"We dance around the fire, at night we all dream
Of angels in a chorus that lull us to sleep
In tangled tongues spoken between gritted teeth
From silver tongued devils that lie as they speak"
Valiant Hearts - "Medusa"
Draco kept his eyes trained on his mother, soaking up the comfort and support even as the courtroom quieted once more. He did not take his eyes off his mother when the Chief Warlock approached him, coming to a stop only some scant few feet in front of him. With the Warlock came the eyes and attention of all in the court. The force of their gaze prickled at Draco's skin, and he felt a trickle of sweat streak down his spine.
"Master Malfoy."
Draco's attention was forcibly wrenched from his mother's stormy, ashen eyes and onto the white-haired interrogator ahead of him. The Warlock held the nondescript glass out to him, within reach of Draco's shackled hands.
"Will you accept the Veritaserum?"
With a shaky nod, Draco reached out to take the enchanted water. He flinched so hard when his fingers brushed those of the Cheif Warlock that some of the water splashed the shirtsleeve of his school uniform; the clothes he'd been wearing upon his arrest weeks ago, now (poorly) laundered and returned for the occasion. Without hesitation, Draco downed the water and the potion like a shot of particularly horrible whiskey, shaking his head convulsively as the magic took effect.
"You'd agree that my robes are green, yes?" The Warlock's robes remained the same jet black it had been throughout the proceedings thus far, and Draco tried to agree.
Draco nodded, "Ye- y-" his temples had begun throbbing with the effort of denying the truth. He tried again, just to be thorough. "Your robes are g- g-"
"My robes are what colour, Master Malfoy?" The Warlock asked directly, and Draco gave into the compulsion to be truthful, finally.
"Black, sir." The older man nodded, satisfied. "Please recite your full, legal name for the record."
"Draco Julien Aélius Malfoy, heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy." There, that was the easy part over and done with.
Immediately, the Chief Warlock jumped into the same sequence of questions he´d asked Draco´s parents.
"Did you take the Dark Mark?"
Draco flushed, impotently. "Yes."
"Were you forced or coerced in any way into taking the Dark Mark?"
The teen met the eyes of the Cheif Warlock, now. From this distance, he could see they were a warm, medium brown, like the froth of his father´s Turkish coffee. With a sneer, Draco confessed, to the Warlock´s evident disappointment: "Yes."
The older wizard frowned, unhappily. "In what way were you ´forced´ to take the Dark Mark?" Draco could hear the quotations around the word and internally rolled his eyes.
Draco was dragged forward by Wormtail, the former Gryffindor´s form hunched unnaturally, but grip stronger than his frail-looking body would give him credit for. His mother was crying, heldback from him as Draco was pulled forward and forced to kneel at the feet of the Dark Lord. Draco wanted to vomit from fear and disgust; the man – if he could still be called a man – looked more like an albino reptile; eyes red and skin pale as a corpse. When he spoke it was like a snake in the grass; a soft whisper before a strike.
"Draco..." he hissed, and the boy could not repress a shudder. "I'd like to make you a deal..."
"He, the Dark Lord that is, said that either he could kill my mother and me then and there, in punishment for my father's failure in the Department of Mysteries, or that I could take the Mark and accept his tasks, and we would live... provided that I did not fail as well."
The Warlock looked interested and dubious in turn. "You're saying You-Know-Who threatened to kill you if you did not take the Mark?"
Not a question, but Draco answered anyway. "Yes."
"And what were these tasks you were given?"
"Your task... are you... You're trying to kill Dumbledore, aren't you?"
Draco resisted the urge to turn toward where he could feel Harry Potter's eyes boring into him. "I was told to kill Albus Dumbledore and find a way for the Death Eaters to get into Hogwarts Castle."
"And were you the one to kill Albus Dumbledore?" Draco could tell that the Warlock knew the answer to this one, face disinterested as he asked his required question. The teen couldn't help the relief this lack of actual accusation made him feel, and he shook his head in the negative.
"No. I disarmed him, but he was killed by, by... Severus Snape." It was hard to get the words out, the wound of his death still fresh."
