Summary: In the dark and musty recesses of the Ministry, Draco and Harry serve their suspension. Harry had come to Draco's aid, that's what landed him here beside him, but he hadn't known the details of what Draco had done. Not until now.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Rowling

Prompt: Your second Detention will be served with Robards - You must write or draw Harry or Draco + consequences for breaking the rules/breaking the law at the Ministry - either 1) how it happens -OR- 2) the punishment.

A shuffle of pages and a muttered profanity from across the desk illuminated Harry to Draco's frustrations. He looked up from his own paper, glancing at the blond through his eyelashes. Though several thoughts crossed his mind, he kept his mouth shut.

In the days following the attack, Draco had said nothing. His features had formed into a permanent line of displeasure. Of depression. Even in the dank, lower level of the Ministry in which they sat, Harry could see the same sorrow that had plagued him since. Draco now sat across from him, his filings forgotten as he slumped in his chair, squeezing his finger.

"Paper cut." He muttered in exasperation.

Harry stood in silence, bringing his Holly wand with him. He knelt in front of Draco, prying the hurt hand out of the grasp of the other one. He stared at the red cut, threatening to bleed, and whispered a simple healing charm. He didn't consider himself practiced in this area of magic, but he knew enough and at times like this he was grateful.

They both watched wordlessly as Draco's skin stitched itself back together, removing all evidence of the injury. When it was closed, Harry lifted his chin, staring into eyes the color of ash, of smoke that usually betrayed the fire that raged within him. Now, though, they had dimmed. The firelight that lit the basement office glistened off the wet surface of his eyes. Draco closed his lids, embarrassed perhaps by the emotion that swim within him. Still, Harry said nothing. Instead, he remained in his position on the hard wood, gripping Draco's hand.

"We should get back to work." He mumbled, attempting to pry his hand from Harry's.

"It can wait. Robards will live."

Draco's chest lifted in a scoff at the name of their supervisor. "He might, but I'm not sure he'll let me."

Harry didn't laugh, didn't move. They were both lucky they hadn't been fired, a threat that hadn't entirely passed.

A droplet escaped from the growing pool of tears, wetting Draco's eyelashes. "I'm trying to right my wrongs, to fix the choices I never should have made, but others can't see it the same way." The fingers of his left hand gave an instinctive twitch, reacting to the ugly brand that had been carved into his skin. The one Draco had been proud of only a few short years before. "They see us as deserters, that we changed sides to save our own skin." He was silent for a moment and when he spoke again his voice was just above a whisper. "Which I guess we are."

"Is that what he said?" Harry asked, referring to the man that had landed them here.

Draco gave a single jerk of his head, one Harry would have missed if he hadn't been watching so intently. "He's glad my father's dead. Wished he had been the one to kill the blood purist. The death eater."

Something told Harry the actual words had been laced with expletives. He remembered how the man had laughed, how Draco's face had flushed with anger, and how the man laughed even harder as a reaction, but that wasn't when Draco had withdrawn his wand, had cast the unforgivable.

"He was explicit in the things he wanted to do with my mother. He called her a…" Draco's voice cut off, unable to say anymore as his throat closed in frustration, in guilt, in every other emotion that had flooded him in the days that led to this moment.

Harry remembered hearing "Narcissa", how her name had floated to him. He'd only caught an odd word of the conversation, just enough to piece together that it wasn't a friendly interaction. Draco's wand had slid into his hand after that and the man had hit the cobbled street of Diagon Alley. All humor had washed from his face, replaced by that of agony as his body writhed from the spell. Harry had been the one to end it, to disarm Draco and take his wand. He had stunned the accuser, leaving passersby to deal with him as the two of them fled. That spell is what had landed him beside Draco in suspension, had landed them here.

Anger wasn't a strong enough word to describe Robards. His voice had been loud, abrasive. Every word crystal clear through the wooden door that separated the two of them as they were scolded separately. Harry hadn't known the specifics of what the citizen had said, not until now, only that Robards didn't regard Draco's actions as justified.

When it was Harry's turn, Robard's face had been beet red with fury, disappointment, as his jowls wobbled with his screams. He had scolded him for aiding Draco in the attack, threatened to fire them both. Harry had only sent the stunner to prevent the citizen from striking back and escalating the situation further, but he would have always come to Draco's aid. Harry knew he wouldn't have lashed out without a justifiable cause. He had been there once upon a time, had tried to cast a cruciatus after Bellatrix had taunted him. Even though he knew what Draco had done wasn't right, he knew where the desire to hurt, to make the words stop had come from.

He stood then, pulling his hand from Draco's whose had now gone limp. Harry brushed Draco's forehead with a gentle kiss before placing another on his lips. "I would have done the same."

Draco opened his eyes then, looking at Harry with surprised relief. Harry realized that it had been more than the insults, his actions, that had plagued Draco, but how he thought Harry would react too.