August 1997

Harry stopped reading newspapers some time ago and didn't see the need to start again any time soon. After all the hard time they have given him, he realized the media and the reality were two very different things.

Because of that, when he found out Kingsley was chosen for a minister, he was surprised, but only for a moment. It was a good choice, he agreed, and thought about the man.

He was a tall, black man, with broad shoulders. He was bald and liked to wear a single gold hoop earring. Even though, it wasn't his physical appearance that would make him a good minister.

It was his deep, calm, and reassuring voice that was like a port in a storm. It was his posture, collected and strong, as if he never lost any hope no matter how dire the situation was. It was his commanding presence, the presence of a leader that would make him a good minister.

Still, Harry had his doubts. Sure, Kingsley was a good man, but as a letter helpfully provided, he was a minister now and that meant he was deeply buried in politics. Harry never liked politicians. He saw how efficient they were, and he suffered because of it. He saw how corrupt they were, how prejudiced and there was nothing that could improve the picture of ministry in his eyes.

Well, except Kingsley, maybe.

The letter practically demanded that he showed up in the ministry office, he noticed, as he read it once again and it left an ugly taste in his mouth. Would they offer him auror spot like they did to Ron? Does Kingsley just want to catch up with his old comrade? Do they want to know what he was up to last year?

"Kreacher," he finally called.

"I need robes that would say something like 'Do not approach me' or something like that," he explained to the old elf and his eyes twinkled with happiness.

"Master wants to look dangerous?" elf beamed, "Kreacher knows exactly what master needs."

Harry, not knowing what to do with that answer, simply responded, "Umm. Yeah, sure."

Elf beamed once again, loudly popping away.

(...)

Harry reached the phone booth he knew very well. It wasn't the entrance he preferred, but floo was out of the question. The media would have a field day if they heard how very proficient he was with the travel most of the society favored.

Dialing 6-2-4-4-2, he inspected his robes once again. They were blacker than it was natural and he could swear that Kreacher did something to them. However, it wasn't that that really bothered him, no. It was their eerie resemblance to the robes Riddle liked to wear. Simple, yet elegant. Fancy, but intimidating. Formal, yet lose enough if one had to fight...

"Welcome to the ministry of magic," emotionless voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Please state your name and business."

Harry wondered if someone actually checked those answers and entertained himself with an idea of saying something completely out of the context, but refrained of doing so. He was an adult now, a serious wizard.

"Harry James Potter, to meet a minister," he said, trying to sound bored, like Malfoys liked to do.

"Thank you. Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes," the voice ordered and Harry obliged. As the phone boot shuddered and started sinking into the ministry of magic the voice reminded him to present a wand to the official in the Atrium.

"The ministry of magic wishes you a pleasant day," it finished once Harry finally arrived in Atrium and made his way towards the desk he remembered.

Clerk looked as bored as a man could possibly be and took his wand without a glance towards Harry who didn't mind. The fewer people recognized him, the better.

"Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core," he grunted, but his eyes snapped up as he continued. How he recognized Harry's wand he had no idea, "In use for seven years."

"Indeed," Harry replied, already annoyed with a wizard whose chin was hanging now.

"My wand if you don't mind," he demanded as a wizard rushed to do exactly that.

"Yes, of course, Mr Potter.

That little stunt was enough for the half-full Atrium to switch the attention towards him, much to his annoyance, but his robes seemed to be doing their job as no one tried to approach him. Nothing has changed, he bitterly realized, as he overheard same shit he did when he was eleven, about to be sorted.

"Look, it's Potter."

"I thought he would be taller."

"Got himself some nice robes, huh?"

He felt his cheeks reddening as he tried to block the voices out. Why couldn't they just mind their own business? After all these years of being stared at, it didn't become any easier. They all watched him like he was some sort of a hero, but Harry knew better.

Real heroes were those who gave their lives for him. Those who stood up against Riddle and his Death Eaters fully knowing it might cost them everything. Those who never bowed to the rising darkness. Those who gave everything to stop him.

And yet, their names were quickly forgotten, their sacrifices unmentioned. Still, Harry liked to think that their memories lived within him, giving him strength and reminding him of what he fought for. The thought made him happier for a moment and he smiled, but it was quickly replaced with a slight frown as he arrived in front of the office of the minister of magic.

The young secretary was looking at him, her eyes wide, her work forgotten.

Once again annoyed, he tapped his silver badge.

"Harry Potter, to meet a minister."

"Yes," she finally broke out of her stupor or whatever it was.

"Of course, Mr Potter. He is waiting for you."

He nodded politely, breathed out, braced himself, and pressed the doorknob. There were more people inside the office than Harry expected.

Kingsley, with a warm, friendly smile extending his hand towards him, sitting behind the giant desk.