Brown eyes flicked over his face curiously. "Did you know Severus Snape took an Unbreakable Vow to complete the tasks you were assigned if you could not?"
Draco startled back into his chair. His mouth was gaping, and his eyes widened. He was sure he looked a right idiot.
"...No."
"And were you aware that Albus Dumbledore was already dying when he was killed?"
The shock did not lessen this time, and Draco could only shake his head and numbly answer in the negative. The Chief Warlock merely considered him for a moment before nodding.
"Have you ever cast an Unforgivable?" Draco had to mentally shake himself from the baffled stupor he'd fallen into.
"I cased an Imperius Charm on Katie Bell in an attempt to kill Dumbledore. I was also ordered by the Dark Lord to cast the Cruciatus Curse on Thorfinn Rowle, and by the Carrows to cast it on other students as a punishment."
With narrow eyes, the interrogator asked, "Would you have ever cast an Unforgivable of your own free will? Without the threat of pain or punishment otherwise?"
"N-" Draco paused, the ache in his head returning, and Draco's eyes fluttered shut in defeat. He forgot. "I... attempted to cast the Cruciatus Curse at Harry Potter once in a duel. It was in the heat of the moment."
The gasp that rang out through the room had him huddling in on himself. Even his parents were looking at him with shock and dismay.
"What stopped you?"
Draco let out a mirthless huff of laughter. "He hit me with the Sectumsempra curse before I got the words out." Now the scandalised attention was focused behind him, and Draco hurried on before he irreparably ruined the Saviour's reputation. "In Harry Potter's defence, he didn't know what the spell did when he cast it. He was expecting something else. We've already discussed it and given our forgiveness. There was no harm done."
This time the Warlock did snort in disbelief, clearly believing Draco to have circumvented the truth somehow. "I have seen the effects of the Sectumsempra, Master Malfoy. Do you mean to say that you have simply forgiven such a grievous injury?"
Biting his lip and nearly snarling, Draco took his pleasure in long, pulsing waves, only barely having the presence of mind to aim for Potter's stupid glasses.
Harry flinched as the warm wetness hit his face, splashing against his lips and cheek, then up across his glasses, causing him to scowl.
As Harry sat confused and aroused, hair a mess, and covered in cum, Draco muttered a cleaning charm and set himself to rights. The Gryffindor moved to wipe the fluid from his face, but Draco caught him once again by the wrist and hauled him up. Taking Harry's chin in hand, Draco turned his head and licked a swipe along Harry's cheek, tasting salty skin mixed with his own come.
"Thanks, Potter," he said in a surprisingly sincere tone. "I really needed that. Consider yourself forgiven."
Draco shrugged, slouching with false nonchalance. "Yes." It was, surprisingly, the truth. Draco had forgiven Potter. Tensions had been high on both sides, and if Draco was honest, Potter's Sectumsempra was a fair retaliation to his own intended Cruciatus. The six weeks of brilliant sex that followed the encounter also went a long way in securing forgiveness; at least on his side. Apart from some questionably relevant information, Draco honestly had no idea what Potter actually got from the affair, but Draco is only human.
The Chief Warlock nearly gaped in incredulity before stepping past him. Draco twisted in his seat, seeing in his periphery that his parents were doing the same, and saw the older wizard approach the audience. He came to a stop in front of Potter, sat in the front row (of bloody course Potter got preferential seating).
"Harry Potter, can you confirm Master Malfoy's story?"
Potter jerked his green eyes to Draco's own, holding the stare even as he addressed the Warlock. "Yes, sir; I approached Draco after the incident and offered my apologies for injuring him. He gave his forgiveness, and I gave mine, and we came to a ..." A pink tongue fluttered out between his tongue as Potter looked away from Draco who prayed no one but he noticed the rush of blood flushing the Gryffindor's tanned features. "...truce," the other boy finished a bit lamely.
Clearly annoyed, the Warlock looked from one boy to the other, eyes narrowed. Draco knew he wasn't getting the information he had evidently been hoping for, and he couldn't help but feel smug at unintentionally thwarting the man. Surprisingly, Draco and his family weren't actually the villains he (or even Draco himself, if he was truthful) expected them to be. Still, he knew the ordeal was far from over, and there was no saying how the sentencing would turn out. He couldn't afford to let his guard down yet.
