Give Me Wings to Fly With

Summary: Having Harry Potter locked up as a dangerous beast, the Ministry shows no signs of gratitude for the Defeater of Voldemort. Until there is a new threat to be considered...

Warnings: Violence (perhaps even some gore), Cursing, Established Relationship (HPDM), Character Death

Disclaimer: Not mine but Rowling's.

A/N: Beta'd by Cam, as talented as ever. Thanks for the reviews!

Chapter X – Understanding the Misfits

"No-one found the wolf?"

Kingsley, sitting on the other side of the kitchen table, shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. He vanished before any Aurors could appear on the scene." His dark eyes flickered towards Harry who sat on his stool slightly slumped, one wing crooked. As if that wasn't enough, he also held his hand gingerly, resting it on the table. "Harry, are you sure you're okay? From what I heard, you took quite a hard beating."

Harry gave a faint scowl, his face bearing the signs of fatigue. Draco put an arm around his waist, careful not to touch the damaged feathers. He's too stubborn for his own good. Snape had delivered them a bunch of healing potions that were stronger than average and in his note that had accompanied the box of potions he had ordered Harry to rest for the potions to be most effective. But Harry, being Harry, had insisted they deal with the meeting with Kingsley before he would "take that bloody nap".

"Just a little tired," Harry said frivolously. "Nothing to worry about."

For Merlin's sake, nothing to worry about? Your arm and wing were nearly ripped off by a werewolf, Draco wanted to scream, but he just took a deep breath and kept silent. Judging from the bright flash in Hermione's eyes, she completely agreed with him. Hermione and Ron had Flooed in immediately after having heard from the incident, pale-faced and fretting. Apparently, one the twins had contacted them and vaguely told about how Harry had fought off a werewolf in front of their store. Needless to say, they had been worried to death.

"Were there any distinctive marking on either the wolf or the man himself?" Kingsley asked, a quill at the ready, hovering above his notebook.

Harry rubbed his eyes and Draco knew that despite his brave front, Harry was tired and irritated, probably in pain, as well. "The wolf was big, bigger than Remus," he started, his eyes staring at the wall above Kingsley's head. "It was light brown with a darker snout. Some dark brown streaks were on its sides and on its paws." He shrugged. "Nothing special about it, I'm afraid. The man, once the wolf transformed, was a beefy guy. Lots of scars. Short, dirty blond hair and golden, kind of yellow eyes."

Ron's face was scrunched up in thought. "The more time a werewolf spends in their wolf form, the more yellow the eyes are, right?"

"Or more specifically, the more he gives in to the wolf's nature," Hermione corrected. "That's why Remus' eyes are just amber. He has embraced the wolf in him but his self-control has pretty much uprooted the bloodlust a turned werewolf naturally possesses."

Kingsley gave a grave nod, not looking up from his note-taking. "Any werewolf-supporter of Nott would be quite unlike Remus, I imagine." He tapped his quill against the paper. "And the man, you've never seen him before?"

"Never," Harry confirmed.

"There's nothing that makes him stand apart from others?"

"Well." Harry wrinkled his nose, disgruntled. "He was strong and knew how to hurt me the best. Obviously, Nott has been taking notice of me." A look of extreme distaste shadowed his face. "He seemed very intelligent."

Ron snorted contemptuously. "Can't be that clever if he sides with Nott."

"He's just desperate for acceptance," Harry said, sounding weary. "He's a werewolf, Ron. You know how hard the society is on werewolves." He gave a sad shake of his head. "Remus is extremely lucky to be in the situation where he is now – with a roof on top of his head and enough money in his vault to live comfortably."

"I think that 'luck' is called 'Harry Potter," Draco gently murmured. After all, it was Harry's old house Remus inhabited now and it was the money from the Black vaults, inherited by Harry, that kept his account well-balanced. Remus had tried to recline everything, vigorously claiming it was he who should take care of Harry and not the other way around, but Harry had insisted. Quite hard. That night had produced its fair share of screaming, crying and, eventually, hugging, but Harry had prevailed in the end.

