Title: Darkness Is Not the Absence of Light
Author: 
janicechess
Team: Canon
Prompt: Justice
Wordcount: 13,500
Rating: R
Warnings: None
Summary: Harry only wants what's fair for Narcissa Malfoy. But Narcissa has other plans, and Draco is willing to go along with just about anything to stay out of Azkaban.
Author's Note Many thanks to my betas and teammates for all their help.
They could have left hours ago. Everyone else was fixated on sorting the living from the dead, now that one red-eyed wizard, looking more pitiful than monstrous, had fallen irrevocably into the latter group. Draco and his parents could have walked out of the Great Hall, linked arm in arm, and followed the path right into Hogsmeade. No one would have stopped them. From there, they could have gone anywhere: France, Hong Kong, even America. But the momentousness of their family's survival had seemed to bind them to the spot where they had been reunited, even as the fate of the world was decided around them. They were together; nothing else was important. That's what Draco had thought, at least, until the Aurors came to take them away.
The man's hands were as rough as his voice. Draco stared at the thick, meaty fingers that were wrapped around the wand pointed at his father. He didn't understand what was happening. They were safe. It was over.
"Lucius Malfoy, you are hereby arrested under suspicion of being a Death Eater. You will remain in our custody until such time that a trial can be held to determine your guilt or innocence."
A small knot of people formed nearby, each paused on their way to somewhere else, observing the ruination of the Malfoys with hard, closed faces. Draco wanted to lash out, to scream at them to mind their own business. They'd been so adept at ignoring him and his family until now; couldn't they keep it up a bit longer? He studied the floor beneath his feet, his face burning.
His mother's hand pressed briefly against his back, lingering long enough to make him look up.
Two more Aurors, one grey-haired and the other young and stocky, stepped forward, wands drawn. Lucius held his palms out in front of him.
"I have no wand. Force won't be necessary."
Once the first Auror had bound his quarry, the grey-haired Auror cleared his throat. "Narcissa Malfoy, you are hereby arrested—"
Lucius moaned—the sound of a wounded animal in the night—and struggled against his restraints. At a look from his wife, he stilled.
Draco's eyes darted between the scene of his mother's arrest and the spectre of the third Auror. Three Aurors for three Malfoys. His mother stood with her back straight, her blue eyes boring into Draco as if trying to deliver a message, but Draco could hear nothing but the sound of his own mind shrieking in alarm.
The third Auror shifted slightly and Draco wondered if it was too late to run. "Draco Malfoy, you—"
"No! Not my son! Not my son! Don't you dare touch my son! No, no, no, nooooo!"
The Auror raised his voice, but was still barely audible over the howling of Narcissa Malfoy. "YOU ARE HEREBY ARRESTED UNDER SUSPICION OF BEING A DEATH EATER."
Draco's legs seemed to have turned to stone. A low roar pulsed in his ears. He felt his hands pulled behind his back, and then the tingle of magic binding them in place. He realized that the Auror was asking him a question—something about his wand. He shook his head. "No, I ... Potter took it. I lost my mother's."
The entire family had been defenceless. His parents must have realized, and that's why they'd stayed. They couldn't have gone anywhere.
It had been ten days since the war ended—ten days and fifty-four funerals. Harry wished he had a time-turner so he could have attended them all. He'd made it to twenty-three. It didn't seem like enough.
On the night of the tenth day, after spending the evening failing to find the appropriate words to tell Mrs Creevey that he was sorry he hadn't defeated Voldemort before her underage son had managed to sneak into the battle and die, Harry crawled into his bed at the Burrow and resolved never to leave the house again. He was so tired.
The next morning, he slept late for the first time in months.
"I have nothing to do today," he informed the ceiling, hardly believing it was true.
He stood in the shower until the water ran cold. It took nearly an hour. Feeling reborn, he padded barefoot down the stairs and into the kitchen, scratching casually at his bottom. Arthur Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt stood on either side of the table. The room was filled with a fresh silence, as if the two men had only just stopped speaking.
"Good morning," said Harry. It was funny, he thought, that he was standing in front of the Minister for Magic wearing pyjama pants and a threadbare Chudley Cannons t-shirt, and yet he felt perfectly comfortable. After all, it was just Kingsley.
"Good afternoon," corrected Arthur. "Did you sleep well?"
"Oh. Yeah, I guess I did," said Harry, looking around for a clock but finding none. Even the special Weasley clock was absent. No one had wanted to remove Fred's name, and seeing one hand pointed permanently at "Dead" had been too hard for anyone to endure.
Kingsley nodded at Arthur. "I should be going. The meeting is in an hour. I thought I would spend some time bashing my head against a wall to make reasoning with Shaw seem less futile."
Arthur chuckled. "Give him time—he'll come 'round."
"I wish I could," said Kingsley. "But there are things to be done, and I intend to make him see that." He paused to lay a hand on Harry's shoulder as he left. "Take care of yourself."
"Yes, sir, I will."
Harry sat down at the table, picking up the newspaper and scanning the headlines without any real desire to read them. "Tales of tragedy and heartbreak revealed" took up the entire left side of the front page. On the right was a photograph of a doe-eyed boy retrieving a teddy bear from the ruins of his home, his face streaked with dirt and tears. One of the bear's eyes was hanging by a thread.
"It's hard to imagine that anything will ever be normal again," said Arthur.
Harry nodded.
Arthur sat down in the chair at the far end of the table. "You know that once the trials start, you'll be called upon to give testimony, don't you?"
"I know." It was something Harry had thought a lot about in the last week while he sat surrounded by people who had lost loved ones forever.
"You'll be crucial in proving the guilt of many of the Death Eaters. You have to be ready."
"I will be. I am."
"There won't be just one or two," continued Arthur. "There are thirty-six of them waiting in Azkaban." He began to list them off by name—apparently he had memorized them all. Harry had never heard of some of them. "... and of course, the Malfoys."
A heavy silence filled the room. "Draco Malfoy is in Azkaban?" asked Harry, realizing that Arthur had referred to plural Malfoys. It wasn't unexpected, given what he'd done, but still, Harry felt a twinge of sympathy.
"Yes," said Arthur, brows furrowing. "All of the Malfoys are."
"Not Mrs Malfoy, though."
"Oh. Er, yes, her as well."
"What?" Harry stood up, his palms planted on the tabletop. He could feel his fingertips trying to dig into the solid wood. "But she saved my life!"
"All known associates of ... everyone involved was arrested. Or will be once they're found. You know that."
"But she wasn't his associate—well, maybe she was, but she betrayed him. If it wasn't for her, we would have lost the war."
Arthur sighed. "That may be so. But she still has to stand trial. It's just how things are done." He drummed his fingers on the table top—a palm-sized horse going nowhere. "You could testify on her behalf, of course. I'm sure the Wizengamot will listen to what you have to say."
"They had better," said Harry.
He was in the living room attempting to sort through his mail when Ginny returned to the Burrow later that afternoon. He had lost track of how many owls had arrived in the last week, each struggling with a heavy sack of letters and parcels.
"Wow," said Ginny, surveying a stack of tins that reached nearly to the ceiling. "What's in these?"
"Oh, biscuits, cakes, pies. You know, your usual garden-variety 'thank you for saving the world' baked goods. That big one over there has a whole roast goose in it. At least, I think it's a goose. It arrived more than a week ago, so I didn't inspect it too closely."
"I'm sure it's got a Preservation Charm on it," said Ginny, liberating a tin from the top of the stack. Its lid came open with a metallic pop. "Ooh! Chocolate tea biscuits!"
"Huh. I didn't think of that. I guess we could have it for dinner, then."
Ginny flopped onto the sofa next to Harry, crunching on a biscuit. "It feels weird to be at home in the middle of the afternoon."
"I know," said Harry. Yesterday at this time they'd been saying goodbye to Colin Creevey. He held up a damp envelope, gripping it at one corner with his thumb and forefinger. Water—Merlin, he hoped it was water—dripped out the bottom. "I'm not sure I should open this one."
"Oh, give it here," said Ginny, plucking it away from him. She tore off one edge, the soggy paper nearly falling apart in her hands, and extracted a card, which looked unexpectedly dry. Harry could see a mass of dark, circular scribbles on the front, possibly done in crayon.