"Right," the Warlock drawled before stalking forward once more and reassuming his position before Draco. "Have you ever successfully caused another human's death through your own direct actions?"
The teen flinched at the biting insult, though not actually sure which part it was that was meant to be hurtful. His spirits rose, fractionally, at the murmur of distaste that arose behind him, indicating that at least he wasn't the only one who found the man's remark to be in bad taste.
"I don't..." but the words wouldn't come. Draco huffed unhappily, raising his shackled hand to rub at the crease between his brows, massaging away the thrum of pain that arose from the unintentional lie. "Crabbe – Vincent Crabbe, my classmate – died the night of the battle in a fire he'd started, but he was there because I had taken him and Greg Goyle to find Harry Potter. I meant to pretend to try to take him to the Dark Lord. I meant to fail; for Potter and his friends to get away. I didn't think Crabbe or Goyle would act on their own. I was wrong, and Crabbe took it upon himself to ...apprehend... Harry Potter. He cast a Fiendfyre, which wasn't my fault, but it was still because of me that he died..." Draco trailed off, staring intently into his lap, fisting his hands into the fabric of his trousers.
"Is that it?" came the brusque reply, and Draco snapped his head up, staring into the man's cold expression and shrugged.
"I... think so?" He wasn't really sure, but the answer was apparently sufficient.
The Chief Warlock took a slow, deep inhale and stepped even closer until Draco could smell his woody cologne and feel the heat of his body. He had to tilt his head to look at the man, and he swallowed, audibly when after a long moment the Warlock still did not speak.
After an uncomfortably long time, possibly even a full minute of intense, invasive staring during which time Draco was not convinced the man was not using legilimancy, he asked: "Were your family not affected by the war, would you have supported You-Know-Who's actions or intentions?"
Draco had to avoid looking at his father. He was afraid of what his paterfamilias would think to know how quickly the answer came to him.
"No, neither." Because he knew his sentence, and possibly those of his parents were riding on his answer to this question, he went on. "I have no stomach for murder; have never done. I cannot support someone who would do so as casually and, and gleefully as the Dark Lord. In fact, I can't support anyone who could be so, so..." he flung his hand out, irritated with his inability to articulate, then wincing when the chains to his shackles pulled painfully taut. "Someone who treats people's lives like they're nothing! The Dark Lord was sadistic and cruel and, and psychopathic. The only person more unhinged that I've ever met was my Aunt Bellatrix. Maybe Fenrir Greyback. But, I mean, I didn't want him in power. He wasn't the answer. To anything. But I guess I can see other people wanting to fight back against the other side, too because they aren't... weren't... any better. Fudge, Dumbledore... No one else really treated people any better. Not really. Fudge and them; Umbridge; they all were happy to let as many people die as had to as long as they never actually had to do anything about it. And Dumbledore, too, was perfectly happy to put all of our lives in danger all the years that he was alive if it suited his agenda.
"He let the Dark Lord in the school our first year when he must have known. Knew there was a basilisk – or, if not a basilisk then something dangerous – in the school our second year and did nothing about it. Brought a werewolf in our third year. Let Harry Potter compete in the TriWizard tournament our fourth year – I know there was a binding magic, but it was a Tri-wizard tournament after all. Surely a fourth name could have been disputed. And letting someone he thought was a trusted Auror perform physical punishment on a student. Letting them teach Unforgivables to children. Dumbledore knew of plenty of dangers to us as students, and he did nothing about them. He must have put Harry Potter in nearly as much danger himself as did the Dark Lord.