Harry shot him a quick smile. Draco noticed he was absent-mindedly twisting the promise bracelet he wore, slender fingers running over the smooth silver surface.

"And it's not like I'm defending him," Harry added when Ron frowned in confusion. "I'm just saying I understand the reasons behind his decision to join a person like Nott and his quest. The prosecution of the ones that differ from the main population... It's not easy, to live like that. Some may accept the situation as it is or hide the rest of their lives, but some, like that man, want something drastic to be done. Their cause is a good one, basically, even if their methods aren't."

Draco knew what Harry was talking about with painful clarity. Even though his own blood was as pure as it got, his surname still, even after so many years, raised suspicious glances and frowns of disapproval. In some people's eyes, he would remain the son of a Death Eater for as long as he would live.

The magical world is very old-fashioned, in a way. Differences aren't tolerated, past is never forgotten. Though, Draco mused, the Muggles, too, are quite alike in that area, from what I've heard.

"Wise words," Kingsley said approvingly and looked up. "Know thy enemy, as they say. Indeed, violence is never the answer, even in a case like this."

Ron's expression took a resigned look and he half-shrugged, indicating that he understood but didn't really agree. Harry locked eyes with him for a brief moment and Draco could see they were communicating silently, something passing from the green eyes to the blue ones. Ron's left eye twitched and then he heaved a sigh, nodding. He didn't look overly happy but satisfied all the same, even though the other corner of his mouth was still downwards curled.

Sometimes, Draco did envy this connection Harry had with his best friend. Smooth and soundless, like they were able to sense each other's feeling and thoughts just like that. I guess that's what made them such a formidable pair in Auror training. Draco could still vividly remember the air of confidence and unity Harry and Ron had both projected when they all had participated in the battles in order to keep the Death Eaters at bay – the Auror trainees with the qualified Aurors, Unspeakables, members of the Order; everyone teamed up to fight off the greatest evil that had walked the earth.

Kingsley nearly dropped the quill he was holding all the sudden and he pursed his lips in annoyance. Grumbling something under his breath, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny slip of strange looking parchment that seemed to vibrate in his hand. Draco looked on with interest, rarely having seen that kind of communicating. He faintly remembered Harry telling him it was very much alike to how some Muggles kept in touch via something called a pager.

"It seems we're ready to interrogate the prisoners we managed to attain from the latest battle," Kingsley said, having read whatever had been written on that parchment. He slid the thing back into the pocket and climbed to his feet. "Would you care to join us?" he offered, looking at everyone. "You might learn something new."

"I'm afraid I have to get back to work," Hermione said apologetically. "I've skipped so many hours it's a miracle I still have a job."

At once, Harry looked guilty, fidgeting in his chair. Hermione noticed, as well, and laid a soothing hand over his arm. "Harry," she said, her tone gentle but still firm. "Don't get that shamefaced look, okay? I'm not skipping work because you made me. I'm skipping work because I want to be here for you." She stood, a little smile on her lips as she ruffled Harry's hair. "I'll stop by later in the evening to see how the healing potions have worked." Her eyes flickered to Draco for a second before returning to Harry. "Send me a message if you need me, alright?"

Harry smiled back, albeit a little resignedly, and nodded. "Will do. Thanks for dropping by and have fun at work."

Hermione gave Ron a light kiss, nodded at Draco and Kingsley and Flooed away in a flash of emerald flames and sparks.

Ron glanced at his clock. "My shift starts soon anyway, so I could tag along." Then he glanced at Kingsley, a questioning look in his eyes. "That is, of course, if I haven't got anything else to do at work at the moment?"

Kingsley waved a dismissive hand, closing the notebook with a flick of his wrist. "You are welcome to observe the interrogation. There can never be too many professional spectators." His dark eyes bore into Harry, scrutinizing. "You could use the rest, Harry, but I'm not forcing you to stay behind if you wish to come along and watch."

