Disclaimer: I do not own the world of Harry Potter or anything you recognise - never have, and never will. All credits go to the one and only J.K. Rowling, whose tale of a young boy wizard has inspired so many around the world, and who has so graciously allowed us fans to further explore the amazing world she created write our own dreams to life.

Note: This story below is AU and does not follow the later aspects of DH canon. There is no slash, no overly coarse language or explicit themes in this story. However, it will explore certain dark themes and deal will some complicated issues. I have not written much of this story, however, I hope you'll have as much fun reading this story as I have writing it. Reviews, favourites and follows are always appreciated! :)

Summary: The choice Harry Potter made in the Forbidden Forest the night of the Battle of Hogwarts severely altered the course of his life and the course of Wizarding Britain. The Boy Who Lived never defeated Voldemort, but rather, for reasons unknown to anyone but himself and the Dark Lord, Harry Potter joined Voldemort's forces. Thus, the war has never been won - battles of all scale are constantly being fought and the plannings of both sides never cease. Now, three years later, Auror Draco Malfoy is called upon to handle the interrogation of one Harry Potter, the most infamous Death Eater. What will come about of this encounter? Can Draco discover the reasons behind the turn and heal Harry's haunted soul?

Chapter 1: The Missive

'Lightning has struck the building.'

With widened eyes, Donovan Teneriff surveyed the coded notification that had referred itself to his sparsely decorated, Ministry allocated office. The parchment contained a single line, and to the Head Auror of the Specialist Depletion Unit, the message was concise and unmistakable. Harry Potter, the most ruthless and notorious follower of He Who Must Not Be Named, had been taken into custody, and if the missive was indeed genuine, he was currently held in a maximum-security interrogation cell deep within the bowels of the Ministry. Contemplating the significance of the news, Teneriff allowed himself a moment of immense relief, seeking solace in the fact that the meticulously planned, cold-blooded murders of Muggleborns and the brutal, immoral attacks on the members of the Order of the Phoenix, would if not cease, decrease in number; and desperately hoped that the oppressing fear and darkness that had permeated Wizarding Britain since Potter had joined the Dark Lord's forces would loosen its hold on the warring community.

But for all the Auror was, and of all that he wished for, Donovan Teneriff was not a fool, and he knew that severe ramifications were bound to follow. A shiver went down his spine at the thought of Voldemort personally releasing his right-hand man from the clutches of the 'light', and he immediately flung that image out of his mind. There was no good in dwelling on possibilities. The present was all that mattered, and with Potter's arrest, there were urgent matters that needed attending to. The entirety of the high-priority case now fell to him and his department, and there was only one wizard whom Donovan trusted to handle the responsibilities properly.

The Auror reached for the wand holstered in the right sleeve of his deep red robes; the wand that had felled so many in the three years he had been Head. With a simple flick of his left wrist, contrasting distinctly with the complex wand movements of a duel, Donovan composed a memo. Another flick and it vanished, no doubt materialising at the nearly-identical wooden desk several doors down the hall. Donovan stowed his wand back in his sleeve and leaned back in his chair, a hand raised to knead the ever-present tension away from his neck. A smile, the first in as many weeks, settled on his face as he comprehended the reality of the situation. Donovan knew from experience that the response to his memo would arrive soon enough, and now all the aged Auror had to do was wait.

...

Although he tried his best to hide it, Draco Malfoy was exhausted. The constant combat had worn him down, and every life that he took at the point of his wand reminded him of the boy he once was. The nightmare of the broken man he might have been had he followed in his father's mistake-ridden path haunted him relentlessly and rendered him sleepless. Draco was weary of the hostilities and mistrust from the wizarding society at large, merely because the one wrong choice he'd made in a phase of foolishness and naivety was forever branded on his arm. He was tired of the ceaseless threats on his life and on the lives of the people he had learned to care for. Draco Malfoy, the youngest Auror of the SDU, just wanted the war to end.

Sometimes, Draco wished that he'd been slain along with his parents. Unlike the living, the dead were free. The platinum-blond Auror closed his troubled grey eyes and sighed. Running a hand through his already dishevelled hair, Draco reached for the framed photograph resting among the stacks of paperwork on his plain wooden desk. He gazed wistfully at the three robed figures moving within the confines of the picture and brushed a calloused thumb over the woman's fingers, as though by doing so, he could somehow reach past the dimensional barrier and grasp his mother's own hand. Oh, how Draco wished for that to be true. More than he missed the peace and privilege of his younger years, and the happiness that he'd imprudently taken for granted, Draco hungered for the chance to see his parents again.

The death, or rather, murder of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy mere weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts had hit their lone heir hard, serving as the driving force for Draco to register himself for the then largely understaffed Auror Corps. And thus, it was in the memories of his speedy, yet thoroughly unexpected acceptance into the Auror Training Program, and the reminiscences of his rushed and considerably condensed three-month training course that had Draco absorbed when the missive appeared before him.

Draco blinked, rather surprised that a note had come for him. It had been a while since he'd received any special parchment slips. Usually, he responded to a direct department alarm that sent him and his partner Apparating to a specific scene. Anxious and unsure, Draco hastily unfolded the note and skimmed over the words.

'Sparks, I'm waiting in my office. Kingpin.'