"So... No, I didn't support the Dark Lord. I really don't have any opinions about Mud- Muggle-borns... one way or the other. I mean, they're poor and common, and they know nothing about our culture, and they just generally don't understand anything about the magical world, but I don't want to kill them. And Muggles are fine so long as we don't have to deal with them, I suppose, although I really don't know anything about muggles at all. So, I mean, I don't want to wage war on muggles. And I don't even really think we should keep Muggle-borns out of our world because they're just as good at magic as anyone else and if they actually knew what our world was about then they would be just like any other, I suppose. No worse than half-bloods and that lot, anyway. But I think it's probably not their fault they don't know anything if no one has seen fit to actually teach them what they're supposed to know. I don't know. I just know that the Dark Lord went about it all wrong, and I didn't like what he'd done or what he was doing or what he'd planned to do. I didn't like what he wanted us, wanted me to do. I wouldn't have supported him. If I'd had a choice. But... I don't think I would have necessarily joined the other side either. Because I think they were wrong, too. No offence, Minister." Draco was panting, and he was sure he was flushed unattractively, and he felt sweat beading on his hairline and under his arms. He hadn't meant to say all of that, but the compulsion and desperation had him spilling all of his opinions, and he wasn't sure all of them actually helped. He was fairly certain that insulting the Minister of Magic, his predecessors, and his comrades in arms wasn't actually a point in his favour at court.
"There was none taken, Master Malfoy," the tall, dark-skinned man allowed magnanimously, eyes glittering in what may have been amusement in spite of his passive expression.
The Chief Warlock shared a look with the Minister of Magic, who nodded subtly.
"I have no further questions."
Harry bit the cuticle of his left thumb as Shacklebolt and Maydestone filed into the antechamber, followed by the rest of the Wizengamot who slowly trickled out behind them. The Malfoys were left alone with the bailiffs and the audience while the Wizengamot considered the family's sentences.
He was truly surprised by the Malfoys testimonies; that there had been doubt and dissent even before the worst had come to pass. Even still, Lucius and Narcissa's confessions didn't shock him nearly so much as Draco's. Draco who defended Harry's use of a deadly curse against him. Draco who said he didn't mind muggle-borns – that was a real revelation. Who... brought up some points against Dumbledore, his beloved mentor, that even Harry had trouble disputing. Not when it was listed the way Draco had done. When Draco used Harry himself as an example. How can Harry argue when he is so tired – so mind-numbingly exhausted down to the very bone. Why, if Dumbledore had had the means and the knowledge, didn't he do more to protect them all?
Surely Dumbledore was not so callous as Voldemort himself? And he did help them. Only...
Harry didn't have the energy to think about it.
"Did Draco Malfoy just say Muggle-borns – 'Muggle-borns' even, not 'mudbloods'! - are okay?!" Hermione hissed into his ear, and yeah, Harry noticed that. Heard him correct himself when he'd nearly misspoken, and that was probably politic, but the rest of it was truth enough.
"Yeah... I think he did."
"And did you see how angry Maydestone was getting? Like he was actually disappointed that Malfoy apparently isn't the monster we all thought he was. Really, that's the most surprising bit, isn't it? That Malfoy could bully us all so relentlessly for years but actually not be that bad on the inside. I don't know if I agree with all that stuff about Dumbledore. It sounds to me like Malfoy would have preferred to be neutral, but you know what they say about neutrality. Well, people can't change that much, I suppose. If he'd gushed about the Light side, I'd have probably thought it was someone else just polyjuiced as Draco Malfoy. Still, he seemed pretty kindly disposed towards you, anyway. Must still be pretty grateful about what happened in the Room of Requirement. Did you know he actually meant to help us there?"
Harry wasn't paying attention to Hermione's excited whispering, instead staring intently at the back of Draco's head. He looked, well, terrible honestly. They all did, really, all three of them. Nearly as bad as they'd all looked in the midst of battle. Sure, they were all clean, but Draco and his father were unshaven, and their hair somehow managed to look dirty without actually being dirty. His parents looked so much older now than they had been even the last time Harry had seen them some few weeks ago. And Draco was still as thin and gaunt and pasty as he'd been all sixth year, if not worse. Harry had been the one who'd spent almost a whole year more-or-less homeless, but Draco certainly had his own trials during these long months.
"Hm?" Harry hummed in question when Hermione shook him, reclaiming his attention. "What?"
His friend squinted at him in concern, the same face she and everyone else had been showing him ever since the battle, like Harry, was ill or something.
"All right, Harry?" She asked tentatively, scanning his face for who knows what.
