"This way, Mr. Potter, Sir."
Harry looked around, seeing the familiar hallways of the Ministry of Magic in a light he'd never seen them before. The walls were smooth, but instead of being clean and expensive, they felt slick and dirty, a combination of all the hands he imagined had run along them, just as his were. The lights were too bright, starkly luminescent things that could see right through him, straight to his soul and beyond. He couldn't imagine they would enjoy what they found there.
The floor was dirty. He couldn't see it, but he knew the filth was there by the way his shoes seemed to hesitant before lifting for another step forward.
He knew the man in front of him, had taught him everything he knew. Some of his students had turned out like this one, working dogs for the Ministry, giving up their individuality to provide mundane services for the higher-ups. Others had become field aurors, working to repair both the visible and the perceived damage caused from the lengthy battle with Voldemort.
Still others hadn't even made it through.
He couldn't help but wish that he hadn't trained them at all. Maybe then, had they not learned how to fight, they would have had a better chance of coming out alive.
Too many needless sacrifices had been made, in his opinion. Too many innocent deaths. Sometimes he thought the Voldemort might have won after all, with everything that they'd lost. Win the battle, lose the war.
His name was Hunter Kingston. He'd been a fourth year in Hufflepuff when Harry had graduated. His dark brown hair was cropped closely to his head in the typical style worn by aurors that were still completing their internship, and if Harry remembered correctly, his brown eyes had once been kind.
The time for kind eyes had long since passed for all of them.
Hunter came upon a door, whose lock he opened with an unlocking spell and replaced just as quickly once they entered the new hallway. This one was dimmer, murkier, somehow drearier. It had the feeling of a place that had never been gifted with the promise of hope. Harry didn't need to pretend there was a feeling of desolation here, it was present all on its own.
Their shoes slapped along the tiled floors, echoing loudly in the otherwise silent hall.
"Hunter." He reached forwards, placing his hand on his student's shoulder.
"Yes, Sir?"
Harry took a deep breath, steadying himself against the onslaught of pure, unadulterated panic that shot through his body at his thoughts.
"Did they tell you what date the trial is set for?"
With a shake of his head, Hunter answered with a brief smile, one designed not for geniality but for politeness.
"No, Sir. That wouldn't be the kind of thing I'd need to know. I doubt the prisoner will be able to tell you, but you can ask on the way out if you'd like. They have it all in the system already, I'm sure."
At Harry's command, they continued walking.
He didn't know what he was doing there, really. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could possibly hope to accomplish by his visit. Perhaps, he thought, it was a manifestation of his subtle masochistic nature that he was sure was hiding somewhere inside him.
After all, one didn't rip open old wounds just for the fun of it. Some part of themselves must enjoy the pain.
Harry brought his hand up to rub at the scar that had made him famous, so many years ago. I ached sometimes, with the shadow of the hatred that had wrought it, as if to remind him of the things he had suffered. Like there was the slightest chance he might ever forget.
He was The Boy Who Lived, carved into the textbooks as the savior of the wizarding world, his name next the Dumbledore and his defeat of Grindelwald. He would never be away from that fact. And even in the years that would come, when the people would grow tired of praising him, that name would stay with him. They would never let him die.
They turned a corner, revealing a row of doors.
Hunter stopped at the third one down.
It was covered in blue lines, marking that a spell held it shut. Without the right knowledge, alarms would be activated, and other measures could be taken. Hunter had never been told what these were, but he knew they were there. That was just how the Ministry worked.
He turned to Harry, nodding politely before he opened the door.
Stepping into the room, Harry could feel the same amount of desolation that had filled the hallway. It was a cell. Even though there were no bars, no dripping water or nasty smells, it was still a cell. And there, laying on the barren mattress, hands folded across his stomach, sat Draco Malfoy.
"Leave us, Hunter," Harry said with a sharp glance.
"But, Sir, it's against Ministry policy to have-" He wasn't permitted to finish his sentence. Harry's eyes told him that it was a waste of breath.
"I said, leave us," he ground out.
He didn't even bother to turn when he heard the click of a lock.
His eyes were trained on the body lain upon the bed. Draco's hair was cut short in accordance with the Ministry rules, and he wasn't wearing robes. Wizards were stripped of that luxury the moment they came to that place. Instead, he had on a pair of simple pants and a t-shirt. He didn't look like a condemned man. However, just because he didn't look it didn't mean that wasn't exactly what he was.
