Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.
Written for auction prompt - Distracted.
Word Count - 558
By The Tattoo On His Arm
"Harry Potter is dead!"
The words rang in Draco's ears, drowning out the rest of the noise around him. He froze, only moving when he was forced forwards by the crowds of people pushing outside to see for themselves.
Potter, dead.
Draco didn't know what to think. He'd been so sure that Potter would do it, would free him from the constant terror he lived in.
Fear that the slightest wrong move or mistake would lead to his parents being tortured and killed.
Fear that he himself would be tortured or killed from some imagined slight.
He'd been counting on Potter winning, because at this point even Azkaban would be better than living in any kind of proximity to the Dark Lord.
Draco's insides felt simultaneously like stone and like jelly. He didn't know how long he'd be able to support himself, but as the Dark Lord pontificated his greatness, and Longbottom chose the worst moment possible to challenge him, Draco felt the passing of each and every second.
Distracted for a moment by the horror of what was happening in front of him, Draco didn't notice Potter dropping for Hagrid's arms.
Gasps rang out, confusing Draco, and then he saw the look of utter fury on the Dark Lord's face, and a flash of messy jet black hair, and he knew.
Draco knew with certainty how this was going to end.
Potter would win.
Draco would be free.
Even the chains of Azkaban would be a freedom compared to the grasp the Dark Lord had upon him, by the tattoo on his arm.
…
"You're not going to Azkaban."
Draco blinked. He'd been sitting on the crumbled steps outside of Hogwarts, watching the sun rise over the forest. Looking up, he saw Potter standing beside him, still wearing the torn and bloody clothes he'd been wearing when he cast that final spell to the end the Dark Lord.
"That's not really for you to say, is it, Potter?"
Harry shrugged, sitting down beside him. "You've always been my flip side. A kid thrown into a war he had no business being in. Voldemort threatened your family. I can't say I'd have done any different to what you did, but you're no murderer, Draco."
"How would you know that?"
"I was there. When you had Dumbledore on top of the tower, you weren't going to kill him. You'd lowered your wand, I saw it."
Draco sighed. "That was a year ago. How do you know what's happened since then?"
He turned to see Potter smile slightly. "What do you want to do with your life, Draco?"
Draco stared. "I. I wanted to be a healer. Before… well. Before."
Potter's smile widened. "You'll be okay, Draco."
…
"You've got to keep saving me, Potter. You're going to give me a complex. How many times do I owe you now?"
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "You don't owe me anything except to go and live your life. Become a healer, make something of yourself that isn't attached to your father. It's time to move forward, and honestly? That's all any of us can want now."
Draco nodded thoughtfully. "See you around?"
Grinning, Harry held his hand out for Draco to shake.
"I should ignore that hand," Draco muttered, even as he took it, shaking it firmly.
"See you around, Draco."