
Across the room, Narcissa Malfoy rose slowly to her feet. Relief was etched into her refined features, and for a moment, hesitation passed through her gaze before she nodded, a gesture that was almost a sign of recognition.
They had never truly known each other, but Narcissa knew who Helena was. And perhaps, she also knew how important she had been.
“Thank you” Helena murmured, casting a vague glance around the room.
Draco, on the other hand, didn’t move. He stood beside the lawyer, one hand resting on the table. Visibly more relaxed and without the jacket he had worn in court, but his face was exhausted, marked by hours of strain.
He didn’t even look at her.
“I only stopped by to say hello” Helena said, her voice impeccably composed. “And, of course, to congratulate...”
She was about to say more when Draco spoke for the first time.
“Mum. Kingsley. Leave us alone for a moment.”
He was cold. Direct. Helena felt a sharp pain in her chest, subtle but cutting, as if she were bracing for the final blow, as if she already knew what was coming.
As if Draco was about to say, “Thank you, and now goodbye.” As if he were about to drive the knife even deeper into the emptiness that had grown inside her over the last two years.
Narcissa murmured something and gave her son a quick glance before heading toward the door. The lawyer looked at them both, almost amused, but said nothing. When the door closed behind them, Helena opened her mouth to speak.
But she didn’t get the chance.
Draco was on her in an instant. His hands buried themselves in her dark hair, his grip firm, and he kissed her with a passion that overwhelmed her. Her body reacted before her mind could. Her fingers clutched at Draco’s shirt, pulling him toward her with the same urgency he held her. She felt the glass slip from her hand, champagne spilling across the floor, but she didn’t care.
It wasn’t a hesitant kiss, nor a measured one. It was hunger. It was desperation. It was pain and relief woven into a single gesture. Two years of silence exploded between them, two years of unspoken words, of stifled thoughts, of sleepless nights.
Draco didn’t even pull away to breathe. Between kisses, his voice tangled with ragged breaths, broken phrases Helena could barely make out.
“I’m sorry…” Draco’s lips pressed against hers again, as if trying to erase lost time. “…so sorry…”
His hands still cradled her face, feverish, almost possessive, as if afraid she might slip away at any moment. “I missed you… every day…” Another kiss, slower, deeper, as his fingers slid behind her neck, tangling in her hair. “Every fucking day.”
Helena threw her arms around his neck, holding him in a desperate embrace.
She felt his chest rise beneath her hands, the quick pulse of his heart beating against her own. Only then did she realize how thin he’d become. Under the shirt, his body was no longer what she remembered. More bony, more tense, the build of someone who had carried a burden too heavy for too long.
Helena closed her eyes, holding him tighter. She felt him bury himself against her neck, his arms around her as if trying to fuse her to his own body.
Then, in a soft voice, she whispered: “Stop.”
Draco tensed slightly. Helena loosened her grip just enough to look into his eyes.
“There’s no need.” “I love you…” “I know.” “I couldn’t involve you…” “Draco” she interrupted, stroking his hair, searching his gaze. “You don’t owe me an apology. It’s over… let’s go home, now.”
That was all she said, and at the word home, Draco closed his eyes as if he’d been hit by something too vast to express. Helena felt him tremble slightly under her hands, his breath catching in a small pause. That word, home,had shattered him more than any sentence ever could.
Slowly, he opened his eyes. Grey, tired, heavy with everything he had endured.
“Home…” he repeated quietly, as if afraid the word might vanish if said too loud.
Helena gently caressed the back of his neck, brushing the skin beneath his pale hair, and offered a small smile, one filled with all the love she could show him.
Draco moved first. He pulled away slowly, but didn’t let go. Not yet. He let his hand slide into hers, their fingers intertwining in an instinctive, almost unconscious gesture. With the other, he grabbed the jacket he’d left on the chair, the movement tense, burdened by unspoken thoughts.
“The journalists…” he muttered, not even trying to hide the disdain in his voice.
Helena looked him straight in the eye, a silent challenge flickering in her gaze and a defiant smirk curling on her lips.
“Screw them.”
Draco hesitated for a moment, then the ghost of a smile, light, almost incredulous, touched his face. He had missed that reckless spark in Helena more than he could say.
“Let’s go,” Helena whispered, and, ignoring the flashes and shouts in the hallway, they walked out together.
Side by side. As if the last two years had never happened.
