Regarding Harry
By Tsujton
Disclaimer: Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling et al. I make no profit (story of my life…).
Summary: Harry destroys the last Horcrux and defeats Voldemort – but in doing so, winds up back where he started the night he got his scar: with the mind of a fifteen month old – big baby!Harry. But the Death Eaters are out for revenge… Slightly slashy. Some abuse and violence, so rated: M
A/N: Many thanks to katzeboston for her wonderful beta work!
Beta's note: Please accept my apologies for the lengthy delay! It was entirely my fault. In future I promise to be speedier. :-)
Chapter 9: Draco
Draco was barely aware of putting one foot in front of the other. Some part of him knew that he was moving, that there were people around him. But they were little more to him than a low buzzing in his periphery. He was nowhere. In a humming fog of nothingness. And Draco Malfoy liked it that way. Very much.
This disjointed journey had begun when he and Weasley had arrived at the scene of Lucius' murder. The moment Draco set eyes upon his father's lifeless, blood-covered face something deep inside him twisted and his thoughts raced against a growing force that was attempting to crush them out of existence.
He had killed Lucius. Draco had always feared his father. Had he hated him too? He had desperately wanted to please that man for whom nothing was ever good enough. Dead. Now he was dead. Well, there certainly would be no pleasing him now, thought Draco somewhat hysterically. And then he'd felt sickened that he could jest over his own father's dead body. Dead. Dead. Killed. I killed him. And then the invisible force won out and Draco's thoughts were no more.
Occasionally, Draco's buzzing world was punctuated by moments of cognizance. He didn't like that much. He didn't like that at all. Back at the giant's hovel there had been a rush of it. Murderer. And Draco had cried. He'd tried not to. A Malfoy never cried. His father would be very angry – Oh. No. He wasn't a Malfoy. He didn't deserve the title. He – his internal diatribe was unexpectedly interrupted by none other than Harry Potter. What? Potter looked so concerned for him. Then, harsh words from the Weasley girl.
Do what you're told.
You are worthless.
I am worthless.
But Potter – Harry, Harry wanted to stay with him. Where the hell was that damn blissful buzzing? He wasn't getting it back. They were cutting into him with their words and keeping him there. And Harry was…all wrong. He was clinging to Draco and Draco's traitorous body was responding and bile was rising fit to choke him. Draco fought hard to swallow it back. Thrum. Please. Please. Plea–
"He may view Draco as his protector."
Protector?
Harry had been holding onto him tightly, but as the boy relaxed his grip and fell away, Draco's mind fell away too.
"What?"
"Mr. Malfoy. I said, please stick out your tongue."
Where was he? Professor McGonagall was talking to him in a rather impatient tone. Professor Slughorn stood close beside Draco with a poised vial in his hand.
"Yes, it's Veritaserum, my boy," provided Slughorn sadly.
Draco blinked. He was in Professor Dumbledore's old office. Granger and Weasley were there as well. After a moment, full awareness came rushing to the fore and Draco winced as if given a physical blow.
"Mr. Malfoy, the only reason I have not yet turned you over to the Aurors is that Ms. Granger has vouched for your cooperation." McGonagall's voice grew harsher still and Draco winced again.
"Draco, please. Just take the Veritaserum." It was Granger. Oh. No more buzzing then. Draco looked up mutely at Professor Slughorn, who brought the bottle closer to Draco expectantly. Draco opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. As the third drop landed, he felt a different sort of buzzing. It was a most welcome feeling.
"Snap out of it, you little shite! You're not fooling anyone!"
Draco slowly raised a hand to his face. His cheek was stinging. Where was he, now? Not at Hogwarts, he felt certain. Slowly he took in his surroundings. A small dank cell, poorly lit by a few greasy-smelling candles. One door. No window. No furniture save the straight back chair he sat in and a small table with a pitcher and glass on it. And one more thing. A very angry-looking man was studying him through narrowed eyes. He was rubbing his palms together and getting ready to slap Draco again. Draco's eyes widened as the man raised his hand and he tried to rise from the chair. Foolish. A sticking charm held him fast to the seat and all he succeeded in doing was knocking his chair back. His head hit the stone floor with a painful crack and Draco lay half-stunned, looking at the grit-covered ceiling until the angry man's face came into view. In his stupor, Draco wondered if he would be hit again. He found he sort of didn't care.
