Hey!!! Finally posted again. I know, I know, I should do it more often…. Oh well. So, here is another installment, hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter and its characters. I'm only borrowing them for my own use.
I told you this is where I belonged.
The words rang through Harry's mind as he numbly returned to the Auror Department of the Ministry of Magic. The other Aurors were happily chattering to each other, in high spirits now that the smuggling ring was on it's way to being broken. Even Ron was oblivious to the turmoil in Harry's head. He couldn't believe it.
No. That was a lie. The thing was that he could believe it.
"Harry, are you okay?" Ron asked, nudging his shoulder, finally noticing his friend's state of mind.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he responded blankly.
The other Aurors all looked back and forth between Harry and Ron looking puzzled. Usually after a successful mission they all went out to the pub and had a drink to celebrate, but at the moment it looked as it Harry had just lost his best friend. Which was improbable, seeing as Ron was standing right next to him, regarding Harry in concern.
"You were right, Ron," he finally said in defeat. "I was hoping that you weren't. But you know, I think I knew all along."
Ron patted him on the shoulder, "I dunno what you were thinking, putting any hope in that rat, Malfoy. Harry. Just forget about him. He's in for a stay in Azkaban now."
Harry sighed, "But I was going to…"
He trailed off, not knowing how to express what he was trying to explain. He needed Malfoy! But of course they weren't going to understand. He…
I was going to save him.
But if Malfoy went to Azkaban, then he wasn't going to be able to anymore. So, in order to save him, he first needed to stop him from going to Azkaban. That was a logical first step, right? He was so deep in thought, that they all arrived back at the Ministry before he'd even noticed. It was with a start he realized he was sitting at his desk with a cup of lukewarm coffee on his desk tapping a quill against it, and had been for quite some time.
This wasn't working out at all. He was a man of action, when he needed someone to help him think things through, he needed…
"Hermione?" he called through the Floo. "I need your help."
She had come over right away, of course, like a good friend always did. And Ron had been at home with her and accompanied her there. Harry smiled. He never knew what he'd done to deserve friends like them, but he must have done something right. Even Ron, who likely knew what this was all about already and disapproved of the whole thing had come over.
He wasted no words. As soon as she and Ron had settled into a couple of comfy chairs in front of the fire, cups of tea in hand, he let told her.
"I need you to represent Draco Malfoy."
He knew that if anyone could find a defense for the smuggler, it was Hermione. She had already managed to completely overturn the legal system, drawing up new legislation from werewolf rights to fair treatment of house elves. All he had to do was convince her that delivering Malfoy from Azkaban was a worthy cause.
"Harry…" she began, a tad disapprovingly.
"Hermione," he answered. "I just think that he deserves a second chance is all."
The witch sighed and rolled her eyes, "He already got that chance, remember? He already escaped prison once, even though he was a Death Eater. If he keeps doing this to himself, it's really his own fault."
"He was found innocent of all charges laid against him," Harry nodded. "And yet, you know, even though we gave him a second chance, society didn't. They hate the name Malfoy, and look where it's landed him."
"You hated Malfoy once, too, Harry," she reminded him.
"That was different," he argued. "I was just a kid then. We all were. If I, of all people, can forgive him, then why can't everyone else?"
"Not everybody's you, Harry," Ron told him.
"Besides, doesn't he have the whole Malfoy fortune?" Hermione jumped back in. "It's not as if he needs money!"
"He doesn't use it," Harry pulled at his already messy hair in frustration. "He blames himself for everything. Still, even though he was cleared. He told me he belonged in the darkness."
"Well, what if he does?" Ron asked. "Like you can stop him from doing what he wants!"
"I want to convince him otherwise," he rubbed his temple. "You didn't talk to him! He wasn't himself! He was so convinced that he was evil, and told me I didn't belong there with him. He wasn't the Draco Malfoy I remember."
"None of us are who we were before the war," Hermione reminded him.
