Title: Buttons
Genre: Slash, drabble, angst
Summary: After the war, Harry finds Draco Malfoy… in need of his help. A drabble written for Mugglegirl.
A/N: I am not a native speaker and this is not beta-read. Feedback is more than welcome.
Buttons
It took the Aurors months to find Malfoy.
They informed Harry as soon as he was spotted in the Muggle area of London. They pointed him to a small, abandoned house, and upon Harry's request, withdrew, leaving him alone to face the dark interiors and the fugitive within. There wasn't much that would be denied him, now that he'd saved the world for good.
Harry entered the hall silently, his wand drawn. He stood immobile, and listened.
There were some noises in the cellar, something like quiet cries.
He descended the stairs, and the noises grew louder. Now he was almost sure it was someone crying. Let it be Malfoy, he thought.
He saw an open door, his eyes already getting used to the dim light and, cautiously, he entered. It indeed was Draco inside; he was sitting with his back to Harry; he was naed from waist up, and his shoulders were shaking.
"Get it over with, will you?" he choked out, in between sobs. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."
"Malfoy?" Harry asked, his voice steady and sure. "I'm not here to- to kill you. I'm here to arrest you."
The boy turned so that he was now facing Harry. His eyes were red and puffy, and his face was even more gaunt than Harry remembered. He looked like he hadn't eaten in a week.
And one of his hands was neatly chopped off at the elbow.
"Malfoy!"
"Do you hate me that much, Potter? So much that you can't even kill me? I'd rather die than go to Azkaban."
"Who cut off your hand?"
"I did. There was something on it that I didn't want."
"Malfoy, I… That is, you… You're not going to go to Azkaban. There are witnesses to testify on your account. I am quite sure you'll be acquitted from any accusations, you ran away from Voldemort-"
Draco flinched at the name, but Harry continued, "immediately after that night… when the Headmaster died…"
Malfoy looked ready to cry again, and Harry came closer to him, almost close enough to touch one of those pale, thin shoulders. Harry felt a weird source of protectiveness.
"You will be okay. I promise."
"Don't pity me."
"I don't. I've just had enough hatred and anger and killing and maiming to last me a lifetime. I'd rather do something different now."
Malfoy glanced at Harry, uncertainly, and then he reached for a grayish shirt lying next to him on the bed. His voice shook just a little when he asked:
"In that case, how about you help me with these buttons?"