Squaring his shoulders, Harry nodded, his mouth set into a firm line. Draco didn't need any kind of Legilimency to know that Harry wanted to go, despite his obvious need of rest. The blonde stifled a resigned sigh and got up alongside Harry. "We'll come," Draco said, his hand on Harry's elbow as he narrowed his eyes at the Valerius. "But we'll return immediately should you wear yourself out too much."

Harry gave a meek smile, carefully rearranging his wings so that the injured one wouldn't lag behind. "I'll be fine," he murmured as they walked to the fireplace. "The potions are working well."

Draco almost allowed his hand to brush against Harry's swollen hand just to prove him that the potions wouldn't fully help unless he lied down for a while. Liar.

"There are fully qualified Healers at the Auror Department if the need arises," Kingsley promised and took a pinch of powder from the pot on the mantel piece. Draco wasn't sure whether he was reassuring him, Draco, or Harry.

My wild guess would be me.

The interrogation room wasn't much. A square-shaped space, big enough to hold a gleaming table with two chairs on opposites sides, just like Draco had seen in some Muggle action films. The walls were painted dull grey, as if not to either excite or sooth a suspect. One wall was glamoured to look like a normal, solid wall from the inside, but in reality, the wall was perfectly invisible to the ones in the adjoining room, allowing the audience to freely observe what was going on in the interrogation room. From what Draco had heard, though, it was specifically just the suspect that saw the wall as a normal wall – the interrogators could see through the glamour.

Draco stood by Harry as they watched the first misfit being lead in by two Aurors. It was a young, ragged man with uneven stubble on his thin, pale face. His narrow eyes had a shifty look in them, a quality that made Draco instantly dislike him. The man sat down on the chair, his shoulders hunched up in a way that told everyone he knew what was going to happen and that he would resist with all the strength he possessed.

"Adolph Philander," murmured Kingsley in a low voice, his eyes on the man like two pieces of metal following a magnet. "A half-blood. His mother was Muggle-born and went missing during Voldemort's reign. His sister was deported from England by the Minister when it was discovered she was part-vampire." Kingsley shook his head tiredly. "She was killed in Bulgaria last year by the local vampire community she tried to approach in her desperation."

Ah. That explained the hard look in the young man's eyes, the accusative posture that practically radiated defiance and bitterness. "Regretful," Draco admitted and gave a curt nod. "That doesn't justify his actions to join Nott, however."

"No," Kingsley said, his voice jaded. "No, it indeed does not."

"He looks a little confused," Ron observed from the other side of Harry, peering closely into the interrogation room. "I assume he has been kept in a holding room since the arrest?"

"Correct." Kingsley nodded. "Standard interrogation methods. Keep the suspect alone and isolated for a few days, strictly no correspondence with anyone."

"To keep him guessing and wondering," Harry muttered, either remembering the tactics from his own Auror training or just knowing. "Not knowing what's going on, kept apart from the other misfits... Quite effective in making him distraught and vulnerable enough to let something slip."

Draco felt a momentary pang in his heart, painfully realizing what a great Auror Harry would be now if he had been given the chance. He sighed, quietly and discreetly. The world just isn't fair. I should know that by now already.

Kingsley seemed to think that, as well. He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder for a brief moment, a sad little smile curling his lips. "Correct", he said again, patting Harry's shoulder once before focusing on Philander again.

Harry ruffled the feathers of his healthy wing, smiling a little at the approval. Draco shared an understanding glance with him, gently squeezing his uninjured hand before they, too, concentrated on the interrogation room.

An Auror had stepped into the room after Philander, his face avoid of any other emotion than determination. Draco didn't recognize him but he knew he must have been someone Kingsley trusted – he wouldn't allow some half-cocked Ministry puppet to destroy any chance they might have with getting crucial information out of the misfits.

The Auror slowly sat down opposite the young man. Philander narrowed his eyes, leaning slightly back in his own chair. The charms planted in the chair made it impossible for him to actually leave it but he sure did his best getting as much distance as possible between him and the Auror.

