Not knowing whether his mother was being serious or not with her threat, he decided not to push his luck with his mother being in this unexpected and unfamiliar mood. Shifting his attention away from the unfolding scene involving his nemesis, he decided to focus on examining this ancient chamber turned makeshift courtroom.
...
He knew from his father's lectures before he lost his mind that the Wizengamot Chamber served several functions besides hosting Wizengamot sessions. The ancient circular room also doubled as a massive symbolic courtroom. But it only rarely served that purpose, usually only when one of its own esteemed Wizengamot members were on trial as the accused or the case was deemed high profile enough to warrant the use of the ancient chamber.
The main reason why the chamber was used this way was because it allowed the common masses to watch the high profile trial for themselves from a large viewing galley above, allowing everyone a chance to see the Ministry and their social superiors dispensing justice at its finest. His thoughts turned back to his wrongly accused father. 'How is this fair?! My father can't even remember his name, how can he defend himself against these unfounded accusations, and why and how was this trial even happening when the main witness had bolted and still hadn't been found?'
Thinking about his mentally damaged father caused him to sneer at the magically shielded viewing platform high above; the very idea that he and his noble family were merely entertainment for the herd of second rate beings that called themselves wizards and witches was disgusting. He gave a defiant snort at the very idea. He was a Malfoy; his family didn't have to explain themselves to the common rabble! He was Malfoy, he was better than everyone else, pure and simple, he recited to himself.
Turning his attention away from the viewing galley that made him want to throw curses, his eyes rested on the small section of the courtroom reserved for reporters, which was even now slowly filling with the bloodsucking members of the press. These were the very same people that had been slandering his family's good name non-stop for the last three weeks. The last three weeks of his life had been a truly miserable ordeal, despite his godfather's best efforts to shield him from the worst of it, the whole school now openly targeting him.
Pictures of his drooling father from the Daily Prophet would appear randomly on school walls to be laughed at. His own househad even openly turned against him, his childhood friends and his contracted, Pansy, abandoning him in favour of better prospects. He knew Longbottom and Weasleys were somehow behind the pictures, but it couldn't be proven, so he was openly mocked and hexed now, considered free game by all and protected by none but his godfather.
However, a good amount of his anger and hate was focused squarely on the blonde haired woman dressed like a muggle prostitute that he recognised as Rita Skeeter, the very woman most responsible for publicly tarnishing his good family's name and making his life a living hell through her poisonous and slanderous articles. He wanted to do nothing more than to march down from his family box and confront her about the accusations and horrible lies that she had spread about him and his family, but he knew he shouldn't make a scene in public, that it would make things even worse in the end.
Severus and his mother had made it very clear to him to avoid talking to any members of the press, because no matter how nice and friendly they appeared at first, they would gleefully twist and mangle his every word to be used against him to sell more papers. Magical Britain's most popular newspaper, the Daily Prophet, was already firmly against his father and his family. Severus had made it perfectly clear that that wouldn't change any time soon, no matter what they said or how much gold was offered to make them change their stance.
The press had chosen their side and were giving voice to everyone's thoughts and long-held resentments, whilst at the same time feeding and stirring the pot of anger and outrage against his family, to the point that both he and his mother had received several cursed letters and howlers each day. He turned his attention away from the press box.
His father's extensive influence had, for many years, sheltered them from the worst the press could say and do, but those days were over, leaving them exposed and vulnerable to any slander and lies the press desired to print, despite the fact that they owned many shares of the newspaper. Unfortunately, they did not control a large enough block of votes to silence the parasites that now spread their horrible lies, a matter made even worse by the fact that the blood-traitor, Lord Black, also held a good percentage of the stock.
Next to the press box was a small area reserved for the record keepers charged with recording and documenting the trial for the Ministry's record office, with another smaller section to their right where the updating books of law were neatly stored on several old bookcases. The three ancient law readers were already there, waiting behind their desks, the three white haired wizards ready to reference any magical law or regulation or past ruling if needed by their superiors or lawyers throughout the trial.
Unfortunately and despite his best efforts, his eyes were once again drawn inexorably back to Potter, who was busy posing for a photo with the Minister, his jealously stirring once again. 'It should be me having my photo taken! Not Potter,' he mentally proclaimed, not noticing that his own photo had just been taken by a watching reporter. "I'll get you Potter, I swear it," he muttered hatefully beneath his breath, but not going so far as to swear it on his own magic, because that would be just plain stupid.
He no longer cared about Longbottom and Weasley, well, he did care, but they were progressively moving down his list of enemies that he wanted to see dead and humiliated. He would get Potter back as soon as the four eyed Ravenclaw returned to Hogwarts, he told himself, taking joy in thinking of all the different ways he would humiliate Potter, knowing his godfather would also join in on the fun.
"Draco, don't say things like that," his mother warned, picking up on his quiet mutterings. "The public already believes this family is dark; don't confirm their suspicions by muttering such dark thoughts in public where anyone could hear you."
"I don't care what they think, I'm a Malfoy," he said proudly, subconsciously puffing himself up to make himself seem bigger, more important, totally unaware that the gesture was positively laughable when done by a child. "Father always said not to care about what the foolish mob thinks, or says, that they're beneath us," he argued back, his voice getting progressively louder even as he gave a dismissive wave at the public viewing platform overhead.
"Draco, keep your voice down," his mother warned, before flicking her wand through the air to weave a privacy bubble around them to prevent anyone from hearing them, which meant a lecture was coming his way.
He braced himself for the inevitable lecture as she turned her attention back to him, her face surprisingly serious.
"Let me make this clear Draco, what the mob thinks absolutely matters, because the mob easily outnumbers us. Our power and control continues through the creation of the Ministry, through the ministry we give them the perception that they actually have a say in this government, that they have a voice in running this country, which couldn't be further from the truth," she told.
"Our ancestors in the Wizengamot created the modern Ministry to serve as a tool of their will, because it's easier to control people who believe that they have a say, a voice in government, than people who believe they don't have a voice.
All this was achieved by paying the very low price of offering them a single vote. People who believe that they don't have a voice tend to revolt and rebel against their social superiors, and revolutions are an incredibly bloody business, often resulting in said social superiors being executed by the droves," she lectured, as he blinked in surprise.
...
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