The man roughly grabbed Draco by his robefront and pulled, setting him and his chair upright. The man did not release his hold but shook Draco till he looked up at him.
"Listen little boy, it's only going to get worse from here. Just tell me what I want to know before I get really angry. Believe me, you don't want to see me angry…"
"I, I don't want to see you at all!" stammered Draco, his own anger beginning to find purchase. His face hurt, his head hurt, his throat was parched and he was filthy. He could smell his own stench and – oh, Merlin it was awful.
"Why you little sh–" The man had raised his hand to strike again when the door opened suddenly and in walked an equally angry-looking witch in Auror's robes.
"Smythe! What the hell are you doing?"
Rupert Smythe froze, hand midair, and looked over his shoulder at his superior, Beatrice Portman.
"I was just –"
"I can see what you were just doing, Smythe. Get. Out. You're on desk duty till further notice," Portman added evenly. She did not tolerate insubordination and Smythe knew it. He lowered his hand and cast his eyes down, mumbling, "Sorry M'um," as he left.
Draco had remained silent during this exchange. His Slytherin instincts were attempting to resurface. Assess the situation. Find advantages, weaknesses to turn in your favour, a little voice told him. But Draco found he could do none of those things. He had no idea of where he was or how he'd gotten there. Then wait. Gather information before you take action.
Draco mustered a weak smile. "Thank you," he said to the witch. "Ms. …?"
"Mr. Malfoy, we've met before, remember? I am Auror Beatrice Portman. I took you into custody at Hogwarts in Headmistress McGonagall's office?" Her tone had an edge to it, as though she was not predisposed to believe anything Draco had to say.
Draco shook his head in response. "I'm sorry. I don't. Please forgive me." Exude charm, politeness, patience.
The Auror gave a derisive snort before continuing. "I am in charge of the Malfoy investigation."
"I see," said Draco evenly, hoping the Auror would continue to disclose.
It was obvious to Portman that the Malfoy boy most certainly did not 'see'. It was time to illuminate him as to just how dire his situation was. "Mr. Malfoy – may I call you Draco?" At his nod of consent she proceeded. "Draco, you have been charged with multiple counts of attempted murder, with…"
As soon as she had begun to list the charges, a strangling panic arose in Draco. His breath quickened and he started looking about for a means of escape. He wriggled in his seat and found that the sticking charm still held him captive. But he had to get away. He would not – could not – listen to what this woman was saying. At last a familiar thrumming fog descended upon him…Hmmm.
"…is no direct evidence that you killed him in self-defense, Draco." Portman had been reading from a partially unrolled parchment; she paused to see how her charge was taking the information. Damn. He wasn't. She pulled out her wand and conjured a quill and ink pot on the little table. She unfurled the bottom of the scroll and laid it flat, speaking as she wrote, "Prisoner is at times unresponsive…" When she'd finished her addition to the report, she looked up at Draco. His head was tilted slightly and his eyes were half open but unfocused. "I've half a mind to let Smythe back in here and have at you," she mused bitterly. "At least he was able to keep your attention."
Portman knew that she would do no such thing and berated herself for the comment. Empty threats left a bad taste in her mouth. So did rule breaking. She was by-the-scroll through and through. That is how she rose to her position, and that was how she would solve this case. She looked over the parchment again. On it was written a series of detailed accounts, including depositions from Arthur Weasley's youngest two children and their friend Hermione Granger (a high-achieving Gryffindor Prefect, she noted). These were followed by statements taken from Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress at Hogwarts (and Portman's former professor of Transfiguration), the half-giant, Rubeus Hagrid and Horace Slughorn (whose connections to the ministry cast him in dubious light to Portman's way of thinking). She stood rereading the report; there was definitely a pattern to Malfoy's lucidity. Harsh tones and kindness. What was it the Muggle Law Enforcers called it? 'Good cup, bad cup'. Well, I guess I shall offer the 'good cup', she mused as she poured some chilled water from the pitcher onto the glass. With a quick wave of her wand she transfigured Draco's chair into a sofa (keeping the sticking charm intact) and sat beside the boy.
