Author's Note: Trigger warning for mentions of suicide and alcoholism.


CHAPTER THREE

Shield

"There's been sightings," Ron Weasley growls, knuckling the table for emphasis. "Sightings from legitimate sources. How long are you planning on ignoring them?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt and Minerva McGonagall exchange looks. The latter clears her throat. "This has been known to us for a while, Mr. Weasley. Now if you could please sit down-"

"I'll sit down once you tell us what the fucking plan-"

"Ron!" Hermione Granger grabs at her boyfriend's elbow and tries to tug him back to his seat. The red head lets out a grumble and drops down, ears as red as his hair.

Kingsley turns his deep, sombre gaze to the people around this ancient table. They were all currently in his office at the Ministry of Magic. Old and new Order of the Phoenix members look back at him, all eyes full of expectations. The Minister sighs and leans back in his seat. This is going to be a long night.

"As we all know, Harry Potter is the last Horcrux. Killing him is paramount, yes, but he has protection." Kingsley makes sure to hold each every gaze upon him, not only as an acknowledgement, but also as a way to share the burden of his words. One man cannot rule alone, lest he go mad. History can attest.

Of the Weasleys, only Arthur, Molly, Ron, and Ginny are present. Percy is away on Ministry business. Bill and Charlie are on their own respective missions, and George hasn't been to one of these meetings in quite some time now. Kingsley knows better than to question it. They all do.

Also present are Hermione Granger, Rubeus Hagrid, Aberforth Dumbledore, Luna Lovegood, and of course, Neville Longbottom. All other Order members are at their assigned stations.

While unexpected, Aberforth's sudden desire to re-join the Order was met with much enthusiasm. To have a Dumbledore back in their forces was a much needed motivator for a wounded army.

As for Neville, he had quickly replaced Harry Potter as the face of the movement. The Snake Killer, the True Chosen One, the Loyal, the Hero, label upon label was rained upon the boy, until he was forced to become a man practically overnight.

Kingsley looks upon Neville with much affection. The brunette doesn't meet his gaze. Instead, he's staring blankly at the fireplace, seemingly troubled by his thoughts.

"What kind of protection is it?" Hermione asks, notebook and quill in hand. She gives the Minister a critical glance, as if she were studying him.

"We are not certain, Ms. Granger," McGonagall answers for him. The headmistress seems as troubled as Neville, as she always is whenever Harry Potter is brought up in their meetings. Kingsley suspects she may still care for the traitor.

"If we were to strike now, we would be ill prepared and wholly uninformed." Kingsley steeples his fingers and rests his chin upon them. "We are currently at a fragile equilibrium with the dark. One defeat is enough to topple us and we cannot afford to lose a single fight. Remember this."

"Then at least have surveillance!" Ron spits, fists banging against the table. "That traitor could be planning something. Maybe he's already working for them. I don't think we should just let him do as he pleases-"

"Ron, will you shut the fuck up?" Ginny snaps, eyes flashing dangerously at her brother.

"Oh, still protecting your boyfriend, are you?" Ron shoots back, standing so suddenly his chair skids back.

"Say that one more fucking time, I dare you!" Ginny's chair also skids back and topples with a crash.

"ENOUGH!" Neville shouts, both hands flat against the table and his attention now fully on the proceedings. "That is enough! I'm sick of hearing you fighting. All of you! I'm sick of just sitting here, plotting and making plans but never doing anything. Do you know how many people have died since Voldemort and his people made their escape five years ago? Do you?"

Silence rings. Ginny and Ron give Neville a guilty look before returning to their seats. Molly gives her children a withering look and they quickly avert their gaze.

"What do you suggest then, Neville?" Luna suddenly peeps, peering at the brunette through odd star shaped sunglasses.

Neville gives the blonde a grim smile. "Let's talk to him. If we know where he is, then let's approach him. Not to attack. Not to kill. But to talk to him. He used to be our friend. Our ally. Surely we can come to a solution."

Ignoring the snorts of derision and heated protests, Luna raises her hand with a dreamy expression. "I volunteer my services."

"Coun' me in," Hagrid booms, raising his own hand. The groundskeeper had been sitting in relative silence for the whole meeting, appearing dewy eyed at certain points. But now, he seems rejuvenated by Neville's proposed plans, almost relieved. "I'm happy ter have a good ol' talk with 'im."

Neville nods to Hagrid in gratitude. "Thanks Hagrid, but I think Luna might have a better chance at blending in. No offence."

Hagrid gives an awkward chuckle and lowers his hand to his beard. "Ah...tha's a good poin'. No offence taken!"

The Snake Killer glances to Kingsley. "Minister? Can we at least take the first step?"

Kingsley turns to McGonagall. "Headmistress, what do you think?"

McGonagall gives Neville a stern look, but she nods nonetheless. "I would also like to hear what Harry Potter has to say. I think Ms. Lovegood will do a stellar job."

