Note: It's been ten years since I first uploaded this story to Bebo, and seven since years I last updated it here. I don't know if people still read or write fanfiction, but I got an email this week asking for an update, so here it is at last! Chapter 15 of my god-awful, teen-written drarry fic, seven years late.
For old readers (lol), I've changed a few things in previous chapters (because I couldn't remember where they were going). I added some drug use to chapter 12, and removed some of the really embarrassing dialog. But for the most part, left them unedited.
Let's see if we can finish this monster!
Harry packed his bags. He couldn't find his favourite pair of socks, but assumed the laundry elves still had them. He didn't care. He packed his bags and left.
It was a strange feeling, to be standing outside the great front doors of Malfoy manor, after so long inside. He had packed so quickly, he hadn't had a chance to think about where he might go. The Burrow?
He didn't look back at the manor until he got to the gate, his enchanted suitcase floating behind him. The house looked a lot smaller from the outside - a lot less impressive. He wondered if Draco knew he was gone.
After he passed the gate, he would be free to apparate anywhere. Why was he hesitating?
He had to report the Malfoys. Narcissa would go to prison, but surely she deserved it? Draco would be fine by himself – he might go to trial, but they wouldn't lock him up. He was too young and too easily influenced. Narcissa would die regardless.
They deserved it, didn't they?
Harry let his suitcase fall to the ground and collapsed onto it. He shouldn't have to make this decision. This is why the ministry existed. And yet, he didn't hate Narcissa. He didn't want her to die in Azkaban.
He picked at his nails. He levitated a rock. He lay back on his suitcase, but it dug into the arch of his back. He'd lost weight, he realised, just like Draco. He tilted his head back, so his hair touched the stone path. The manor looked better upside-down.
It was difficult for Harry, to accept his fears. He didn't want to face the press, and explain where he had been. He didn't want to drag the Malfoys to prison, after seeing them suffer for so long. But a large part of it was selfish; he didn't want to be responsible for the Death Eaters, to be expected to fight any more. It was too much. He wasn't special; he hadn't even graduated. He wasn't an Auror – not yet.
He rolled off the suitcase and shook dust from his hair. He had to go back for his socks anyway.
"What do you mean, he just left?"
Draco was pacing outside the front door, wringing his fingers, when Harry walked into the foyer. He had come in through a side-door – he didn't want to be dramatic.
"He took his things, Sir," said Weedy in a high pitched squeak, "and just walked right out the door here."
Draco clasped his hands, bringing them to his lips as though to pray. Harry had never seen him so nervous.
Draco didn't stop pacing, and he didn't look up. Weedy followed him with his beady eyes.
"Does mother know?" Draco asked. "Quickly."
"I don't know, sir. But she saw him only an hour ago."
"Mother did?" Draco stopped. "Merlin, she's stupid. What has she done?"
"I couldn't hear much, but I believe she-"
"I didn't want a literal answer," Draco snapped. "Look, Weedy, I'm going to need your help. We need to get mother out of the country, we need to-"
"You don't," said Harry quietly. Weedy jumped at his voice. Malfoy stared. Harry's heart was beating unusually fast. He took a deep breath to steady it.
Draco broke the silence. He looked like he might cry. "Potter, are you insane?"
"Maybe," Harry admitted, "but I want to help."
"You want to get my father out of Azkaban?"
"No," said Harry, "but I want to get him a fair trial, and I want to find a cure for Narcissa."
Weedy clapped his hands over his head and did a little dance. "I knew you were a good person, sir! I knew our Lady could count on you!" But his expression changed quickly. "But Sir, there is no curing the Curse."
Harry smiled at the house elf and put down his luggage. "We'll try," he said, and he meant it.
Draco hadn't moved. "You're crazy," he repeated.
"A thank you would be more appreciated," said Harry. "But instead, I do have a few conditions."
"Conditions?"
"We'll need to talk to your mother too. Weedy, can you bring Narcissa another pot of tea?"
"Of course, Sir. Yes, Sir!" Weedy bowed clumsily and hurried away.
For the first time since The War, Harry felt in control. And the feeling was good.