"Adolph Dillon Philander," said the Auror in a deep, authoritative voice that held no room for arguments. He glanced at the parchment he had on the table in front of him. "That is your name, am I correct?"

Philander pursed his lips, looking like he had suck on a lemon, but nodded nevertheless. "It is," he stiffly agreed.

"Son of Dianne Garret and Byron Philander?"

Philander kept on looking like he had been on a citrus fruit-based diet for the past week. "Yes."

"You were home schooled with your siblings instead of being sent to Hogwarts?"

The seemingly innocuous questions continued for a while and Draco noticed that Philander, despite his ground out replies, began to relax just a little. His shoulders weren't as hunched as they had been and his spine wasn't stiff as a board. Then, of course, the Auror let go of the parchment that must have contained Philander's background and looked up.

"Why did you join Theodore Nott and his group of radicals?"

Philander's mouth snapped shut and he frowned, glaring at the table as if it had done something terrible to him.

"You are aware what Nott is responsible of?" the Auror went on, his voice cold as ice and relentless as steel. "What you are responsible of?"

"Why don't you tell me, since you oh-so-obviously want to?" Philander sneered.

The Auror stared at him for a moment, a neutral look on his face. Then he glanced down at the parchment. "Twenty-seven dead Muggles: three children and ten women," he listed, completely emotionless. "Four dead wizards. Two completely destroyed villages." He looked up again. "And I'm not even starting with the injured or otherwise affected people."

There was not even an ounce of regret in Philander's voice. "There are always casualties," he said flippantly. "In wars. Besides, the villages were harbouring horrible people in them." He leaned forward suddenly, resting his elbows on the table, a mad gleam in his eyes. "They deserved to be wiped out."

The Auror's face showed distinct abhorrence. "By 'horrible people', you mean people like Matilda Wilkinson and Cameron Hall whose relatives lived in those villages?"

"Yes," Philander almost hissed out, his eyes flashing with such vivid hatred Draco felt Harry stir restlessly beside him. "They are responsible for those laws that gives the Ministry right to banish anyone they want, the rights to keep anyone deemed dangerous under lock and key, the rights to -"

"I know them," Ron murmured as Philander continued ranting, his voice growing louder by the second. "Wilkinson and Hall. I've seen them a couple of times." The redhead grimaced in distaste for a moment. "Reminded me of Umbrige, actually. Both of them, oddly enough. Still, their families in those villages... " He shook his head. "They did nothing to deserve to be killed like that. Nothing."

Silently, Draco agreed.

"I see," was all that the Auror in the interrogation coolly remarked. "And that gives you the right to massacre innocent people, people who had nothing to do with those laws?"

Philander gave a full-blown sneer. "It was a sign," he rasped. "A sign of our great power. A sign that we will win."

The Auror watched Philander silently for a few seconds. If it hadn't been for the steely look in his eyes, Draco would have thought the Auror was completely undisturbed. "Where is Nott?" he asked all the sudden. "Where are his headquarters?"

Philander laughed, an ugly sound that made Harry's wings twitch. "Like I'd tell you."

It appeared to be the answer the Auror had expected. Unperturbed, he turned his head and caught Kingsley's eyes. The Head Auror gave a grim nod.

"Time to bring in the Veritaserum," Ron mumbled, watching the scene with professional keenness.

The Auror stuck his hand into his pocket, producing a tiny vial of crystal clear liquid that he placed on the table. "I'm certain you know what this is?"

Philander didn't reply. His upper lip curled and he scowled.

"The Minister has given us free rein concerning how to interrogate the misfits," Kingsley said quietly, not looking away from Philander. "That's why it's so easy to use the truth serum. No need to get permits."

"Of course," Harry muttered, his jaws clenched. "I bet you are free to use torture, too."

Kingsley looked at him sharply. "That is, naturally, where I draw the line."