He took the card from Ginny and opened it. "Dear Harry Potter," it said in shaky block letters. "I can go outside and play now. I am very happy. My mum says you made the clouds go away. Are you the sun? From, Georgia Pennywhistle, Age 7." He closed the card again; a few drops of water trickled from the middle of the scribbles and he realized they were supposed to be clouds. He smiled and the clouds disappeared, revealing a yellow sun wearing familiar round glasses.
"Aw, that's very sweet," said Ginny.
Harry nodded and tried to swallow away the lump in his throat.
"So, Dad said that Ron and Hermione should be back soon—maybe even tomorrow. Looks like everything worked out all right."
"Yeah, it has," said Harry, tossing away yet another interview request from The Daily Prophet. They certainly were persistent, but he just wasn't ready for that yet. "I'm really glad."
Ron had gone to Australia with Hermione the day after Fred's funeral. They'd hoped to be back within a day or two, but undoing the memory charms on the Grangers hadn't gone as smoothly as Hermione had expected.
"You've missed them," said Ginny.
"Of course I have. They're my best friends." Going to twenty funerals on his own had been harder than Harry would ever admit to them. Well, he hadn't been alone—Ginny had been there. But that wasn't the same.
"Yeah." Ginny crossed her arms and sank back into the couch cushions. Harry opened a thin parcel and extracted a sheath of papers covered in dense, perfect handwriting, each letter an obedient ant following its preordained line. He squinted. It might have been written in Latin. "Have you been doing this all day?" asked Ginny.
"Hmm?" Harry looked up. Was she annoyed? He couldn't tell. "Oh. No, just for a couple of hours. I slept incredibly late. It was great. Oh yeah, and Kingsley Shacklebolt was here, visiting your dad. I'm not sure why."
"Probably something dull having to do with the government."
"Yeah, I guess." Harry wished he knew more about what was going on, actually. He'd have to start paying more attention and asking questions. He rifled through the pages of the strange document. "I have no idea what this says." He put it down. "Did you know that all the Malfoys are in Azkaban?"
"Are they? That's amazing!" said Ginny, smiling broadly.
"No, it isn't. I mean, even Narcissa Malfoy is there."
"So?"
Harry struggled to find words for a few moments. "So? What do you mean? She saved—"
"I know, I know. Of course I'm glad about that, but it was completely self-serving, what she did. Doing one good thing doesn't excuse a lifetime of evil."
"Evil? I think you're confusing her with her husband."
Ginny looked puzzled. "No, I'm not." She rattled the tin of biscuits. "Can I take these?"
"Yeah, sure, of course."
"Thanks," she said, leaning over and kissing him lightly on the cheek. "I'm going over to Luna's. I might spend the night. Tell my mum, if she asks, will you?"
A few minutes after Ginny disappeared through the Floo, Harry succeeded in casting a translation spell on the first page of the letter and discovered that he was holding a very detailed offer of marriage from someone named "Chestnut G. Wimpledinger" on behalf of his daughter, Philodendron. He placed it with the other proposals, marriage or otherwise. Embarrassingly, it was the second largest pile so far. People were strange.
The following day, repulsed by the prospect of spending another day sorting through his post, Harry went to the Ministry. It felt good to have something to do.
"I beg your pardon?" asked the receptionist in the Wizengamot Administration Services office. She was a thin witch of about fifty with silver-blue hair and the most enormous earrings Harry had ever seen, like golden saucers hanging from her earlobes.
"I'm here to give testimony for Narcissa Malfoy."
"I see. In regards to ... ?"
"Her innocence."
"Ah." The witch's eyes widened. "Yes, of course. Please have a seat in our waiting area, Mr Potter. Someone will be with you momentarily."
The "waiting area" turned out to be the narrow foyer between the office and the corridor. It contained a single straight-backed wooden chair with a seat as hard as concrete. After more than an hour, Harry had lost all feeling in his lower half. He staggered to his feet and lurched back into the office, his numb legs barely keeping him upright. The receptionist froze with a sandwich halfway to her mouth. "Have you been injured?"
"What? No, that chair is ... it's .... Look," said Harry, "I think you and I have vastly different definitions of the word 'momentarily'."
"I'm terribly sorry," she said, and Harry was glad to see that she actually did look sorry. "No one is ... I don't think I can help you. I've asked everyone I can think of, but ... the Wizengamot isn't even at full numbers, so no trials can be scheduled, and a trial has to be scheduled before evidence can be taken." She twisted her wand between her fingers. "It's just the way things are, I'm afraid."
"Right, so how long before the Wizengamot is back to full numbers?"
She hunched forward. "You didn't hear this from me," she whispered, "but I've been told it could take five or ten years to appoint all the new members."
"TEN YEARS?!"
"Shush!" She waved her wand and the door swung shut behind Harry. "Yes, ten years. We're down twenty-one members, and it's a very complicated process. Anyway, the Minister has meetings all week with the remaining Elders, so maybe he'll manage to get things moving along faster than that."
Harry frowned, trying to remember what Kingsley had said yesterday. "Is one of them named Shaw or something?"
"Yes, that's the Chief Warlock. Stubborn bastard." She covered her mouth with her hand. "I didn't say that."
They looked at one another for a few moments. The witch resumed eating her sandwich. "So, I just have to wait, then," said Harry.
"I'm afraid so. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Yes. You can answer a question."
"Of course!"
"Why couldn't you have told me this when I first arrived?"
Her face flushed. "I'll have you know I was waiting to hear back from Minister Shacklebolt's office, to see if something could be done. I sent a memo even after Rhonda told me it was no use. If you think you can do better than me, then by all means, go ahead."
"So, you just burst into the Minister for Magic's office while he was having lunch?" said Ron, dumping the contents of his suitcase into the laundry basket. Happily, he and Hermione had arrived at the Burrow only hours after Harry returned from the Ministry.
"Well, I did knock first. But ... yeah, kind of."
"Still, mate, that takes bollocks. I can't believe you did that for Malfoy's mum, though." Ron held up his hands in surrender, obviously anticipating Harry's reaction. "I'm not saying you shouldn't have, it's just ... you have to appreciate the irony."
"I guess. The real irony is that it didn't do any good," said Harry. "Kingsley said that after the whole business with Umbridge back in fifth year, much stricter rules were put in place, to protect the Wizengamot from interference by the rest of the Ministry. So he can't actually get them to speed things up at all—he can only suggest. And they're not keen on taking suggestions."
"First of all," said Hermione, who had been frowning for a while, "you both need to look up the definition of 'irony'. Second, Harry, I think maybe you're going about this wrong. Narcissa Malfoy has to stand trial—"
"I know she does. I'm not saying they should let her go, just speed things up. I mean, she might be in Azkaban for ten years!"
"But that's my point. She has to stand trial, but she doesn't have to wait in Azkaban. Surely there's some sort of supervised release in the wizarding world."
Harry rose to his feet without even consciously deciding to do so. "Yes! You're brilliant. Why didn't I think of that?"
"Dunno," said Ron. "Probably because it would never work in a million years. They're not going to let an accused Death Eater out."
Harry sat back down on the bed. "Maybe. But I have to try anyway."
"Oh, the ... irony?" said Ron, casting a sideways glance at Hermione. She shook her head. "All right," he said. "Where's the bloody dictionary?"
Although he'd got in last time without an appointment, Harry decided that this time, he'd do things properly. He wrote a note requesting to see the Minister for Magic as soon as possible and sent it off with Pig. The next evening, Kingsley showed up at the Burrow just after the dinner dishes had been cleared.
Harry followed him into the back garden. The sun was close to setting; layers of pink and orange blanketed the horizon. It didn't take Harry long to explain what he wanted. Kingsley looked up at the darkening sky.
"The other day, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot said to me, 'Why the rush? They're in Azkaban now, and after their trials they'll go back to Azkaban.' He refuses to see the harm the delays will cause." Kingsley chuckled. "I bet he'll change his mind when a Malfoy is released."
"So ... you can get her out?"
"Of course I can." said Kingsley. "The Wizengamot doesn't control Azkaban."
Harry smiled and took a deep breath of the warm spring air. There were flowers blooming all around him.
It had been a week since Kingsley's visit. Harry hadn't thought getting someone out of Azkaban would take so long, at least not for the Minister of Magic. They had spent most of the time lazing around the house, playing card games and raiding Harry's food stash. The stack of tins had been reduced by more than half.