"Yeah, but you know, you're still the loyal, brave girl who stands up for others, still so intelligent and determined to have justice. You're still Hermione. But Draco is different. He's not arrogant or convinced he's better than everyone else. He's not a proud Pureblood or any of that, no longer that cunning Slytherin we knew and hated. You might think that's a good thing, but he's not Draco Malfoy anymore, and I find that disturbing."
There was silence for a moment, but for the crackling of flames in the hearth.
"You want to save him, is that it, Harry?" Hermione shook her bushy head resignedly. Then, she looked up and smiled, "But then, you wouldn't be Harry if you didn't have your infuriating hero-complex now would you?"
And Harry smiled back, because he knew he had her convinced.
********
The holding cells in the Ministry had blank white walls and were permeated by a sterile smell that made one think of a dentist's office. The bland interior of each cell held a thin cot with a rough wool blanket folded across the end, a sink and a toilet. When Harry along with Ron and Hermione entered the cells, Draco Malfoy was lying on his back on his own generic cot with the blanket folded underneath his head. He was staring at the ceiling and didn't even turn his head when the door of his cell opened to admit his visitors.
Harry looked him over carefully. He was a tad on the thin side, but other than that seemed unharmed. He was dressed in a clean but plain prison uniform that looked ridiculous on him somehow. And his hair was splayed across the blanket as if he didn't care that what a mess it was.
"Malfoy?" he ventured hesitantly.
"What are you doing here, Potter?" the man didn't even glance at him. "And Weasley and Granger as well. Wonderful."
"We want to help you, Malfoy," he said carefully. "We were going to build a case…"
"Don't waste your time," he finally moved to wave a hand in their direction. "I am in no need of any such help that I'd receive from any of you."
"No one else will help you," Hermione spoke up.
Malfoy inclined his head in agreement, "Exactly. I do not plan to have a defense. They will send me to Azkaban regardless."
"Not if we can build you a good case," argued Hermione eagerly. "If you tell us how you ended up in the smuggling ring, I'm sure we can make a case for you."
"I'm a Death Eater, Granger!" he laughed, but it sounded oddly hollow, as if he didn't remember what a laugh was supposed to sound like. "The marks don't fade! No one will sympathize with me! I doubt they'll even listen to you."
"Oh, they'll listen alright," the girl snarled ardently. "If they don't, then I'll make sure they'll regret it for the rest of their careers."
Ron laughed, although this one was deep and real. "They're already regretting knowing you, Hermione, I doubt you can make them feel any worse!"
"Are you quite sure about that?" the girl smiled somewhat menacingly.
"Er… on the other hand," Ron squeaked out.
"I'm still a Death Eater," Malfoy repeated. "No one will want to let me off. They'll all want to believe the worst of me. Don't you?"
"No!" Harry yelled. "Stop acting like such a drama queen, Malfoy! We're not the same anymore! We want to help you, you great prat!"
"And if I don't want help?" Malfoy raised himself up on his elbows to observe his ex-rival with pale grey eyes.
"Too bad!" Harry and Hermione both growled simultaneously.
Ron grinned. "I'd just give up, Malfoy. Once they're determined to do something, nothing will sway them. Just give in."
"Why?" Malfoy asked in confusion. "Why do you want to help me?"
"Because you need it, and we're the only ones who can do it," Harry replied. "And anyway, you're not acting like Malfoy, and it's just not right."
"Such Gryffindors," sneered Malfoy eventually. "How typical."
"That's the spirit!" Harry grinned at him. "So, how bout it?"
Malfoy reached out a hand for him to shake, gazing at him steadily with those cold grey eyes. Solemnly, he took it and shook it.
Malfoy rolled his eyes, "It only took you eight years, Potter!"
Harry suddenly remembered being presented with a similar delicate pale hand to shake at the age of eleven, and refusing it.
"What can I say?" he grinned. "I'm a bit slow sometimes."
"So you'll accept our help?" Hermione asked seriously.
Malfoy nodded, "Yes."
"Well, first things first," Harry said with a smile. "My name's Harry."
Not too cheesy or anything, was it? Please say it was okay!!!!