"I didn't mean it like that." Harry sighed. "I know you will always treat suspects humanely, no matter what."

Kingsley stayed silent but curtly nodded in understanding.

"State your name," came the Auror's first order, smooth and professional.

Philander's, his eyes unfocused, blinked. His mouth cracked open. " Adolph Dillon Philander," he said flatly in a monotone.

The Auror paused, leaning in like he was going to jump over the table and rip the answers straight from Philander's throat. "Where is," he began, his voice almost vibrating with impatient expectation, "Theodore Nott?"

Philander's head swayed as he swallowed. Everyone held their breaths and Harry's fingers dug in painfully into Draco's arm - "I can't tell."

Defeated silence fell. Then Kingsley cursed, his hands balled into fists and frustration flashing in his eyes. "Nott must have some pretty heavy charms over his location."

Draco released the breath he had been subconsciously holding, slow and weary. Of course. It could've not be so easy. He shook his head. Nothing is never easy.

He risked a glance at Harry, who was quietly staring at Philander. He looked disappointed, thwarted even, and his lips were twitching. Like he's trying to subdue a snarl.

The Auror proceeded to ask some more questions, trying to find out everything possible, but all that was revealed that Nott had "powers that no-one here has". It was the last question the Auror fired, however, that caught everyone's attention.

"Does Theodore Nott have any informants inside the Ministry?"

Everyone fully expected a negative answer. After all, who Ministry-worker in their right mind would want to join Nott, whose only goal was to demolish the said institution?

"Yes."

Draco drew back, honestly surprised, and even the Auror's face registered abrupt shock. "Who is it?"

Philander shook his head in slow motion. "I don't know. Nott never told their name. But he says there is someone in the Ministry who has been supplying him information."

"What information?"

"Names. Places." The haziness began to clear in Philander's eyes. He blinked rapidly.

"Of what?" the Auror demanded. "Names and places of what?"

"Of registered people with magical blood and their locations. Of people the Ministry has wronged." A lazy smile spread into Philander's lips and his eyes slowly shifted to focus again. "That's how he found most of his supporters."

"Bloody hell," Ron growled. "Can't anyone be trusted these days?"

"This is the Ministry, Ron," Kingsley said, sounding jaded. He waved his hand to the Auror who bound Philander's hands with magic and led him out without a word. "This means we should be even more careful from now on."

Harry reeled suddenly, quickly putting out a hand to lean against the fake-wall. Alarmed, Draco noticed his face was drawn and pale with exhaustion. He wrapped a supporting arm around Harry's waist. "I think we're going home," he said gently and Harry gave a tight nod.

"You okay, Harry?" Ron sounded worried and he fidgeted, twisting his robes in his hands. He glanced at the interrogation room where a new misfit was being steered in. "I can come with you, if you want -"

"We'll be fine, Ron." Harry's voice was tired but determined enough for Ron to nod hesitantly. "You stay here and do your job. I'll just... "

"Go home and rest," Kingsley supplied with a raised eyebrow. "And I'm ordering you to stay in bed until you feel better. Understood?"

Harry smiled weakly. "Understood."

They bid their goodbyes and left the Ministry as quickly as possible. Draco handled the Apparating since Harry was in such condition he couldn't have done it safely enough, so they appeared into their front yard in the middle of the verdant fields of grass and beautifully scented flowers.

Instantaneously, Harry looked better, his head thrown back to inhale the fresh air that seemed to unclog all their senses like a regenerating charm. Draco kept his arm sneaked around Harry in case he needed support again and nuzzled his neck. "Come on, baby," he murmured against Harry's neck. "Let's get into the house."

At the door, Harry stiffened for a brief moment, his whole body going rigid. Both of his wings, even the hurt one, quivered.

"Harry?" Draco questioned, frowning. He was about to ask what was wrong but then Harry went slack again, his head drooping as he relaxed.

"Snape," he whispered, reaching a hand past Draco to open the door. "He's here."