"Draco," she began warmly. "You must be thirsty. It's quite stuffy down here." She tucked an unruly lock of his hair behind his ear in what she thought of as a mothering gesture. Portman had no children and didn't much care for them, so she was on shaky ground here. She reached out to gently pat his shoulder. "It's alright dear. You're safe now. Here," she handed him the glass. Draco slowly lifted his head. He had lost that vacant look and his eyes began to focus on the glass and then on the Auror holding it.
"Th-thank you," he said softly and slowly reached for the water. As he drank, he looked around warily.
"I'm sorry about Mr. Smythe. That was…regrettable. I've sent him away and I assure you he won't be back." She smiled and went in for the kill. "But it is time for you to tell me exactly what happened." The Auror cast a recording charm on the quill. It rose from the table, dipped itself in the ink pot and remained poised above the parchment.
Draco swallowed hard and his hands began to shake. Portman took the glass from him and set it down on the cell floor. She grasped his hands in hers firmly. "Draco? Don't fade on me boy." He looked up sharply at that and she continued. "You can do this. Talk to me. I want to help you. And afterwards you can have a long, long rest." Draco's brow was furrowed and his lips pressed tight together. He gave the barest of nods, and the Auror continued. "Did you intentionally kill Lucius Malfoy?" Draco pulled back slightly, but Portman did not release her hold. "You have to answer now, Draco."
He was so tired. But he knew he didn't deserve to rest. Not after what he had done. "I, I killed him." Draco's voice broke but he forced himself to say it again. "I killed him, I killed him," and it was all he could say. He was sobbing and shaking his head as he repeated his crime over and over.
"Enough. Finite!" The Auror let go of Draco's hands to stop the scratching quill.
Draco brought his hands up and raked his nails down his face leaving bright pink welts. He did it again and drew blood.
"Shite!" cursed Portman. "Snap out of it kid!" She grabbed the water glass and threw the remaining contents into the boy's face. It had the desired effect. Draco froze.
"I d-didn't, I, I'm sorry…" he whispered and promptly passed out.
Portman stomped over and pulled the door open. "I need a Healer in here – NOW!" So much for the 'good cup', she thought bitterly
Draco spent the three days before his trial in a Ministry holding cell. It was smaller even than the interrogation room but it contained a cot, an Ever-full water glass and a Never-full chamber pot. Three times a day a surly, middle-aged wizard brought him bread, cheese and an apple, though Draco rarely ate the meager meals.
Draco's entitlement to the Malfoy fortune was in question, so the Ministry had assigned him a solicitor, who visited him once before the trial. It was a brief encounter, consisting mainly of the wizard asking "Is it your intention, Mr. Malfoy, to contest the charge of Patricide against you?" followed by Draco shaking his head.
The rest of the time Draco was left completely alone. For the most part he was unaware of his surroundings, but whenever he dozed off he was thrust from his blissful oblivion by vivid nightmares of Lucius. Lucius on top of him. Squeezing his windpipe – and Draco grappling for anything to hit him with to make his father stop. Sometimes he found the rock, just as it had come to pass, but sometimes he dreamed that he'd found a wand and cast Aveda Kedavra at Lucius. He always woke up screaming.
On the day of the trial, the surly wizard was back, and uncharacteristically talkative. "S'the big day today, eh?" he quipped as he set Draco's tray down at the foot of the cot. "Y'won't be seein the likes o'me after yer trial. The keepers in Azkaban don't got no time fer niceties y'know" he added with a chuckle.
The man's tone grated on Draco. Shut up. Just shut up and leave already. But instead, the man snatched up the apple and took a large bite before replacing it on the tray. The Slytherin in Draco's chest reared.
"Are you attempting to imply that this feeble…service you have provided is meant to fall under the category of 'nicity'?" His voice was laced with practiced sarcasm. The man just scowled at him and spit on the floor.
"S'too bad they don't got Dementers n'more. You'd have a shorter time of it at least, eh?" and with that he casually pushed the tray off the cot and left as it clattered to the floor.
Pent up frustration found its way out of Draco in the form of thrusting his fist into the stone wall. It hurt like hell, yet still felt derisory, so Draco slammed his head forward into the wall. He saw spots. I killed him. Slam. I killed him. Slam. Mum's gone. Slam. Let me die. Slam. Please…
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Next, Chapter 10: In The News