Amos Diggory, sitting alone in the corner of the office, looking like he hadn't slept for a year, with a frown on his face. He didn't even glance towards Harry.

Arthur Weasley, in front of the desk, close to Harry with a tired, but nonetheless friendly smile.

He accepted the minister's hand and shook it, his grip tight. The portraits of various Blacks claimed one can tell a lot about another person by shaking his hand so Harry tried to do so. Kingsley's grip was strong, as he expected, but his palm was a bit sweaty. Was he nervous? Does that mean this wouldn't be a pleasant conversation?

"Minister," he nodded, honoring the man. Politeness and manners, portraits insisted, are the best shield in political circles. Keep your distance until offers are made. "Mr. Diggory, Mr. Weasley."

Start with the most important person in the room, he was told, then work your way downwards.

"Now, none of that, Harry. Call me Kingsley, please, and sit down," the minister said, but Harry noticed something behind his smile. Caution, wariness and, dare he say, calculation.

Harry did so, smiling back. Really what was this all about?

"Alright, Kingsley, so what is this all about?" he said, wincing inwardly. Maybe politics really weren't his best field since he preferred bluntness. Diggory finally raised his head, looking at Harry. He also felt Mr Weasley squirming somewhere behind him. Kingsley remained as collected as ever, but his smile was replaced with a tired sigh.

"It's about the mess that ministry is right now."

"What about it?" Harry asked, still not sure where it was going. Adults exchanged the looks as Mr. Weasley conjured himself a chair and took a seat next to Harry.

"Look, Harry, while you were on a run, You-know-who ran a ministry from the shadows. Now that he is gone, a lot of people claim they were imperiused, whole departments are missing and the public does not trust us," he tried to explain, but Harry focused just on the last sentence. They don't trust them, he said. Huh.

"We need to start trials, reevaluate every person working here, get Hogwarts fixed and our hands are tied because we have no gold, no real backup to push the laws and not enough trustworthy people," Diggory added, again avoiding Harry's eyes.

"So what do you want from me?" he asked, knowing they had to had some kind of play here.

"You are still a hero in the eyes of people," Mr. Weasley said softly, "They will back us up if they heard words coming from you."

Harry stilled, not believing his ears. Didn't they know Rufus Scrimgeour already tried that? Didn't they remember his answer? He wanted to curse them all and go home. He wasn't a bloody hero and it wasn't his bloody job to fix everything.

Still, this was not time to throw a tantrum, he rationalized to himself, and they might leave him alone if he did some things. His presence might even ensure just trials.

"So what would you want me to do?" he asked after half a minute of silence and Kingsley breathed out in relief.

"Not much. Show in ministry a few times per week, make some statements for the press, and act as a witness in incoming trials," he said hastily, looking at Harry who nodded along. It really wasn't much, but he really hated the idea of him being the poster boy for the worst institution in the country.

"I want some things in return," he said firmly. Sure, they were friends, but portraits would curse him if he didn't get as much as he could out of incoming deal.

"Stability of our country isn't enough for you?" Diggory spat angrily, but Kingsley put his hand on his shoulder, trying to calm the man down.

"Come on, Amos. I'm sure Harry's demands will be reasonable," he said and Arthur nodded, "So what is it that you want?"

"I want something that states that I will not be prosecuted because of anything I did during the last few years. To be exact, for nothing that happened after Riddle's resurrection," he said. Better safe than sorry, he reckoned. Judging by the looks of everyone present, that was acceptable.

"I want Malfoys released," he added, knowing that he owed Mrs Malfoy.

"Narcissa and Draco, that is," he rushed to say when he saw Diggory opening his mouth.

"I'm not sure if that will pass," Kingsley started carefully. "He had a mark. And everyone knows he aided the murder of Albus Dumbledore. We have nothing exact on her, but she had to be aware of what was going on in the manor."

"They both helped me when it mattered the most," Harry insisted. "I won't let them rot in Askaban when their only sin is trying to protect each other!"

Men exchanged looks, seemingly understanding each other.

"They won't have anything to their names. The ministry seized everything they owned," Diggory said matter-of-factly. "At least they will have food in Askaban."

Harry gave him a disgusted look. This wasn't the same bright man, if maybe a bit overzealous about his son, whom Harry has met before his fourth year. It was sad, really, to see that man never got over the murder of his only son. Harry tried to feel for him, but hearing the toxic in his voice, he just couldn't. Everyone lost the loved ones during the war and it wasn't the excuse to act like savages, out for revenge.

Even in victory, they should remain dignified, Harry firmly believed.

"I'll take them in," he decided. It was weird, Harry knew, to offer a place to stay to bloody Draco Malfoy.

"Are you sure, Harry?" Mr. Weasley tried carefully, but Harry knew how to respond to him.

"They are family, however distant, and I won't let them waste away, neither in Askaban nor on the streets! If you want me to help you, you'll take me to Malfoys and free them."