"All you want to talk about is Narcissa Malfoy," said Ginny.
"That's not true," said Harry. He looked over at Hermione and Ron, but they were both studying their cards intently. "Is it?"
Ron looked up and shrugged. "You have been a little preoccupied."
"I only asked what time Ministry owls are usually sent out," said Harry. "I .... Fine, I was wondering when I would hear from Kingsley. So what?" He could feel himself getting defensive. They didn't understand. He only wanted what was right. "Anyway, all we've done is sit around the house. What else is there to talk about?"
Ginny threw down her cards. She had five hags; it was an excellent hand. "What else is there to talk about? How about my brother, who died? Or Teddy Lupin, who's just a baby and will never know his parents? Or my mother, who spends most of every day sleeping? What about them, Harry? Aren't they worthy of your concern too?"
"Ginny, you're not being fair," said Ron.
"You shut up!" yelled Ginny. "You're always taking his side. You—" She looked up. Her father was standing uncertainly in the doorway.
"Harry, this just arrived for you." He held a roll of parchment in his hand. "It was on Kingsley's personal owl." He walked over and dropped it into Harry's outstretched hand. He looked at Ginny. "Your mother, she's ... she just needs time."
Ginny's face crumpled. She jumped up and threw her arms around her father, sobbing against his chest.
"I know," said Arthur, patting her back. "How about we go have some ice cream?"
Once Ginny and her father had left the room, Harry broke the seal on the letter. Hermione sniffed and cuddled up to Ron.
"She's getting out tomorrow," Harry said quietly, letting the parchment roll shut. Somehow he didn't feel as happy as he'd expected.
"That's good," said Hermione.
The three of them sat in silence for a few minutes, their game forgotten. A cloud passed in front of the afternoon sun, casting the room in shadow.
Harry thought about what Ginny had said. It wasn't the same thing at all. He couldn't help the dead, no matter how much he wished he could. And Mrs Weasley—well, he'd already discovered that comforting grieving mothers was not his strong suit. What did Ginny expect of him? He wasn't perfect.
The front of the Malfoys' manor house was just as elaborate as Harry remembered the inside to be. A house-elf answered the door and escorted him to the parlour, directing him to sit on a white chair with an ornately carved back. Soon, Narcissa Malfoy strolled into the room, looking every bit as haughty as she had the first time he'd seen her. Either Azkaban had got softer, or she was incredibly resilient.
"Mr Potter, what a surprise," she said. "I wasn't aware that you were going to be one of our guards. How ... lucky for us."
"Um. Hello, Mrs Malfoy." Harry stood, turning briefly to make sure he hadn't damaged the chair in any way. It looked fragile. "I'm not ... I'm just here to see how you are. And I wanted to thank you for, you know, for saving my life." Harry scratched the back of his neck. Who'd have thought saying such a thing would be so awkward?
"It was well worth it. Thank you for what you did for my son."
"Mother, this so-called wand is crap," said Draco Malfoy, walking into the room holding what looked like a large purple candlestick. He pointed it at Harry. "What the fuck is he doing here?"
"Draco, language," said Narcissa, while Harry jerked out his wand, his heart pounding.
"I think that's a question I should be asking you, Malfoy." He pointed his wand at Narcissa. "How did you do this? I just ... it was only supposed to be you."
"Do you think I would leave my son behind?" said Narcissa, looking at Draco with a fierce fondness. "When they came to take me home, I told them I wasn't stepping foot outside that place unless he came with me."
"And that worked?" asked Harry, lowering his wand. He couldn't believe Kingsley had agreed to that.
"I was very persuasive."
"Why didn't you get Father out as well?" said Draco quietly to his mother.
Harry snorted. "I think letting one Death Eater out was enough of a stretch."
Narcissa looked sharply at Draco, who scowled and rolled up his left sleeve, showing nothing but pale skin.
"So?" said Harry, seeing the point but not wanting to admit it.
"Death Eaters have Dark Marks."
"That's just a technicality. You were on his side."
"You're an idiot, Potter. I didn't—"
"Draco, darling," said Narcissa, "Mr Potter is a guest in our home; let's not insult him any more than necessary." She smiled at Harry. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
"Um, no thank you," said Harry. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to be somewhere without any Malfoys. "I should go. I just came to ... to say thank you. I'm glad you're not in Azkaban any more."
"Does that go for me too, Potter?" asked Draco, hostility dripping from every syllable. Harry looked at him for a few moments, imagining him behind bars.
"I don't know."
Draco wished his mother would stop talking about Potter. She seemed convinced that he was the key to getting the family out of this impossible situation in which they now found themselves. Personally, Draco thought it was hopeless.
"He has no reason to want to help you," she said one night over dinner. "That will have to be changed." When she explained exactly what she meant, Draco laughed and lost his appetite.
"Your plan for keeping me out of Azkaban requires Potter to like me?" He pushed a carrot from one side of his plate to the other, ploughing it straight through the mashed potatoes. "I'm doomed."
Narcissa's jaw set. It was a look Draco knew well; it meant she was about to demolish whoever or whatever stood in her way. He'd always found the look comforting, since it was never aimed in his direction, but this time he could tell that she considered him to be the primary obstacle in the way of protecting ... him.
"My son is not going to spend his life in jail," she said with such resolve that, for a moment, Draco actually believed her.
By mid-June, Harry could feel that life was beginning to return to normal for most people, even though a month earlier that had seemed impossible. The adulating letters stopped arriving by the bagful and slowed to maybe a dozen per day; a few were even filled with subtle or outright complaints. Even Molly Weasley had recovered—she had got out of bed one morning and made breakfast, cheerfully greeting her family when they came into the kitchen, as if she hadn't spent the last six weeks curled up under her blankets. But for Harry, despite these welcome changes, life was still far from normal. How could it be otherwise, with the Death Eater trials still to come?
Kingsley stopped by one night, just before eleven o'clock. Molly and Arthur were already asleep. Again, Harry followed him into the garden. It was a moonless night, and the air was cool.
"Our plan worked," said Kingsley. "Shaw has agreed to the emergency measures. It should only be a matter of days before the Wizengamot has enough members to conduct full trials."
"That's excellent!" said Harry.
"We make a good team. Which brings me to something else I wanted to discuss with you."
Harry had wondered why Kingsley hadn't just sent an owl to tell him the news.
"How would you feel about running the Auror Department?"
Harry reeled for a moment. "I ... um. Badly."
"Let me tell you something, Harry. Just a month and a half ago, the Ministry was still under Voldemort's control," said Kingsley. "Do you have any idea what that did to us? It will be a long time before we recover from the personnel losses. The truth is, I'm running most departments, at least in part."
"I didn't realize ... "
"That's why we need good people. We need you."
"But, I haven't even been trained."
Kingsley moved his hand like he was swatting away a fly. "No matter. I suspect you could teach a thing or two to many of our current Aurors."
Harry thought of all the times in the last year when he had messed up, all the times he hadn't known what he was doing, all the people who had been hurt due to his mistakes. "I doubt that, sir. I'm sorry, I really would prefer to be trained first."
"I see," said Kingsley. "That will be a problem. There won't be any classes for at least a year. I have all the instructors back in the field."
"Oh." Harry was extremely uncomfortable with the prospect of instantly becoming the head of the Aurors, but he didn't much like the thought of missing out on rebuilding the Ministry while he waited to begin training. "Can I take some time to think it over?"
"Of course." Kingsley looked at his watch. "Damn. I have to go. We'll talk more about this later. Maybe you'll change your mind once you've been to a few trials."
Harry spent a few minutes staring up at the stars before going back inside to tell the others what had just happened.
"No training? What am I going to do for the next year?" wailed Ron. "I'll have to work at ... in George's shop, I guess. Bollocks."
"I can't believe he offered to make you an Auror right away," said Hermione. "I mean, I know you've done a lot, but there must be a lot of specialized magic to learn. You don't even know how to cast a proper tracking spell!"
"I know." Harry hadn't mentioned that Kingsley had actually wanted him to run the whole bloody department. That was too insane to mention.
"I believe it," said Ginny. She smiled widely at him, and Harry was both pleased and terrified by the confidence in her voice. "You're more than qualified for—" She frowned, her attention drawn by something behind Harry.
He turned and saw an eagle owl perched outside the window, watching him with round orange eyes.