The Minister nods and glances to the oldest member. "And you, Aberforth? You've been quiet. Any thoughts?"

Aberforth simply runs his hand over his grey beard as he grumps and grumbles. "Do as the boy says," he gruffs. "He's got a better head on his shoulders than the lot of you combined."

"Friend? Ally? Neville, mate, have you lost your fucking mind?" By this point, Ron was standing once more, face as red as a tomato. His breath comes hard and fast, as if he had run a marathon. "This is Harry we're talking about here. The traitor! The bastard who left us all to die just to save his own skin!"

Neville stands firm. Stands tall. He looks his maddened comrade right in the eyes. "His actions caused the deaths of my parents, Ron. I know as much as everyone else here, the consequences of Harry's actions that night."

Shame stays Ron. Makes the man deflate like a balloon. Without another word, he turns on his heels and storms out of the office.

Luna smiles. "Well, this is all rather exciting. When do we start?"


Draco Malfoy stares at the man sitting before him with some dismay. And disgust.

Harry Potter, while still sporting the recognisable messy raven hair and round glasses, is far from the boy he once knew. He is short for his age, perhaps due to being malnourished in his childhood, and still as scrawny as ever. The man's skin is sallow and shockingly pale, eyes red rimmed and bloodshot, and lips cracked and bleeding. Potter seems on verge of collapse, or death, and Draco doesn't know how to react. So he tries to ignore the other man's condition as best as he could. Though the stench of vomit is making it overwhelmingly difficult.

Potter sniffs and rubs his nose, hunched into a small ball on the couch. Draco sits languidly in his seat, legs crossed, teacup in one hand, saucer in the other.

After a long silence, Potter finally rasps, "Are you here to kill me?"

Draco takes a sip of his tea and almost spits it right back out. It is much too sweet. With a slight wrinkle in his nose, the blonde sets down his tea onto the coffee table between them. "I'm here for my wand, Potter. Do you have it?"

The raven hesitates, then reaches behind his back. He withdraws Draco's wand and rolls it across the table.

Draco catches it with a deft hand and studies it carefully. "It's in poor condition. I expect compensation, Potter."

"I don't have money," Harry protests, brows slanted in worry.

"As loathe I am to admit it, you are one of the richest wizards I know."

"Does it look like I have access to my gold?" The raven picks at his shirt demonstrably and dried flakes of vomit rains down into his lap.

Draco swallows down a sudden wave of nausea and leans back in his seat to widen the gap between them. "What are you doing here, Potter? Why are you acting like a fool?"

"Get bent, Malfoy," Harry scowls, unfocused bloodshot eyed rising to meet Draco's critical gaze. "What are you doing here, instead of kissing Voldemort's ass along with your Death Eater father?"

The blonde raises a brow at the words Death Eater. "Tell me this, Potter: why did you choose the name 'Tom'?"

Harry glances away, brows valleying as if he had not thought to ask the same question himself.

Draco sighs and reaches into his inner suit pocket and pulls out a thick envelope. "Here." He tosses it at the raven, who fumbles with it. "Whether you like it or not, you and I have the same goal."

Harry opens the envelope, but not before a few good tries due to his fingers being too shaky from the drink. He glances at its contents and gives Draco a perplexed look. "What goal is that, exactly?"

"Keeping you alive," Draco says, sharply. "Which is proving to be increasingly difficult, thanks to your recent antics. Do you crave death so dearly? Even after running from it?"

"What the fuck are you talking about, Malfoy? Why the hell would you want to keep me alive?" Harry tosses the envelope to the ground and hugs his knees, shivering. His headache seems to scrambling the blonde's words. He can't possibly be hearing this right. Is he hallucinating?

"You are the Dark Lord's shield, Potter," Draco says, growing more impatient. "My service to the Dark Lord includes protecting his life, which means protecting his shield. Do you understand?"

Brows furrowed, Harry squints at Draco in confusion. "Huh?"

The Malfoy heir pinches the bridge of his nose. He lets out a long breath and tries again. "I am here to make sure you don't drink yourself to death. And whatever else it is you are doing to slowly kill yourself."

A cold anger settles in those ragged features. Harry rises to his feet, rather unsteadily, and stabs a finger in the blonde's face. "I don't need help from you," he snaps. "Take your blood money and get the fuck out of my town!"

"Blood money?" Draco stands in turn, a slight pink tinge in his cheeks. "Do you know what they call you now, Potter? They call you traitor. The Betrayer of the Light. The false Chosen One. They call you a cowardly, selfish conman. There's no going back now, even if you wanted to."

"Don't bother coming back," Harry slurs, appearing to not have heard those harsh labels. "I won't be here."

Draco Malfoy lets out a sharp huff, a deep scowl gracing his pointed face. "You've lost the goddamn plot, Potter." Without another word, he storms out of the drawing room and into the lobby.

Harry mutters curses after the man and collapses back into the couch. Glazed green orbs fall to the envelope on the ground. After a moment's contemplation, he reaches down to pick it up.