He was done here. He was about to get up when Kingsley raised his hand, in an attempt to stop him and Harry paused, watching man intently. He let out a defeated sigh and nodded for himself.

"Alright, Harry. I'll order it immediately, but you'll have to fill a report where you will explain why they are freed and where you vouch for them. If we catch them breaking the law, it'll be your fault," he said and Harry thought about it. Was it another way to try to chain him to the ministry? Kingsley wasn't stupid, Harry knew, and judging by his, now much colder, gaze he probably knew it would come down to this.

Pity, Harry sighed inwardly. He has thought Kingsley is about to change the whole ministry for the better, but it seemed he just adjusted to the game of politics.

"Alright. I'll bring it in few days when I make my first visit to the ministry," he said coldly. So much about them being friends. It finally clicked to Harry why the other two men were present in the room. Arthur was a friendly face, explaining this to Harry in terms he would understand while Amos was a distraction. They did minister's dirty work while he acted as a voice of reason, negotiating a deal he already prepared.

Harry would ask portraits for few more lessons about politics, he decided, as he turned around, ready to fetch the Malfoys and go home.

(...)

Luckily, they weren't yet in Askaban, but rather in some kind of waiting room. Why have they received that honor while his godfather was shipped in prison without a trial, Harry didn't know, but was glad nonetheless.

They both stood up when Harry entered the room with young auror he vaguely remembered from his school years and hence, the staring contest started.

Suddenly, he felt stupid. What has he expected? They looked at him impassively, but Harry could see well-hidden fear behind the mask of defiance. One thing at the time, he decided, turning towards auror.

"Why are you still here?" He asked, with more venom in his voice than he intended. Auror gaped, looked around himself, maybe looking for some kind of help from some superior, but when none had come he tried on his own.

"Umm, for your safety, Mr Potter?"

"Against two unarmed citizens?" he asked, deliberately choosing the word that reminded them that they were, in fact, free people.

"I have to ensure," auror tried again, but Harry lost all of his patience.

"I will ensure that you are fired in the next thirty minutes if you don't leave immediately," he hissed and auror practically ran away muttering his apologies. Harry felt a little bad for a moment. It wasn't his fault he was in a bad mood.

"Alright," he started, turning around and sitting in front of Malfoys who carefully followed his movements.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" Draco asked, but for a change, there wasn't any malice in his voice.

"I vouched for you," he said bluntly, "and as of half an hour ago, you are free to go."

He allowed himself a small smile when he noticed how Narcissa's face brightened and how Draco gaped like a fish.

"Why would you do that?" he asked again and Harry shook his head. His ex-rival was as blunt as he was. He should've been Gryffindor.

"Because your mother saved my life, because I saved yours, because I don't believe you deserve to rot along with your father, because we are family, however distant. Choose one of those reasons. They're all enough for me."

"For me too, Mr. Potter," Narcissa spoke for the first time, unable to hide her smile, "but why would you come to inform us personally. I would imagine that defeater of Dark Lord has a busy schedule."

Were all Slytherins proficient in prying? Still, he had no reason to lie.

"You would be surprised how dull the life of the hero is, "he said, his voice dozed with sarcasm.

"And yes, there is a reason why I came personally. You see, in their infinitive wisdom, the ministry decided that two of you don't need place or gold to live so they seized everything your family has had," he said and waited for them to process that piece of information.

"W-we have nothing? Nowhere to live?" Narcissa managed, as her son yelled, "What? We are poor?"

"Poorer than Weasleys," Harry couldn't resist to say, but to his astonishment, Draco just laughed humorlessly.

"Who would've thought," he drawled, finally sounding like a proper Malfoy.

"Stop it Draco! No one will take us in now, when our name has been disgraced," Narcissa started hysterically.

"Yeah, that's kinda the reason I'm here," Harry replied, suddenly shy.

"I live in Black's ancestral house and there is plenty of room there." Draco gaped again, opening his mouth multiple times, but no sound escaped them. Narcissa watched him for a few seconds like she had seen a ghost, but the expression was quickly replaced by the widest and the brightest beam Harry has ever seen. If only because of that, it was worth it in Harry's mind.

Further surprising him, she quickly breached the gap between them and jumped to hug Harry who, reflexively, spread his arms. A moment later, he had his arms full of older witch who, Harry noticed, even shed a tear.

He glanced at Draco, visibly confused, but another boy just shrugged, sporting a little smirk. How would say Malfoys could be so emotional.

Once she calmed down, there was nothing else to do, but to ask.

"So? Shall we?" And they did.

Strangely, no one has mentioned nor thought about Lucius.

(...)

Harry admitted that he had no idea how elves' magic worked. As they arrived at his home, the old elf was already waiting for them, bouncing in excitement in the hall. Even the portrait of Walburga looked somewhat happy.