"It's just sitting there," whispered Ron. "Why isn't it knocking?"
Harry stood and leaned over the sofa to push open the window, letting in a breath of cool night air. The owl hopped closer and held out its leg. Once Harry had untied a small scroll sealed with silver wax, it flew away.
"I wonder who that's from?" asked Ginny, her voice tight and brittle.
"Malfoy is the only one we know with an eagle owl," said Ron. Ginny rolled her eyes.
"Yes, thanks, Ron. I know. What do they want now, Harry? Do they need someone to do their laundry?"
Ginny's change from admiring to caustic was unfortunately something Harry had seen a lot in recent weeks. He was tired of it. "I doubt it," he said, trying to keep any emotion from his voice. "They probably have house-elves for that."
Ginny's eyes welled with tears, and then she stood and ran from the room; her quick footsteps echoed up the staircase. Floors above them, a door slammed.
"Oh, Harry," said Hermione.
"What? I didn't say anything!"
"She's emotionally fragile right now. Last year was .... You have to try to .... Oh, never mind, you're hopeless." Hermione got up and followed Ginny.
Ron shook his head. "Sometimes I don't understand either of them."
"Yeah."
"So, what does Malfoy want?" Ron asked, looking at the scroll still clutched in Harry's hand.
"Oh." Harry unrolled it; the message was very brief. "It's from Mrs Malfoy. She wants to see me at my 'earliest convenience'. I guess I'll go tomorrow."
"You know, you don't have to go at all."
Harry was surprised to feel a cool anger collecting in his chest. "Everyone in this house might be dead if not for her. So actually, I do."
Ron at least had the grace to look abashed.
The same house-elf escorted Harry through the Manor and up a wide set of stairs, stopping in the doorway of a small room—relatively speaking—with walls panelled in dark wood. In the centre of the room, Narcissa Malfoy sat at a heavy-looking desk, writing with a delicate white quill.
"Harry Potter is here, mistress."
"Have him wait in the parlour, I don't want him to—" She glanced up. Shock flitted across her face for a split second, and then she smiled warmly. "Good morning, Mr Potter. I wasn't expecting you so soon."
"You don't want me to what?"
"I didn't want you to have to come up all those stairs. You're our guest."
"I don't mind. What are you writing?" asked Harry, walking towards the desk. Narcissa began shuffling papers around.
"I don't see how it's any of your business, but they are letters. The Malfoys have many friends."
"Still?"
She bowed her head. When she looked up again, there were tears in her eyes.
"I'm sorry," said Harry. "I didn't mean ..."
"No," she murmured. "You're right. This year ... it's been so hard. He ... he took over our home. We didn't want him here. We were his prisoners, yet the entire world thinks we supported him. My husband is still in Azkaban. I don't see how he'll ever get out."
Harry shifted his weight uncomfortably. How was he supposed to tell her that he thought her husband deserved to stay in prison forever? "That does sound hard."
She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "Thank you for coming to see me so quickly. I have a favour to ask of you. I'm afraid there is no one else who can help me."
"What is it?"
"I'd like you to take a message to Lucius."
Harry didn't like the sound of that. "Can't you just owl him?"
"Unfortunately one of the terms of my release was that I was not to communicate with my husband. I only want to send him my love." A single tear rolled slowly down her cheek.
"So ... you're asking me to go to Azkaban and tell your husband that you love him?"
"No, of course not. I've told him myself," she said, holding out a piece of parchment. It appeared to be blank.
"That doesn't say anything."
"My Lucius will know how to read it," said Narcissa with a delicate sniff.
"I see. Will you show me how to read it?"
"Of course not. It's private."
Harry wanted to laugh. Did she think that just because she had saved his life, he had forgotten what her husband was? "I'm not bringing a secret message to a Death Eater."
Narcissa's face hardened. "In that case, I'd like you to leave my house at once."
"My pleasure," Harry said, feeling like he had been slapped.
Ginny was right, Harry thought as he strode through the Malfoys' front garden. Just because Narcissa Malfoy had saved his life didn't mean that she was a good person; it just meant she had done one good thing. He wouldn't forget that again.
He had just passed through the front gate when he heard his name.
"Potter!"
Harry spun around. Draco Malfoy was running towards him. He stopped a few feet away, just inside the gate, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets.
"What do you want?"
Malfoy glared at him, but after a moment closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he looked embarrassed. "I wanted to talk to you."
"Why? Did your mother send you to try to convince me to take a message to your father after all?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Right, I'm sure." Harry turned away.
"Potter, wait. Please."
Harry stopped, but didn't turn around.
"Azkaban was awful. I didn't think I would ever get out. There are ghosts. Did you know? They wail all night. It's like a thousand banshees swirling around your head. And it's really cold."
Malfoy looked relieved when Harry turned around again. "What do you want?" Harry repeated.
"I told you, I just want to talk."
"To me?"
"Believe me, you're not my first choice. But I can't leave the grounds, and no one can come here except for our guards. And you, apparently, because the rules don't apply to you, as usual. I don't have anyone else to talk to. I love my mother, but I'm a little tired of being locked away with her."
Did he really expect Harry to buy that explanation? Harry laughed. "Right. Poor Malfoy, trapped in a giant house with his adoring mum and only a few dozen house-elves to wait on him hand and foot."
A spark of ire flashed through Malfoy's eyes. "You have no idea what my life is like. You can go fuck yourself."
"Sure. Thanks, Malfoy. Nice talking to you," said Harry, Apparating away.
Three days later, the eagle owl came back to the Burrow. Again, it sat outside the window as still as a statue and waited to be seen.
"That is not a normal owl," said Ron. "Isn't anyone else disturbed by that thing?"
"What does she want this time?" asked Ginny once Harry had gone outside and collected the small piece of parchment the owl had clutched in its talons.
Harry crumpled the note and threw it in the bin. "Nothing. It's from Malfoy, saying he's sorry for telling me to go fuck myself."
Ginny grimaced. "What? I can't believe he said that. I really hate him."
"Why is Malfoy apologizing to you?" asked Ron. "That's even more disturbing than the owl, I think."
Upon returning from the manor, Harry had only said that the Malfoys were manipulative snakes; he hadn't really wanted to dwell on the details.
"Well, he kind of asked me to stay and talk to him. He said he was lonely. You know, he can't leave his house, and it's just him and his mum and the house-elves." Harry rolled his eyes, and then thought of something else. "Plus ... his father's in prison and his friends aren't allowed to visit." Crabbe and Goyle: one dead and the other awaiting trial in Azkaban. Who else would come? Pansy? Her family probably wanted her to stay as far away from the Malfoys as possible. "Actually, I guess he doesn't really have any friends left."
"That's kind of sad," said Hermione. "What? It is!" she exclaimed when Ron gave her an incredulous look.
"Yeah," said Harry. "Maybe he was telling the truth. No wonder he got angry. I hadn't really thought about it that way."
"He still didn't have to insult you," said Ginny. "You were doing him a favour by talking to him."
"Well, I kind of implied that he was living a pampered and spoiled life. Um. And by 'implied' I mean 'said outright.'"
"Do you think he'll be convicted?" asked Ron. "I mean, once he has his trial."
"He ... he probably will be." A tiny seed of shame planted itself in Harry, roots and tendrils sprouting deep in his gut. "He's probably terrified. He even said how awful Azkaban was. He must know that he might have to spend years there. I didn't ..."
"Hold on, I think I feel sorry for Malfoy," said Ron. "It's making me a bit queasy."
"How can you feel sorry for him?" Ginny's eyes were dark and furious. "He's a Death Eater! You know, one of the bad guys."
"Harry said he didn't have a Dark Mark," said Ron.
"Fine, so he's a wannabe Death Eater," said Ginny. "That's just as bad."
"That time when we were ... when we were captured," said Hermione, looking at Harry. "He didn't want to identify us, I don't think. Do you remember how afraid he looked?"
"Yeah," muttered Harry.
"Maybe because if he'd been wrong, he would have been punished or something," said Ginny. "I'm sure it wasn't because he's secretly a good person."
"I think we'd all agree that he isn't a good person," said Hermione. "But maybe he's not as bad as he always thought he was."
"Yeah," said Ron. "That must have been a blow to him, to realize he sucked at being evil."
Ginny smirked. "He is kind of pathetic, isn't he?"