"I'm fine," he shrugged her hand off. "What were you saying? Sorry, I was distracted."
"Yeah..." her scepticism was obvious, and Harry saw her physically bite her tongue on what would surely have been a lecture on taking better care of himself or something, but she thankfully let it go. "I asked if you knew that Malfoy had been on our side in the Room of Requirement," she repeated for him.
Harry's pulse raced at that, and he hoped to God that he wasn't blushing as he had when Maydestone asked about his and Draco's "truce". He really couldn't afford to let Hermione find out about their affair. Couldn't let it get back to Ginny what he'd done. But he was a shite liar all-in-all, so he didn't try now.
"Ah, yeah, actually." At her surprised disbelief, he shrugged and continued. "Not at the time, no. But he found me after I left you guys. Before I went to Voldemort. He told me all about it, apologised for Crabbe and all that."
Hermione twisted further in her seat, hand reaching out again, this time to wrap around his wrist. He thought he should be embarrassed that she could fit her fingers all the way around the narrow joint, but he'd always been slight, so it didn't really bother him anymore. "Right. You and he seem to do that a lot. Apologise to one another. Since when do you two have an understanding? What was that about the Sectumsempra incident?"
This time he knew he was blushing, and he tried, vainly, to get out of her tight hold. "It was an accident, and I felt awful about it, so I tracked him down and apologised. He was about to hit me with a Crucio, so he didn't really have any high ground to stand on, so we called it equal. He was just, trying to return the favour during the battle, I guess. I don't really know." He rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing at the sweat-damp curls there. This room was far too close and far too warm.
"I just don't understand why you didn't tell me about it," and was that hurt in her voice? Shite.
Harry turned again to face her, and yes, there was a distinctly unhappy look on her face as she hugged herself, pulling her hand away from Harry's wrist. He sighed and leaned into her, bolstering her spirits as well as he could. "It's not that big of a deal, 'Mione. It was just... private. That first time. And then the second time, well, there was a lot going on. It didn't seem very important in light of everything else."
His friend sniffed a little but leaned back into him, and Harry wrapped an arm around her. He was a bit glad Ron had elected to stay with his parents rather than come to the hearing if only so he could touch Hermione without worry. It wasn't as if he was interested in her. She was practically his sister. Still, Ron could be touchy when it came to things like that, so he couldn't help but be a little relieved that the Weasleys had unanimously decided not to attend the Death Eaters' hearings, in spite of Ron's support earlier that week.
They sat like that for the rest of the interim, chatting quietly about the trial so far while the rest of the audience did likewise. In front of them, Draco and his mother had turned in their seats, leaning over the gap between them to speak quietly to one another. In reality, Harry was only sat some 10 feet away, but Harry couldn't make out their voices over the din in the courtroom, a hundred voices chattering amongst one another.
After perhaps three-quarters of an hour, the antechamber door swung open and Shacklelbolt re-entered the room, followed by Maydestone who took to the floor while the Wizengamot retook their seats.
When the room fell once again into silence, Maydestone indicated for the three Malfoys to rise before speaking:
"After much consideration, we have reached a verdict. Lucius Malfoy, you are believed to be guilty of conspiracy to commit crimes against the government. You have proved that although you may not have intended to involve yourself in the full scope of criminal activities that You-Know-Who would have you commit, you were, in fact, complicit in and accepting of crimes including murder, treason against the Ministry of Magic, and domestic warfare. For this crime, you are sentenced to seven years in Her Majesty´s Prison Belmarsh. It is our," here the Warlock´s face clouded, belying his distaste, "belief that you may be eligible for rehabilitation, and it is for this reason that you are, to be sent to a muggle prison rather than return to Azkaban. This privilege has not been extended to many among your ranks. For the crimes of casting an Unforgivable more than once, under duress though you may have been, you are also sentenced to life without magic. Your wand will be destroyed, and you will be prohibited from obtaining another following your release. For your involvement with You-Know-Who, you will forfeit your title and your properties to your son, and all liquid assets in your name will be paid in reparation. So mote it be."
Lucius released all the air in his lungs and staggered. Even from behind, Harry could see the dread warring with relief. He had lost his title, his money, and his magic, but he would not be sent to rot in Azkaban.