Kreacher, somehow, already had the rooms ready and happily announced the dinner. The three of them, without any idea how to proceed, decided to follow Kreacher.

Once they have eaten and started with the tea, Draco cleared his throat, and Harry knew he finally started to think about his future.

"Not to be ungrateful, Potter, Harry," he corrected.

"But I should think about mother's and my future and seeing how we are left without any gold..." he trailed, but Harry understood. Pureblood wizards took the greatest pride in taking care of their families. Even Weasleys, who were known for their lack of money, refused any help as long as they could survive on their own. Whatever Harry wanted to believe, the blood was held in high regard in a magical world, and the family was a somewhat sacred thing. He respected that, and already expected this conversation.

"Right, I can lend you some money to educate yourself or to get on until you find a job. I can also buy your manor and hold it for you until you can pay for it," he offered and Draco slowly nodded, swallowing.

"Yeah, it would be appreciated, but..." he trailed again and Narcissa decided to jump in the conversation.

"He wants to say that, because of our name, no one would be willing to offer him apprenticeship or employment," she said much to Draco's shame, but he still held himself straight.

"Oh," Harry said lamely. He hadn't thought about that. Surely someone would be willing?

"How about your, umm, friends from school and their families?" Narcissa remained silent as Draco scoffed loudly.

"Nott's in the same position as us and Goyle's in the prison," he said. No one mention how strange it was to hear Goyle's name without that of Crabbe right after it.

"Parkinson?"

"Please, the likes of them stand around you as long as you have more money than them," Draco spatted causing Harry to raise his eyebrows. He remembered Pansy being quite cozy with Draco.

"Pansy is fine," he continued, correctly interpreting Harry's expression, "but her family isn't the friendliest one around. They fell into silence after that statement as Harry thought about his new roommates. Should they just move away and start from the beginning? Then, suddenly, he got an idea.

"You any good with numbers, economy, and that stuff?" he asked Draco and continued, switching his attention towards Narcissa. "Managing press, speeches, public picture?"

"Please, we are Malfoys," Draco scoffed, puffing his chest a bit.

"Okay," Harry nodded, "Well, I've inherited a lot from Blacks and I have no idea how to manage that money and I reckon goblins won't care about your name. Also, I have kind of a deal with ministry where I should...promote them? And, again, I've no idea how to do that."

"You, you want us to work for you?" Draco exclaimed loudly, exchanging the look with his mother.

"Only until you get on your feet. Or until public calms down," Harry said defensively, but Narcissa shook her head.

"No, no, that's perfect. Draco, you might even get recognized in Gringotts, if you do a good job with Harry's account. They'll have you if they think you can earn them more gold!"

He scowled, watching at the ceiling thoughtfully. Once he was over, he slowly nodded and turned attention back to Harry.

"You'll have to get me books from Gringotts, about your accounts and we can talk numbers once I start to bring actual money in, okay?" he asked and Harry was more than happy to agree.

(...)

Life with Malfoys was weird, but Harry learned to enjoy it.

Narcissa, true to her word, was more than capable with the press and Harry grudgingly did his job. She had a talent for writing long speeches that backed up the ministry, without really saying anything about Harry's stances and preferences.

Her pureblood ways also started rubbing him. She scolded him every few minutes on this or that, in a motherly way Harry secretly loved.

"Manners, Harry!"

"Language!"

"Straighten up!"

"You are going out like that?!"

Other than that, she was a well of knowledge on various topics and Harry listened to her lessons with a passion of a first-year student. It was a good addition to his already full schedule and he didn't mind it.

Draco, it seemed, really knew his way around the money and goblins quickly took advantage of it. They quickly offered him a few more accounts to manage in order to 'evaluate his skills and observe his methods' what he gladly accepted. Harry, not wanting to offend young pureblood, went behind his back to meet a director of the bank and vouched for him. In the end, it wasn't needed, but Harry appreciated their effort nonetheless and gifted them with a goblin made armor he found in one of the vaults.

Harry also appreciated the presence of someone his own age in the house. When there was nothing better to do, the duo enjoyed chess, talking about various topics teenagers liked such as Quidditch, witches, and insulting each other. They even found a nice meadow just outside of London where they could enjoy a few hours of flying around.

They all got together for the dinner, where Kreacher went a full elf mode and so there were many different meals all of which were delicious. Harry and Draco usually filled Narcissa in about their days as she commented and added her own stories or experiences if they were relevant to the topic.

All in all, Harry was pleased with his new and awkward family. He defended them again and again as the letters of his friends arrived, telling him he was bonkers (Ron), calling him rash and compulsive (Hermione), or asking him to borrow his new servants to experiment on them (George).

Lastly, he gained a few more pounds and changed his look from 'underfed' to merely 'scrawny'.

He counted it as a victory.