Harry stood up. "I have to go." He couldn't stay here any longer—the guilt over his callous dismissal of Malfoy was getting stronger by the second. He knew exactly what it felt like to believe you had no future.
"You're not going to see him," said Ginny flatly.
"I have to."
"Master Malfoy is in the garden," the house-elf informed Harry, sounding as solemn as was possible for something with such a high voice. "If Mr Potter will follow the path, Mr Potter will find him." He bowed and shut the door in Harry's face.
"Thank you," Harry said to the door.
The path was made of tightly fitted slabs of white stone; Harry wondered if it was marble. He followed it around the side of the house, through a row of hedges, and into the back garden. It looked like a park—a wide expanse of grass, dotted with tall, graceful trees, with a dense forest in the back. There was a small pond near the centre of the lawn. Malfoy sat on a bench along its edge, a bucket beside him, staring into the water. He either didn't notice Harry walking towards him, or pretended not to notice. Harry assumed it was the latter.
He sat down on the bench. He was just going to apologize and then he would leave. "Malfoy, I—" he began, glancing casually down at the bucket. It was filled with blood and ... he didn't know what else it was filled with. "Ugh!" He scooted further down the bench. "What the hell is in there?"
Malfoy smiled, still staring into the water. "Chicken hearts."
"Why do you have a pail full of raw chicken hearts?"
"In case I get hungry," said Malfoy. His eyes darted back and forth across the surface of the pond. Harry squinted at the water; it was murky, but he thought he could make out dozens of slender, quickly moving shapes, circling just below the surface.
"Are those fish?"
"In a way," said Malfoy. He glanced over at Harry and then focused on the pond once again. "You got my owl."
"I did."
"Good. So, I don't need to say it in person."
"Say what?"
Malfoy opened his mouth and then snapped it shut, his lips pressed tightly together.
"You were about to tell me to go fuck myself again, weren't you?"
"Of course not."
Harry knew what he wanted to say, but found that the words didn't want to come out. "It's all right," he said instead. "You can if you want to."
"Go fuck yourself, Potter." Malfoy's voice was flat, without any real emotion in it.
"Um. I'm sorry," Harry said, the words finding their way out at last. "I'm sorry for saying what I said. I didn't think ... I mean, you're still under arrest, even if you're home, and ... that must be hard."
"Imagine that you're drowning in the middle of the ocean and someone casts a Bubble-Head Charm on you. You know your air is going to run out and then you'll be right back where you started: drowning. All they've done is prolong the inevitable and give you enough time to really think about what's happening."
"Why would someone cast a Bubble-Head Charm on a drowning person and then just leave them there?"
"It's a metaphor."
"I know it's a metaphor," said Harry. Malfoy's mouth turned up a little at the corners; it wasn't quite a smile.
The things in the pond—whatever they were—seemed to be swimming faster now. The surface of the water churned chaotically with the currents of their movements.
"Hmm," said Malfoy. "I think they're agitated enough." He grabbed the bucket, stood and tossed the contents high into the air; the chicken hearts descended to the water in a rain of blood.
Dozens of foot-long fish-shaped creatures leapt up, each one glittering blue or gold or red or green; the meat disappeared in a frenzy of tiny, snapping jaws.
A second later, the pond was still except for the circular ripples spreading from each point of impact. Harry blinked. "What the hell were those?"
"Ornamental pond sharks."
"Those are ... wow."
"We also have a carnivorous tree," said Malfoy. He put the bucket down on the bench and looked back at the forest. "Do you want to see it?"
"Do you feed it chicken hearts too?"
"Of course not. It eats birds, lizards, mice ... whatever it can catch."
Harry pictured a robin hopping onto a branch, only to be snapped up by a sharp-toothed leaf and shoved into a gaping mouth in the centre of the trunk. "Um. Maybe some other time."
"Some other time? Does that mean you're planning on coming back?"
"Oh." Harry shrugged. "I guess I could."
Malfoy sat down on the bench, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
"It's just ... what would we talk about?" said Harry. "I mean, if I came back."
"I don't know."
The silence stretched on for minutes. This was awkward. Harry wondered if he should leave.
"Thank you," said Malfoy.
"For what?"
"For pulling me from ... that Fiendfyre."
"Oh," said Harry. He shrugged. "I would have done it for anyone."
Malfoy made a sour face. "Right. I didn't think it meant you were in love with me or anything."
Harry forced himself to laugh. "Well, that's good. Um. I think I should be going."
"Sure. Bye, Potter," Malfoy said listlessly.
"I'll see you later, maybe."
"Whatever. I'm sure you have a busy schedule."
"Um, yeah, well with trials starting soon, I probably will—oh, fuck," said Harry. Malfoy looked like he was about to be sick. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned trials ... but yours might not be for a while, maybe. I mean—"
"Just go," said Malfoy. His hands were clasped tightly together, turning his knuckles white.
Harry walked away as fast as he could. He Apparated as soon as he'd cleared the front gates.
A few days later, a Ministry owl arrived, bearing a thick envelope for Harry. He sat on the couch and read through each summons—almost thirty in all. At the end, someone had helpfully compiled a table, listing the date and time of each trial. All three Malfoys were scheduled for the same day.
Ginny walked into the room. "What's that?" she asked.
"Trial schedule," answered Harry without looking up.
"Ooh, let's see." She sat down next to him and leaned over. "Amycus and Alecto Carrow are first! I can't wait." She sighed, seeming almost wistful. "I wish the Dementors were still around for them."
"What?" said Harry. "No one deserves to have their soul sucked out of them, no matter what they've done."
"No offence, Harry, but you weren't at Hogwarts last year," said Ginny. "You don't know."
"That doesn't matter."
"Yes, it does. Not everyone deserves a second chance."
Harry had always thought that Ginny was beautiful, but right now she looked ugly to him. "How is life in Azkaban a second chance?"
"I don't know. Why don't you ask Fred?"
"Ginny, nothing that happens to any of these people is going to bring him back," said Harry.
She went from angry to tearful in a blink. "Then what's the point?" she asked, covering her face with her hands.
"Justice, I guess."
"I don't even know what that means."
Harry didn't either.
He was on trial for his life—he was standing in the middle of a dark room and there was a spotlight shining on him, blinding him, but he knew they were out there, watching him, judging him. He tried to explain that he was only there to testify, but when he opened his mouth, no sound came out. A masked man with glowing embers for eyes stood up and turned into a Dementor. Ginny smiled from the gallery as it swooped towards him. Harry felt his insides turn to ice. There was a spell for this, but he couldn't remember what it was. He put up his hands and the Dementor changed course, falling on Draco Malfoy, who was suddenly standing next to Harry, screaming. Malfoy dropped to the ground, and the Dementor turned.
Harry woke up thrashing at the sheets and sweating. It was still dark outside, but there was a hint of light at the horizon. He went outside and watched the sun rise from the front garden of the Burrow. The leaves whispered all their secrets to the world as the wind blew gently through the trees.
In three days, the first trials would begin. Still hearing the sound of Malfoy screaming in his dream, he Apparated to the gates of Malfoy Manor.
Malfoy opened the front door when Harry was halfway down the main walk, stepping lightly down the stairs with his arms wrapped tightly around himself. He wore a deep blue dressing gown and had a piece of paper clenched in one fist.
Harry stopped a few feet away from him.
"What are you doing here?" asked Malfoy. There were dark circles like half-moon bruises under his eyes.
"I got the trial schedule yesterday." He glanced at the paper in Malfoy's hand. "Did you just find out?"
"Eighteen hours ago."
"Oh," said Harry. "How's your mother?"
"I don't know. She's locked herself in her study." He crumpled his letter and threw it to the ground. "Did you see when Goyle's ...?"
"Um. Yeah," said Harry. He had read over the list so many times that he had it memorized. "Not until next month. His is one of the last ones."
"Of course." Malfoy's laugh had a slight tinge of hysteria around the edges. "Do you think they'd let me switch dates with him? If he's acquitted, then he'd be getting out earlier, and if he's not ... what's the difference? He's already there. Whereas I could really use the extra time, seeing as I have almost none."
"Six d—"
"Don't tell me six days is a lot of time. It's not. Do you know how long it is? One-hundred and forty-four hours." Malfoy turned and started down the path that led around the side of the house. Harry had no choice but to follow along.