Draco nearly groaned out loud. Bloody fucking hell. He's going to rip me a new one for not getting Harry to rest. Squaring his shoulders, he followed Harry into the sitting room where their guest was currently leafing his way through a book.

Black eyes looked up the moment they stepped into the room. Snape shrewdly watched Harry tremble in his exhaustion before he looked at Draco, a sneer forming in his lips. "Why isn't he in bed?" he inquired, silky and cool like an ice-cold snake, slithering towards Draco. "Like I ordered?"

"I -"

"It's not his fault," Harry butted in, grimacing. "I chose myself not to lie down."

Slowly, Snape stood from the armchair he had been sitting in. He crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes at Harry. "And why, pray tell, did you so choose?"

Harry answered the glare stubbornly, his bottom lip sticking out like a child's. Draco suppressed a sudden snort of laughter – just like in school when Snape is going to land him in detention. I guess some thing don't change.

"Because I had other stuff to do beforehand," Harry argued. "We went to see the interrogation of one of the misfits."

"And that is more important than your own health?" Snape scoffed. "You idiotic boy."

Harry scowled, obviously not that keen on being called a boy. "I'm not saying it's like that -"

"Luckily for you," Snape smoothly interrupted, raising his hand that held a small vial of purple liquid, "I found this from my cupboard. I do not expect you to recognize it, of course, you always were quite devoid of talent in Potions, after all... "

Draco watched, amused, as Snape took Harry by the elbow, gentle but firm, and started to lead him upstairs, incessantlylecturing and reprimanding every time Harry sputtered something.

That old bat, he fondly thought. His ways of showing he cares... very unlike from anyone else I know.

flashback – halfway between graduation from Hogwarts and the defeat of Voldemort

It was silent and dark in the corridors that were, for once, blissfully void of rushing Healers and screaming patients. Only the continuous hum of magic greeted Draco like an old friend as he headed towards a familiar room. I should have never allowed him to be an Auror, Draco half-heartedly thought, with all the accidents and fights, it's a miracle the Auror Department isn't being shut down because of the hospital bills.

As he soundlessly turned a corner, he saw that he wasn't that alone he had originally thought. There was someone standing in the corridor, quietly watching through the large window that allowed Healers to check on patients without opening the door. Dark shadows hid the visitor's face from view but Draco would have recognized the man anywhere from his strict posture and the tell-tale voluminous black robes.

"Why don't you ever visit him during the day?" he mutedly asked, keeping his voice down to keep the patients sleeping all around them.

Snape raised his head in one, sharp movement and Draco was met with a pair of piercing, black eyes. After a moment of silence, he looked at Harry again. Harry, who was lying in a hospital bed in his room on the other side of the window, in deep sleep to quicken his healing. Manticores can really be a bitch to handle, Draco thought to himself.

"He'd like that, you know," Draco quietly added, stepping next to Snape. He glanced at Harry, at the peaceful expression he always had when he was asleep. "To have you visiting him when he could actually see you."

"I rarely have the time to spare," Snape said stiffly with a small sneer. "I have better things to do during daytime than to visit irresponsible brats who get hurt every other day."

Draco was silent for awhile. "I know you visited me, too, when I was hospitalized last month because of the potion accident. The Healers told me you stood here, just like you're dong now, in the middle of the night."

Snape's jaws clenched but he gave no other signs that indicated he had heard Draco.

"You're not a spy anymore," Draco murmured, eyes on Harry's immobile form, covered by thick sheets. "You don't have to hide. No-one would say a thing if you were seen publicly showing your support."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Snape looked at him long and hard. "It is not that easy, Draco," he finally said with a low tone. "A life-time of wearing a constant mask... " He shook his head, smiling wryly. "It can't be dropped that easily."

Draco sighed. "Yeah, I guess so." He glanced at the older man, allowing a small smile. "Thanks for dropping by, though. I'm sure Harry would appreciate it if he knew."

"I'm sure."

Together, they stood there in companionable silence , watching the steady rise and fall of Harry's chest.