Harry could feel bruises forming under Hermione´s fingers where she squeezed his arm in tense anticipation.
He wished he could see Draco and Narcissa´s faces from where he sat.
With Lucius still shaking, shocked and raw, Maydestone addressed Narcissa.
"Cassiopeia Black Malfoy II, you have been found innocent of criminal offences, but for your association and involvement with You-Know-Who and his organisation, you are sentenced to five years of probation and 5,000 hours of servicing the Muggle Community, during which time you will be prohibited from using magic or leaving the British Isles. Failure to perform these duties will result in one year of muggle incarceration and a further five years without the use of magic. So mote it be."
Harry could see Narcissa heave a great sigh, watching as tension bled from her tight shoulders as she nodded her understanding. Lucius looked at her with naked relief and tried to reach out to his wife, but she studiously ignored him, instead turning to Draco and holding her hand out to her son instead, who took the proffered support gratefully.
Finally, Maydestone meted out the remainder of the disciplinary condemnations.
"Draco Malfoy, you have been found innocent of criminal offences. As you are of age, you will take up the mantle of Lord and Paterfamilias of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy. As Paterfamilias, you are held responsible for your family´s crimes, and your household will forfeit one-half of all liquid assets. As You-Know-Who primarily lived within the walls of Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire over the course of this Second Wizarding War, you will relinquish rights to the property to the Ministry of Magic. For your association and involvement in the war and as a member, however unwillingly, of You-Know-Who´s organization, you are sentenced to 18 months of probation and 100 hours of servicing the Muggle Community, and obligatory repetition of your seventh year at Hogwarts with a minimum of five Newts taken and passed with an or higher, one of which must be Muggle Studies. During this time, you will be prohibited from leaving the British Isles. Failure to perform these tasks will result in either 10,000 hours of Muggle Community Service without the use of Magic, or one year in Muggle incarceration, and a further five years without the use of magic. So mote it be."
Narcissa sobbed audibly and surged forward in spite of the shackles around her ankles, nearly tripping in her haste to take her son in her arms. Draco was frozen in shock, clearly disbelieving that he could have been found innocent. Hermione swore in astonishment beside him as Harry slumped back into his seat. He hadn´t realised that he was sitting at the edge of the uncomfortable chair. He felt like he´d run a mile, heart pounding in his ears. All around him, the audience began to shout, loudly discussing the results. He could hear many voices, he thought some of them might be familiar, but he couldn´t be sure, protesting the leniency of the court and Harry couldn´t help but wonder how much more severe it would have been had Harry and Hermione not begged Shacklebolt to hear their testimonies.
He nearly missed Kinglsy announcing over the roar of voices that "Lord and Mistress Malfoy will be given until Midsummer to vacate the premises of Malfoy Manor and begin their service work. All parties are now excused. The Wizengamot will take a short recess before bringing in the next defendants," before they all retreated again. Not particularly surprising as the Malfoys had been something like the fourth or fifth family to stand before the court that day. Harry assumed they were breaking for lunch now before resuming.
As the audience followed suit, migrating slowly out of the main courtroom doors, a bailiff stepped forward and released the shackles on Draco and Narcissa. With her newfound freedom, Narcissa was able to pull the teen more close to her, pressing him to her bosom as she stroked his hair. This time, Draco held her back, squeezing her tightly. Harry three-quarters he could see his shoulders shaking.
"Cissy!" Lucius called in desolation as the Bailiff dragged him back to the doors through which the family had originally come.
Breaking free from the embrace with her son, Narcissa went to her husband, looking at him for the first time since they entered the room. The bailiff obligingly stopped for her, keeping one hand around Lucius´ forearm to keep him secure.
When she neared, Lucius reached out for her and, with visible hesitance, Narcissa placed her porcelain hand in his. He held onto her desperately, pulling it to his mouth to lave her palm with soft, heartbroken kisses. Still, Narcissa didn´t step closer, though Harry could just barely see that her face was nearly as broken as her husband´s. Finally, she pulled away, breaking Lucius´ grip on her. She pressed a kiss to her own fingertips before touching them to her husband´s dry lips, Lucius closing his eyes and sagging into the benediction before she turned away completely, going back to Draco´s side.