"I've been thinking I might not sleep," continued Malfoy. "Sleeping just wastes time. Do you think I can stay awake for one-hundred and forty-four hours? It's been just over twenty-two so far. The longest I've ever stayed awake is about forty-eight hours. That felt pretty bloody awful, but then at the time I was trying to fix a centuries-old magical artefact, save my family, and kill the most powerful wizard in generations, so that might have influenced my state of mind." They passed through the tall hedge and into the back garden. "Can one die from sleep deprivation? It must be possible. That might not be such a bad way to go."
"You don't want to die, Malfoy."
Malfoy rounded on Harry. "Of course I don't want to die, you fucking idiot. That's the whole point."
"You're not going to be sentenced to death," said Harry, realizing he wasn't sure if that was true. Did they have death sentences, now that the Dementors were gone? He had no idea.
"Death. Azkaban. What's the difference?" Malfoy kicked at a cluster of tulips, sending a small shower of red petals falling to the ground.
"Well," said Harry, thinking as he spoke, "if you were in jail, you could always get out. But it's pretty hard to un-die."
"Ha! Good one, Potter. Everyone knows you're the only one who can do that."
"I didn't really."
"Fine, don't tell me your secret," said Malfoy. "I don't want to know anyway; I'd rather escape Azkaban." He ran ahead a few steps, stopped, and spun around. "Do you want to see the carnivorous tree now?"
Malfoy was acting deranged. Harry backed away a few steps. "I think you need to sleep. I should go."
"I do not. Come on, you just got here. We don't have to see the tree. It's a stupid tree anyway. It won't even eat a house-elf. Although I'll bet they do taste bad." Malfoy's eyes were wide and slightly unfocused, Harry noticed. "I'm going this way," he said, meandering off the path.
"Malfoy, did you take something to make yourself stay awake?" Harry asked, following after him.
"It was just an energy potion," Malfoy said. He tripped and fell onto the grass. After lying face-down for a few seconds, he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. "Although it didn't work as well as I expected. Well, the first one did. Not so sure ... about ... the others."
"How many did you take?" asked Harry. There was no answer. "Malfoy?" Harry bent over and watched Malfoy's chest. It rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. "Are you asleep?" He gingerly turned Malfoy's arm and pressed his fingertips to Malfoy's wrist. Harry supposed he was fine; he had a pulse and was breathing.
Harry sat down a few metres away. The garden was calm and tranquil—it was kind of nice to be somewhere else for a change. He'd spent so much time at the Burrow. He began to wonder what lay ahead for him next week. What kind of questions would he be asked at the trials? Would he know the right answers? Or would he say something wrong and accidentally help one of the Death Eaters escape punishment? He lay back in the soft grass and closed his eyes for a moment.
When he opened them again, the sun had moved to the top of the sky. He sat up. Malfoy was still asleep nearby. "Malfoy," he said. "Malfoy, wake up!"
Malfoy sat up, clutching at the grass with his fingers. "Wha—?" He blinked. "Was I asleep? Why did you let me fall asleep?"
"You needed it," Harry said, deciding he'd rather not admit that he had fallen asleep as well. "It was only for a few hours." He looked up at the sun. "Maybe three or four."
"Great. Three or four hours closer to my doom."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do. Do you think the system is fair? It's not. If it was, I wouldn't be in this situation. What did I do to deserve this?"
"Are you kidding?" asked Harry, ticking off the charges on his fingers. "You almost killed Ron and also Katie Bell. You let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts in sixth year, which led to Bill Weasley being attacked by Greyback. You disarmed Dumbledore, which allowed Snape to kill him. And I'm sure there are other things I'm not aware of."
"Is Molly Weasley in jail for casting an Unforgivable on my Aunt Bella?"
"She ... that's not the same. She was just protecting her family," said Harry.
"So was I."
Harry didn't even know how to respond to that. "You could have made other choices," was all he could say. "Dumbledore offered you a way out."
"Yes, and then died shortly thereafter. He wasn't really a valid option."
"Not true. I was there. You had—"
"You were not! There was no one else there."
"Yes, I was. I was under an Invisibility Cloak. Dumbledore immobilized me when he heard you coming."
A frightening smile spread across Malfoy's face. "Oh really? You were with him that night? Did he take you with him when he went out for a drink?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Did he ever try anything? I'll bet he did, the filthy pervert," spat Malfoy. Harry stared uncomprehendingly. "You did read Skeeter's book, didn't you?"
"Don't call him a filthy pervert. He was—"
"A poof. It's all there if you read between the lines. Dumbledore was a poof. Everyone knows it."
"So? There's nothing wrong with that," said Harry. "That doesn't make him a pervert." His Uncle Vernon had referred to homosexuals as freaks or worse, so Harry had always felt a kinship with them, even before he know what the word "homosexual" meant.
The snarl on Malfoy's face was replaced for a moment by fear. He hung his head.
"You're unbelievable," said Harry. He stood up and brushed the grass off of his clothing. "Why am I even talking to you?"
"I am, too," said Malfoy, still looking at the ground.
Harry sat back down. He couldn't have heard that right. "What?"
"I've never told anyone." Malfoy's whole body began to shiver, even though the air was warm. "I've never .... My parents would kill me if they knew." He pulled his knees up and hugged them to his chest.
"I won't tell."
"It's just ... it's not all right, for me. It's not all right."
"Why?" asked Harry.
Malfoy shook his head, apparently unable to articulate the reasons.
"How long have you known?"
"Potter," said Malfoy, "I really don't want to talk about it."
"OK. But there's really nothing—it's all right, you know."
"If you say so."
Harry could tell that Malfoy didn't believe him.
It came as no surprise to anyone that both Amycus and Alecto Carrow were sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban for their crimes. Nearly fifty Hogwarts students had shown up to testify that Amycus had not only taught Unforgivables in the classroom, but also had used them on the students. Just as many were ready to swear that Alecto had kept a Muggle woman chained up in her office to use for graphic demonstrations during Muggle Studies. After ten witnesses had spoken for each, the Chief Warlock called for a vote, which was unanimous in favour of conviction. Harry hadn't even been called.
"There's no point in allowing you to speak," Shaw had said to each of the Carrows, "because nothing you could say could defend what you have done."
Later, Harry sat with Hermione and the Weasleys at the Burrow's dining table for a celebratory meal. He didn't feel much like celebrating, though. If Amycus had been allowed to speak, would he have revealed how Harry had used Cruciatus on him? Did he even remember? Harry had tried to forget about that incident —it had been such a stressful time, and he'd just been trying to survive. Surely no one would blame him for it. It was completely different from the way Amycus had used it on students, he told himself. But still, his conversation with Malfoy echoed through his mind. He studied Molly as she took another piece of bread, laughing. What was fair?
When Molly asked him what the matter was, he told her that he was just tired.
Two days later was Umbridge's trial. Seeing her sentenced to life in prison had been glorious. Harry hadn't been called to testify at her trial, either.
"I understand, now," said Ginny that evening. "Justice is ... it doesn't bring people back, but it makes it so that other people can't be hurt the same way." She smiled and hugged Harry. Harry squeezed her tightly, wrapping his hands around her soft curves.
"You smell good," he said. It had been so long since they'd held each other like this.
"Can I ... come to your room tonight?" whispered Ginny. She had never asked before—it had been Fred and George's room, and he'd wondered if that made her uncomfortable.
Harry felt a surge of lust. This was what he had always thought would happen between them. It had just taken some time to find their way back. He paused to savour the moment.
Ginny pushed away from him. "What? Don't tell me you're too focused on the Malfoys' trial tomorrow."
"I didn't say that. I didn't say anything!"
"You were thinking it. I could tell," Ginny said, her face savage.
What was wrong with her? "You have no idea what I was thinking."
"Really? Tell me you weren't thinking about the Malfoys," she snapped, looking him dead in the eyes.
"I wasn't. But I am now," Harry said. "Don't wait up for me."
Harry had showed up at the manor and asked Malfoy to show him the carnivorous tree as if it were the most normal thing in the world to do. They were now walking through the forest at the back of the grounds. The sun was starting to set, and the ground was covered with long, dark shadows.
"I feel like I'm about to die," said Malfoy.
"You're not going to die."
"I might. Don't try to tell me otherwise."