Harry slowly walked towards the bed, settling himself on the edge of it and turning his face away.
"I don't know how to get you out of this one, Draco." His tone was quiet, sad, regretful.
"I shouldn't expect you to," Draco replied, with a voice as devoid of emotion as Harry's had been full of feeling.
"But you did. You always thought that, no matter what you did, your connection to me would be enough to keep you above the law. I'm sorry, Draco, but it's not. Not this time."
He ran his hands through his hair roughly, making it stick up rather comically.
"Whether I expect it or not isn't something you can change. Don't blame yourself for not fulfilling the expectations of others. The only person you should care about satisfying is yourself. If everyone stuck to that, no one would ever feel disappointment."
"Yet, people always seem to be disappointed, don't they?"
They both sighed, and Draco moved closer to The Boy Who Lived on the bed, moving his booted foot from the blanket to the floor. Reaching out his hand, he placed it on Harry's shoulder, gently stroking his thumb back and forth.
"It's like you wanted to give yourself up, like you wanted them to catch you. Why'd you do it, Draco? Has your life with me really become so terrible?"
Harry tipped his head forward into his hands, pressing his palms gently into his eyes.
"Of course not, Harry. I love you. But, you hear about it all the time, about people who can't let go, who can't move on. You might be able to adjust to a life without Voldemort, but I've found that I can't. He's always been there, Harry, a constant in my life. Without him, my life would have been nothing. Now that he's gone, what does that leave me with? I held no love for The Dark Lord, he has never been anything other than a thorn in my side, a chain around my feet, but he was there."
Draco looked up to see Harry's eyes staring back at him in despair, and not a small amount of disbelief.
"What about me, Draco? When have I ever not been there? These last few years we've never been apart! You say you love me, but if that's true, then how could you do this to me? For God's sake, Draco, you're the only person that's left for me here...without you there's nothing...please don't do this..."
Smiling gently and laying back down on the bed, Draco folded his hands on his chest.
"It doesn't matter, now. It's done. I'm in here, you're out there, and neither of us have a way to reversing that. It's the Kiss for me this time, Harry. You know that. Nothing but the worst for a Death Eater."
Neither of them had anything to say to that, both knowing that the statement held nothing but truth, and one of them absolutely hating that fact.
"Do you know what they say it's like?" Draco whispered. Harry looked up with questioning eyes. "They say that, in the end, you welcome it. They say that the Dementor's Kiss isn't really the kiss of death, but the kiss of mercy, of ending a life that was tortured and broken. It's sweet and easy, painless and perfect. It gently takes life away, like one final, empty breath. Anyone in their right mind would succumb to that, if life promised nothing better."
Harry's fingers curled into a fist, his nails marking his skin. Suddenly, he stood up, whirling around to face Draco.
"Goddamnit, Draco, I would have promised you everything! Had you asked for something, anything, it would have been yours before you finished the sentence. If you wanted me to leave you, I would have gone in a heartbeat. If you wanted the moon, you'd have it in your hands." Harry's last words sounded frustrated, and his voice cracked rather severely.
"You'd give me anything I ever wanted?"
"Anything."
At Draco's next words, Harry's heart broke a little more than he'd thought it could.
"I want you to save me from this place," he said bitterly.
Tears sprang to Harry's eyes, and he wiped them away, the gesture full of anger.
"Fine, Draco. Rot away in some cell for the rest of your life. If that's what you want, there's nothing I can do. I've outlived my usefulness, it seems." He walked over to the door, rapping his fist against it twice to signal to Hunter. When Draco softly said his name, he stiffened, but refused to turn.
"I'll be ok. Wait for tomorrow. You'll be alright. You always deserved better, anyway. I'm sure the loss of one small, insignificant Death Eater won't slow you down."
Hunter opened the door in time to see Harry's eyes clench shut against the onslaught of tears, and looked at his old teacher worriedly.
"Are you alright, Sir?"
"Yes, Hunter, I'm fine. Goodbye Draco."
Draco uttered one last "Goodbye, Harry," before the door slammed shut behind them, and Draco Malfoy was gone.
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A/N: I hope you liked it! As of right now, this is a one-shot, but I might continue it if anyone shows interest. Anyway, thanks for reading and don't forget to leave a review!