Draco and his father looked at one another for a moment, Lucius´ expression still open and vulnerable, and Harry thought he saw Draco´s mouth open to say something to him, arm flinching outwards as if to catch him, but the bailiff pulled him away, and within seconds they were back out the door.
By this time, the room was mostly empty. Hermione stood at his side, knowing implicitly that Harry was waiting to be able to speak to the Malfoys.
Narcissa took her son´s hand once more and turned to exit through the common entrance and startled at the sight of Harry and Hermione still standing in the front row.
"Miss Granger. Mister Potter. Can I presume that we have you to thank for our relative freedom?"
Harry glanced at Draco who looked drained and exhausted and nodded. "Ah, yes. I gave witness testimony on behalf of both you and Draco. And, um, it was Hermione who advocated for rehabilitation rather than just locking everyone up in Azkaban. Although, most of the others ended up there anyway," Harry shrugged helplessly. He wasn´t too sorry. If they couldn´t show remorse for what they had done, he doubted reeducation would do much for them.
"Thank you," Draco said quietly but earnestly. Harry just nodded back. "Um... Are the Weasleys not here? Only, I think I ought to speak with them," Draco looked at the empty seats as if the family were merely hiding.
Hermione answered. "No, they weren´t interested in attending. I´d wait until after Fred´s funeral to speak with them if you really have to. It´s on Saturday." Her lips pinched in sorrow, eyes wary of Malfoy even in spite of her willingness to help them. But Draco accepted the advice and turned back to Harry.
"Can we speak in private?"
Harry glanced at Hermione who was tense and hesitant, but Harry nodded anyway. "Yeah, sure," he agreed.
"I´ll meet you outside, Mother," Draco said before striding forward with a confidence Harry hadn´t seen in ages and dragging Harry out of the double doors by his wrist.
Harry would surely have bruises on them by now. Was he such a flight risk? He didn´t bother to complain though, and they two ignored the hungry eyes of the crowd littering the corridor as Draco pulled them into a men´s toilet, throwing the lock behind them when they found that they were alone in the room.
"You-"
"Draco-"
They spoke at once, and Harry chuckled. Draco stared and then sighed before pushing into Harry´s space and raising a hand to Harry´s cheek. "You look like shit," Draco said softly as his thumb stroked the ridge of his cheekbone. "Are you ill?"
Harry scoffed. This again. "Are you? You´re not really looking so great yourself you know."
Draco tilted his head, acceding to Harry´s point. "Fine, fine, you´ve got me there." He was quiet after that, just staring into Harry´s eyes, searching his face for something Harry didn´t know. "Look, Potter. Harry. What you did for me..."
"It´s fine," Harry interrupted, and it was, but Harry didn´t feel up to explaining why he felt compelled to do what he did. But Draco shook his head.
"No, it´s not. Look, you don´t... I can´t... I can´t tell you how thankful I am, really. And I´d be glad to never talk of this again, really, but you should know, I... You saved my life. Literally saved my life as well as my livelihood, and yes, you also saved the Wizarding World and all that, but I am... grateful... for what you´ve done for me. So. Thanks." Harry wanted to laugh at how painfully awkward Draco looked, and if he weren't so generally terribly looking at the moment, he probably would have. But they´ve both had a long few weeks. Months. Years. And Harry can´t bring himself to laugh.
"It´s really fine," Harry said again, more gently. "I mean, you´re welcome, yeah. And thanks to you, too. For what you did for me." Harry didn´t elaborate, meant all the times Draco had helped him, even if Harry didn´t know about it at the time. Even if Harry didn´t know about it now. Draco seemed to understand, and he nodded, stepping closer until his forehead rested on Harry´s own.
Harry could smell him, and part of him was surprised to note that he wasn´t wearing his customary scent. Surprised that he couldn´t smell the crisp apples that had become a part of Draco´s identity in his mind. But then again, Draco was lacking a lot of things Harry had come to associate him with today.
Another part of his mind wondered at how odd it was that his scent was still familiar even without the cologne. That Harry knew the smell of that sweat and that skin already.