"Fine." If Malfoy was going to wallow in pity, Harry supposed, there was nothing to do but let him.
"I've only just turned eighteen. It's not fair. My life was not supposed to be like this. I was going to be important and powerful and not some fucking corpse rotting away on an island in the North Sea. Fuck!"
They continued on for a while, with Malfoy alternating between whinging and profanity. Harry thought back to his walk through the Forbidden Forest, when he was walking towards what he thought would be his death. Unlike Malfoy, at least he had kept his dignity. Although maybe if he'd talked to Ron or Hermione beforehand, he would have acted the same way.
"Stop, Potter. I want to show you something."
The sun had now set completely, and Harry had to strain his eyes to see more than vague shapes in the darkness. "Is it the carnivorous tree?" he asked. The only bright thing other than the moon was Malfoy's hair.
Malfoy pulled something out of his pocket. Harry thought it might be the same candlestick-type thing he'd seen him with the day he was released. "No. Lumos. LUMOS. Damn it, they might as well not have given me a wand at all."
"That's a wand?"
"Supposedly. It's a Ministry-approved safety wand for those awaiting trial, to keep us from being naughty. It can do ... basically nothing. I don't see how Lumos could possibly be—" The end of the wand lit up. "Yes! Now stay lit, you piece of shit." Malfoy pointed it off to his right, revealing a small stone structure. "Behold the Malfoy family crypt." He walked over to it and pushed open the door. "I hope you're not scared of the dark," he said as he walked in.
"No, but being in a room full of dead Malfoys is a little frightening," muttered Harry, closing the door behind him.
The visible structure only contained the staircase, which led down to a narrow room that smelled like earth; it was too long for wand-light to illuminate it completely. Harry followed the light of Malfoy's wand past a dozen tombs, stopping when they got to the far wall. Malfoy placed his hand atop the last one.
"This is my great-great-great-grandfather, Augustus Malfoy. He was Minister for Magic for a time."
"Oh, um, good for him," said Harry.
"And that," continued Malfoy, walking to the next tomb, "is my great-great-grandfather, Julius Malfoy. He was on the Wizengamot. Over there is my great-grandfather, Antoninus Malfoy. He chaired the Hogwarts board of directors."
"Wow." Harry peered at the names carved in the stone —Malfoys who had apparently been positive contributors to society.
"When I was a child, I used to come down here and wonder what my great accomplishment would be—the one that my great-grandchildren would learn about." Malfoy caressed the top of the tomb. "But now I know: there won't be one. The family stops with me."
"Come off it, Malfoy. You're being a little dramatic. I mean, you said it yourself —you didn't do that much compared with the real Death Eaters. And you're, well you're not a kid, but you're not really a grown-up, either. I don't think tomorrow will go as badly as you expect."
Malfoy's eyes glowed in the wand-light. He turned away, but not before Harry saw a smile spreading across his face. "So what do you think of the crypt?"
"Hmm. It's not nearly as creepy as I thought a crypt would be. I'm a little disappointed in that, actually. It's sort of ... peaceful down here."
"It can be creepy," said Malfoy. "Nox."
Harry opened his eyes as wide as he could, but it was no use. It was like being suddenly struck blind. It wasn't even darkness—it was nothingness.
"Have you ever been anywhere this dark before?" Malfoy asked. It was hard to tell where he was—he sounded far away.
"Where did you go?" Harry reached out his hand and connected with something solid and warm. He flattened his hand and felt a heartbeat under smooth fabric. "Oh, there you—" He was about to pull his hand away when Malfoy grabbed his wrist. "What?"
"Did you hear that?"
"No," said Harry. He held himself still, but he could hear nothing but his own breathing. There was a faint rustle as Malfoy moved closer, his heartbeat speeding up; Harry's arm bent as the distance between them shortened.
"I think there's someone else down here," Malfoy whispered in his ear. And then he did something else.
"Did you just ... kiss my neck?" asked Harry, wondering if the lack of light was playing tricks on the rest of his senses. He couldn't believe he had just asked that. Of course he hadn't. Just because Malfoy was gay didn't mean—
"No. If I had kissed your neck, it would have felt like this."
Before Harry could move, he felt warm, wet lips against his neck, and then the delicate tip of a tongue moving slowly along his skin. His breath caught and he grabbed at the fabric of Malfoy's shirt. "Oh," he said. He felt his cock swelling against his trousers. What was going on? He was frozen in place by the mouth at his neck, which was opening ever wider and biting him —gently at first, and then not so gently.
The hand fell from Harry's wrist. He had half a second to wonder where it was going before he felt it rub firmly against the front of his trousers. Any other time and any other place, he knew he would have pushed Malfoy away, but in the absence of light, nothing seemed quite real, so he did what he would have done in any dream where someone touched his cock: he moaned and moved his hips, toward friction and pleasure. Malfoy shifted, pushing Harry's hand off of his chest, aligning their bodies so that Harry could feel that Malfoy was hard too. Malfoy's hands came around and gripped Harry's arse, pulling him forward. Harry did the same, then moved his hips again; the skin of his cock rubbed against his trousers, which rubbed against Malfoy's trousers, which presumably rubbed against Malfoy's cock, because he made a little gasping noise and moved his own hips, his breath hot near Harry's mouth. Harry moaned and moved again, with the same result. Hips. Cock. Trousers. And on to Malfoy in reverse order, who passed it back to him again. It was like a glorious palindrome of movement, repeating itself over and over, getting better and faster the more they ran through it until it all became a blur of friction and heat.
One of them —Harry thought it might have been him—inched his head forward, and their lips met, and they were kissing as if they were dying of thirst and their mouths were filled with water. Harry felt a rush of pleasure, and knew he was close. He threw back his head and opened his eyes; he saw little bursts of colour everywhere around him, bright against the blackness. There was nobody in front of him or next to him or behind him. Even he didn't exist. His movement became more erratic as he thrust again and again until the flood of ecstasy overtook him.
"Oh," whimpered Malfoy, pushing hard against him one last time before going still. They stood like that for a little while, their bodies cooling and breath slowing. Malfoy laughed, and Harry let go and backed away. What had he just done?
He turned and lit his wand, careful not to look back as he ran past the rows of dead Malfoys, lest he see the live one and make what had just happened into something real.
Harry was afraid to look at Ginny the next morning—afraid she would take one look at him and know what had happened. When he sat down in his chair, he felt the pressure of Malfoy's hands, and when he took a bite of toast, he felt Malfoy's lips and tongue. What must be in his eyes?
"Big day today," said Arthur. "Are you ready?"
"I am," lied Harry.
Narcissa Malfoy's trial was over quickly. There were no witnesses that had seen her actually doing anything illegal, and once Harry got on the stand and explained how she had saved his life, Shaw called for a vote.
Harry had picked up the pattern by now: every time a piece of evidence was presented that Shaw considered irrefutable proof of guilt or innocence, he would end the testimony and begin the voting. It didn't seem fair, but so far, it had produced what Harry considered to be fair outcomes. Still, he wondered if it was something that should be changed, before it caused an innocent to be unjustly punished. He thought of Sirius and felt a flash of guilt. He would try to change that once he became an Auror.
Narcissa smiled at him as she was released, but Harry kept his face impassive, hoping to deter her from speaking to him. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth, he would accidentally say, "I made out with your son in your family crypt last night." It seemed likely, seeing as how he couldn't stop thinking about it.
It worked; she walked away, stepping through the gate that separated the spectators' gallery from the rest of the courtroom. Soon after she took a seat in the front row, Shaw called for order. Draco Malfoy's trial was about to begin.
Harry had expected Malfoy to look scared, but he seemed strangely calm as he was led to his seat. An Auror ran through the facts of the case, explaining how Draco was known to be a member of Voldemort's followers, and had been seen with the Death Eaters on numerous occasions. Shaw asked for the witness list and read it over, frowning. Harry knew that he was listed there, along with Ron and Hermione and several others.
"Mr Potter," he said, "please step forward." Harry did, his gaze flickering back and forth between Malfoy and Shaw. "Mr Potter, would you say that you are well acquainted with Draco Malfoy?"
"Um. I wouldn't say well, sir," said Harry, feeling colour rise to his cheeks. He was sure that Malfoy must be suppressing a smirk. "But I do know him. We were in school together, and ... I've spoken with him a few times more recently."