Draco rolled his eyes at the ridiculous nickname the team had coined for him. Just because the first spell he'd cast as a fully-fledged Auror hadn't worked out as well as it was meant to… But beneath the joking overtone, Draco detected a hint of something else within the few words, and his eye roll turned into a furrowed brow. What could possibly have happened that requires my attention? And why couldn't Kingpin have come here himself, like always? Although apprehensive, the unspoken notes within the message had piqued Draco's curiosity, and he vacated his seat, heading for the unadorned door that led into the passageway beyond.

No more than fifteen strides later, Draco paused outside the door marked with a copper plaque that read: D. Teneriff. He straightened his robes then tapped his wand to the door to signify his presence. Draco heard a muffled 'come in' from the other side of the entrance, and he pushed open the door.

Without raising his head to greet his subordinate, Donovan Teneriff spoke.

"Nice to see you, Sparks. Much calmer this time, I see."

"Would it kill you to use my birth name for once? And that was three years ago. Three years. If I'd known all you wanted was an inane cup of Earl Grey…" Draco trailed off, an invisible eye roll present in his reply. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "Sir."

Donovan pulled his attention away from the sheet of parchment that had been subject to his analysis and waved away the formality.

"I've told you, Sparks. There's no need for such titles in this department. We all know you're one of the best Aurors that SDU has, and on par with Weasley and Longbottom, I'd say. My position will be yours sooner or later, and when the team starts addressing you as 'sir', I'll bet you ten galleons you'll rather they not."

Draco shifted, still slightly uncomfortable with rather straightforward compliments even three years in.

"Thank you, but no. With all the paperwork your role entails, the Dark Lord himself would have to possess me before I'd willingly take your post. It certainly makes me wonder how lowly you'd been before that the offer was too sound to turn away."

Donovan smiled, familiar with Draco's mannerisms. Every time Draco felt awkward, he became insulting. In all honesty, it was fairly amusing, now that he thought about it, although it hadn't been quite so when Draco had first been assigned to their unit.

"Ah, Sparks, do you remember your first day here?"

The Head of the SDU grinned, chuckling when Draco scowled.

"You'd just met your partner. Jem had congratulated you on graduating top of your class and told you that his abilities could never compare to yours. If I remember correctly, your reply was: 'Of course not. With your mother's muggleborn blood running through your veins, you'll obviously never compare to me.', but with a rather more vulgar term."

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

"Honestly, Kingpin. The stunner Jem fired at me had quite an effect, and I don't want to be reminded of it. If this was what you summoned me for, I'd rather return to moping, thanks."

Donovan's smile faded away and his expression turned serious. He gestured towards the only remaining chair in the office and waited for Draco to take the seat.

"No, Draco. We have an arrest."

Donovan leaned back and held his fellow Auror's searching gaze, letting the use of Draco's real name convey the seriousness of the situation.

"Yaxley?"

Donovan shook his head.

"Rookwood?"

Again, another shake of the head.

"Macnair?"

"No."

"Who?"

"Harry Potter."

The name was met with stunned silence. Draco's jaw dropped, both pale eyebrows raised. For just a second, the veil that had covered the young Auror's eyes was removed, and before the veil fell back into place, Donovan saw depthless emotion swirling within them. With a sharp intake of breath, Draco spoke.

"You can't be serious. Potter?"

"Why would I kid you, Sparks?"

"Potter. Sweet Merlin. Harry bloody Potter. How did they get him?"

"I've yet to be clued in. The note didn't mention details. Draco, I need you to –"

"No. You can't expect me to handle this one. I'm not doing it and neither is Jem. Get Crowley and Roland to take it."

"Draco."

"Potter killed my parents!"

"The Fatality Investigative Service never found any evidence to truly incriminate him, and you know that."

"His magical signature was everywhere. Who else could it have been?"

"You-Know-Who travels everywhere with Potter. Could it not have been the Dark Lord himself?"

Draco scoffed, although he knew the probability of that circumstance, one that he'd been trying to picture for the better part of a year.

"Draco, you and Jem are the only suitable Aurors. Although I completely trust the others with my life, they're not cut out for this case."

Draco recognised the truth of the statement. Amanda Roland and Hermes Crowley could take down a mass of Death Eaters singlehandedly, but they were too terrified of Potter's name and would not last a minute in his presence. Edrick Schnyder, Quentin Herbert and Castelina Salvens sympathised, to an extent, with Potter, and there was a distinct possibility that they would hesitate in the crucial moments and botch the entire process up. Still, Draco refused to accept the fact that there was no other candidate to turn to.

"Have I not told you about my school days, Donovan? We hated each other. Slytherins and Gryffindors don't mix."

"Have you forgotten, Sparks? Your partner, Jermaine Lestrade, was a Gryffindor. You work perfectly well together, don't you?"

"You know what I mean."

Donovan didn't deign Draco's comment with an answer. He steepled his fingers and rested his chin atop them, unblinkingly scrutinising the Auror sitting across from him. Draco knew in the instant that he caught the grave look in Donovan's eyes that he had lost – Donovan was correct in pointing out that no concrete evidence had been discovered to pinpoint Potter as his parents' murderer, and Draco had slowly learned to let go of the hate and grief; the childish rivalry of his Hogwarts days had long since dissipated, and had been replaced by far more substantial matters. Avoiding his elder's eyes, Draco groaned, reluctant to admit defeat.

"Fine," Draco bit out, and rose to his feet.

"Excellent. Let's clue your partner in, then, shall we?"

Donovan stood and crossed over to his younger colleague, clasping him on the shoulder. Draco gave a short nod in response, and the two men, with Draco leading the way, departed the office.