Draco nuzzled closer, nose to nose, cheek to cheek, Draco's rough and unshaven and Harry relaxed into him, arms coming up to grip his shoulders as Draco´s landed on his hips, thumbs pressing into the sharp jut of his hip bones.
Harry thought they must have met in the middle, but maybe it was just him moving forward, and suddenly they were kissing.
They had only last touched like this a few weeks ago, on the battlegrounds at Hogwarts, but it felt longer. Like it had been years since he had last felt lips on his own. Since he had felt something even remotely approaching ´safe´ or ´comfortable´. But here he was, and he did feel those things, and Harry melted into the taller boy as a tongue licked into him.
The two of them drifted until Harry felt a solid surface against his back, and, like they were just waiting for that added stability, their kiss devolved from tentative to devouring. Draco trying to conquer Harry, push into him as if through osmosis, and Harry wanted to open up and take him inside, possessively.
Without input from either of them, there were hands pulling and tugging at buttons and fabric, desperate to catch skin. Suddenly they were chest to chest, and Harry felt touch starved, needed the contact more than he´d ever needed anything, and he could do nothing but hold on, hands roving the smooth, warm, planes of Draco´s back, skin already beading with sweat.
Draco´s hands opened their flies, shoving and manoeuvring until they were both bared, trousers down to their knees, and Draco´s hand. He held them both in his palm, and part of Harry thought maybe he should work a hand down between them to help, but no, that was too much and the thought evaporated soon after in favour of urging Harry to hitch one leg up onto Draco´s hip while the blond insinuated his own thigh between Harry´s own and just rutted. Hand striping the two of them in his grip, precome slicking his fingers, their cocks, their bellies as Draco fucked into his own palm, encouraging Harry to do the same and he couldn´t not.
Mouths sliding wetly against one another; nothing so coordinated as kissing anymore, just hot damp panting and biting and licking, and it was kind of gross, but Harry couldn´t stop. He needed the contact, needed that taste of the other boy, or he would drown. Needed the breath of him or he couldn´t breathe, and Draco must have felt the same because he was pressing impossibly closer. His hand was flying over them. Too fast, too awkward, too much friction, but they needed it too much and all too soon for either of their dignity, Draco was spurting between their stomachs, spilling over his fingers, onto Harry´s cock to use as extra slick as Draco stroked him ruthlessly and Harry.
Came.
The tension that had been building for the last year seemed to finally pop, crashing over him like a tidal wave. White flashed behind his eyes and sounds were far away, like he was hearing them from underwater.
When he came to again, Draco´s head was pillowed on his shoulder, and Harry´s own was thrown back against the wall. He was panting and shaking, and he could barely feel his legs, would have collapsed if Draco hadn´t been plastered up against his front, holding him up.
"Draco," he gasped, fingers tightening on the back of the other boy´s head. When did he bring his hand up?
"We´ve been in here too long," was all Draco said, and already he was pulling away, and Harry shivered, uncomfortably wet and cold like Draco was taking all of Harry´s body heat away with his own. He only barely suppressed a whimper at the loss and the reminder of where they were. He sighed, letting his eyes fall shut when Draco stepped away wholly, turning to dampen a towel.
With Draco out of his space, Harry could feel the world settle back on top of them. Between them, even as the other boy returned with a damp towel, perfunctorily cleaning the spunk off Harry´s belly and groin. In spite of the detachment with which he´d cleaned him up, Harry felt long, deft fingers gently righting his pants and trousers and rebuttoning his shirt, smoothing away the wrinkles they had made.
"Draco," he said again, and this time Draco pressed a kiss to the side of Harry´s mouth. Soft. Conciliatory. An apology and a goodbye.
"We´ve got to go," he said when he pulled away, and Harry nodded unhappily. They looked more or less put together than they did when they´d arrived, though their mouths were bruised, and Harry was sure his skin was pinkened with stubble burn – not as unpleasant as he might have thought, actually.
The women outside would probably be able to tell, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care just then.
The door snicked as it unlocked. Draco pulled it opened, and they stepped out to face the rest of the world.