"I see. In your opinion, Mr Potter, was Draco Malfoy a member of Voldemort's Death Eaters?"
"Well," said Harry, his mind racing, "that's a good question." He thought about how Malfoy had been over the last seven years, and also over the last seven weeks. "I believe that when he was younger, Draco Malfoy wanted to be a Death Eater. But once he got older, and saw what they really were, he ... didn't. But by then it was too late, and ... he'd already chosen sides, I guess."
Shaw pursed his lips. "And in your estimation, is the defendant a threat to others, be they Wizard or Muggle?"
Malfoy was finally showing some signs of fear. His eyes were wide and his lips were parted; he was panting slightly.
"No, sir, I don't believe he is," said Harry, staring at Malfoys lips. Malfoy closed his eyes and slumped forward.
"Thank you, Mr Potter." Shaw banged his gavel. "All in favour of acquittal, raise your hands." Harry looked around in surprise. That was all he was going to ask? How could he end testimony already?
"Wait, I don't think—" began Harry, but it was too late.
In the gallery, Narcissa Malfoy wept as her son was set free.
That night was a sombre one in the Weasley household. Harry had the horrible feeling that somehow, it was all his fault. Surely if he had given better testimony, this wouldn't have happened.
Arthur was sitting at the kitchen table with a large bottle of Firewhisky in front of him. "He had escaped from Azkaban. He should have simply been sent back there, not arrested and tried again."
"But, Fudge might have unfairly influenced the Wizengamot to get his previous conviction," said Hermione. "So it was only fair to try him again."
Arthur was quiet for a few seconds. "Yes," he said, his mouth twisting. "That is fair." He banged his fist on the table. "But how the hell did Lucius Malfoy not get convicted a second time? He's still the same man."
Harry had told the Wizengamot that Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater, and that Voldemort had called him his specialist in Muggle torture. He had told them that Lucius once attacked a group of students at the Ministry of Magic. Finally, he told them that Lucius had been with Voldemort when Harry was captured and taken to Malfoy Manor.
Lucius had said he had only been at Voldemort's side out of fear for his life. And he didn't love Muggles, he said, but he certainly had never tortured them.
The Wizengamot had freed him by a narrow margin. But they had freed him nonetheless. Harry didn't understand why Shaw hadn't stopped the testimony earlier, like he had with all the others. Something wasn't right.
"And what about Draco Malfoy?" asked Ginny. "Where's your outrage over that? Or has Harry brainwashed you all into believing he's innocent?"
Harry shook his head. "Ginny, I ... I never said he was innocent. I never expected him to be freed outright. I thought maybe he'd just serve ... maybe a few years or something."
"You told them he wasn't a danger to society!"
"That's because I don't think he is," said Harry. "But I didn't mean he shouldn't be punished for what he did."
"Well, then you should have lied." Ginny stood and stomped out of the room.
On their first night of freedom, Draco's mother ordered the house-elves to make a sumptuous feast. They covered the dining table with enough food to feed two dozen people. Draco spent most of the meal staring at his parents, unable to believe they were all actually here.
"Ah, so much food," said Lucius, smiling and wiping away crumbs of chocolate soufflé. "I'll have to check the books to see if we can still afford these kinds of luxuries. I'm sure your efforts came close to bankrupting us." He laughed, seeming to find the very idea hilarious, and Narcissa joined in.
"What are you talking about?" asked Draco.
"Darling, it's none of your concern," said Narcissa.
"I'm eighteen. I'm an adult, Mother. I demand that you tell me."
His mother smiled; Draco was sure she would have ruffled his hair had she been close enough to do so. "I suppose you're right. It is important for you to begin to understand how things work. Someday you will be head of the Malfoy family." She paused and took another sip of wine. "You see, I had to send a great deal of money to many of the Wizengamot members in order to make sure that justice was served."
"You bribed them?"
"Now, Draco," said Lucius. "Let's not use that word. The money simply made them see that keeping the Malfoys free was in their best interest."
"I see." Draco was suddenly very annoyed. "Did these payments apply to all of our trials, or just Father's?"
Narcissa covered her hand with her mouth, poorly hiding her smile. "I knew he would scold me for this," she said to Lucius.
"You told me I had to make friends with Potter! You said it was my only chance. You made me afraid for my life. Why didn't you tell me about the money?"
"I love you," Lucius said, gazing at his wife. "I don't think I've told you lately."
"Not in the last hour, no," she said. "I know you do." She levelled her most serious look at Draco. "Unfortunately, some people are terribly rude. They accept your gifts and then don't give you any in return. Potter was ... a backup plan. I had to be sure you would be safe. I told you, my son is not spending his life in Azkaban."
Draco had to admit it made sense. "Fine," he said. "I understand. I just wish you'd told me. I wouldn't have tried so hard."
His mother's face went white. "Well then, not telling you was the right thing to do."
Draco slouched back in his chair. She had no idea what he'd done. And she never would.
Potter arrived at the manor a few hours later, asking to see Draco, but he wouldn't come inside. Narcissa smiled from her seat by the fireplace and said Potter was a good connection to have, clearly pleased that her plan had worked so well. She told Draco to be nice.
Unfortunately, Draco didn't want to be nice—he wanted something else entirely. "What are you doing here?" he asked, stepping out the front door. Potter looked up at him, his eyes piercing, and Draco nearly turned around and went right back into the house. He could not do this. Potter looked too good. He was making Draco want to do all kinds of things, all of them completely depraved.
"I want to talk to you. In private."
Draco stepped forward and closed the door. He could do this. "There. Now we're in private." Potter shook his head.
"Come on Malfoy, you know what I mean," said Potter. He turned and walked down the side path, disappearing around the side of the house. Draco took a few slow, deep breaths before following after him.
He found Potter just past the hedge that bordered the back garden.
"I need you to tell me the truth, all right?" said Potter as soon as Draco drew near. "How did your father ... how did he not go to Azkaban?"
That was what he was here to ask about? What did you think? Draco asked himself. Did you think he was here for you? This made things much easier. "Well, you see, Potter, the way it works is the Wizengamot votes, and if more than two-thirds of them say someone is innocent, then that person doesn't go to Azkaban. It's basic maths. Would you like me to draw you a diagram?"
"I know how a quorum works, thanks. But all the evidence was against him."
Draco smiled. This was fun, knowing the answers but not telling. Stupid Potter. "It did seem to be, yes. I was pleasantly surprised by the verdict."
Potter frowned and stared at a spot near Draco's mouth. Did he have something on his face? "Right," said Potter, scuffing at his hair. "I'm sorry, of course you're happy that your father is free. I ... it just doesn't—Oh fuck," he said, and that was all the warning Draco got before he was attacked by Potter's mouth.
Draco closed his eyes and allowed the kiss to go on for a few seconds. So warm, so sweet. Then he pushed Potter away. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I don't know. I can't stop thinking about it. I hate it." Potter reached forward and grabbed the front of Draco's robes. "Let's go back to the crypt." It was more of a command than a request. Draco's cock strained forward, attempting compliance.
"Why would I want to do that?" asked Draco. Because, Draco thought, in the dark, it's almost not real. In the dark, I can believe that I'm not a deviant.
"You seemed to enjoy it last night," said Potter. He smiled almost shyly and Draco hated him. He had to kill that smile, or else he would be lost.
"I did seem to, didn't I? And look how well that worked." Sure enough, that disgustingly succulent mouth slid into a puzzled frown. Draco waited a few more seconds. Now Potter looked angry. Even better.
"Fuck you, Malfoy."
"No thanks," said Draco. "I'm not a poof, unlike you."
He should have seen it coming, but he didn't: Potter let go of his robes and punched him. Draco looked up from the ground, hand held against his jaw.
"Ginny was right," muttered Potter. He walked away, leaving Draco on the ground.
Draco stood up, fighting to stuff back down the lust and shameful feelings that he'd spent so many years keeping hidden. It was ironic that in order to get sympathy from Potter, he hadn't had to make up some elaborate story; he'd just had to tell the truth.
His hand moved from his jaw to his lips. He could still feel the heat from Potter's mouth. His cock ached, wanting Potter's touch. Maybe he could go after Potter, tell him just one more time—
No.
He pushed the thought down, locking it away with the rest of the things he needed to forget. He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys had responsibilities. Family was all that mattered.
= END =