The morning after the trial, Harry rushed to get to the kitchen for the first time in weeks. Molly sat alone, reading the Prophet and sipping a cup of tea at the table. She looked up at Harry as he entered the room and stood up quickly, setting the paper down next to her mug.
"Good morning, Harry! Breakfast isn't even made yet. Let me just━"
"No, no that's alright," Harry sputtered. "I just came down to read the paper. I'm not really hungry." Molly hesitated for a moment.
"Are you sure? I could whip something up." Harry shook his head and sat across from Molly's chair. "Just a cup of tea?"
"Um, alright. Thanks." Figuring Molly wouldn't let it go until he agreed to some form of nourishment, he agreed. He eyed the paper, which was face-down on the table. Then he looked up to Molly, who was fussing about the sink and cupboards. "Are you still reading the paper?"
"No, dear, have at it." She turned from the stove and looked at him with a small grin. "Wondering about the Malfoy trial?"
"Yeah, I am," he said as he picked up the paper. "Though I'm not sure what to hope for. Ron's upset with me for what I said at the hearing." He held the Prophet, but wasn't sure he wanted to read it anymore. At least, in front of Molly. He didn't dare flip the paper over in case he caught a glimpse of the verdict on accident. For some reason it felt like too private a matter to read in front of another person. He wasn't sure how he'd react and didn't want yet another Weasley upset with him in case they felt he reacted incorrectly.
"Oh, of course he is," Molly said disapprovingly as she sat back down in her chair. "What you did yesterday was very brave."
"Sure it was," he scoffed.
"Really, it was. Not many people would've spoken on his behalf." She looked at the paper in his hands and picked up her mug. "Sorry, I'm distracting you. Go on, read it." Harry nodded, but still didn't open the paper. He didn't know why he was so uncomfortable in front of Molly. She was like a mother to him, but he still felt uncomfortable.
"Is it alright if I take it to the other room?"
"That's fine, but bring it back when you're finished. Arthur will want to read it."
"Okay," he said as he stood up. He left the kitchen and went to the sitting room, then sat on the couch and unfolded it. Instead of a picture of Malfoy, however, there was a picture of Harry on the front page, sitting in the witness' booth. He was staring down at Malfoy and twisting his fingers in his lap, an expression of concern on his face. The fact that they'd used a picture of him instead of Malfoy didn't make sense to him, but he looked past the picture and started reading.
After a lengthy trial of five hearings, Draco Lucius Malfoy has been sentenced. Many were confused with the Boy Saviour's speech at the final trial, and just as many were upset by it. As we all know, the two boys have had something of a school rivalry, and none of us expected Harry Potter to speak kindly of the Death Eater in question.
Harry skipped ahead, not caring what they said about him. For a moment he scowled at the paper. 'Boy Saviour,' they'd called him. That was new, and not appreciated. He hated the nicknames the public had dubbed him with.
It was certainly unexpected that the Wizengamot came to the decision they had, but Draco Malfoy walks free today. We can only hope that they made the correct choice, here, and that the son of one of Voldemort's most beloved followers doesn't make the Wizengamot regret their decision. Should Harry Potter be blamed for this verdict?At the last hearing, things were looking bleak for the Malfoy heir…
Harry snapped the paper closed, unsure of how he felt now that he knew the verdict. Malfoy was free. He felt good about that, even though part of him thought he shouldn't, but they'd suggested he was to blame for that. The word blame implied that he'd done something wrong, though he didn't think he had. Molly came through the kitchen door with a steaming cup of tea. She set it on the table before Harry and looked at him expectantly.
"Are you alright?" she asked softly.
"I'm fine," he said as he picked up the cup of brown, hot liquid and blew on it. "Just confused."
"And why is that?" She sat in one of the armchairs across from him and crossed her plump legs.
"They made it seem like I'm to blame for his freedom."
"Well, you certainly had a part in it, didn't you? I doubt they would've let him off so easy if you hadn't spoken so kindly about him."
"Did I do the wrong thing?" He didn't know if she had an answer for him, but he asked anyway. Molly was usually unbiased when it came down to it, but he didn't know how she felt about the Malfoys. Lucius Malfoy had nearly killed her only daughter, so Harry thought that perhaps she didn't think too well of them. That had happened years ago, however, so maybe Molly had moved past it. Harry couldn't imagine that after actually losing a child she would still be upset at almost losing another. Then again, Harry didn't have kids, so he couldn't say for sure that Molly would forgive Lucius.
"Only time will tell, dear. Nobody can know if he will choose to do the right thing with his freedom. We can only hope." Arthur walked into the room looking half-asleep, and Molly stood up to greet him with a peck on the lips and a rub of his pyjama covered arm. "Good morning, love," she said sweetly to her husband. Turning to Harry, she asked, "Are you finished with the paper?" Harry nodded and held it out to Arthur, who took it with a smile.
"Good morning," Harry said to Arthur.
"Morning, Harry."
The two older Weasleys went into the kitchen, leaving Harry with his thoughts. He wondered what would happen now that Malfoy was free, if they'd ever cross paths again. Part of him hoped they wouldn't. He didn't want to have to hear Malfoy's thanks, or what he would say if he didn't thank Harry. In all honesty, he wasn't sure he wanted to be thanked. He genuinely hadn't been trying to free the Slytherin. Sure, he was happy that he'd been freed, but he was unsure of whether or not it was okay for him to be happy about it.
His thoughts were interrupted when Ginny came down the stairs, Hermione and Ron following shortly after. Ginny paused beside the couch and looked as though she wanted to say something, but then turned and entered the kitchen. Ron didn't even look at him when he passed by. Hermione offered a groggy smile that didn't reach her brown eyes. The Burrow was slowly becoming more unbearable, and Harry knew that he needed to leave soon.
Life at the Burrow did not get any easier as the start of school got closer. He'd received several letters from the Auror Department asking him to work for them, but he declined each time. As much as he'd wanted to be an Auror, he didn't feel that the time was right for that. The reason behind this was that the Ministry had also sent him a letter regarding Grimmauld Place. They'd stated that enough Death Eaters had been put away that it was safe for him to move in. He hadn't told the Weasleys and Hermione yet, but he planned to that day.
Making his way down stairs, he reached the sitting room and spotted George napping on the couch. Quietly, Harry tried to pass George by, but as he reached the other end of the room George stirred, rolled onto his side and over and looked at him.
"When are you leaving?" George asked. There was no inflection in his tone, and Harry wasn't sure whether George was asking in impatience or curiosity.
"Uh, soon. Why do you ask?"
"Mum and dad have been getting antsy. They know you've been allowed to go back to number twelve. Why haven't you said anything?" Harry felt a blush creep up his neck.
"I didn't know how to bring it up," he admitted. George rolled his eyes.
"Just do it. As much as you're family, Harry, we can't afford you." Harry couldn't help but feel offended and guilty at the same time. He didn't know whether to agree or defend himself, so instead he said nothing and entered the kitchen.
"Hey," he said to the roomful. Everyone's eyes met his except Ron, who'd been ignoring him ever since the report of Malfoy's freedom had been released. "I just wanted to let you all know I'm leaving. Grimmauld Place has opened up, so… I'll just be packing, then." Arthur looked relieved, but Molly seemed more surprised than anything.
"You're at least staying tonight, aren't you?" she asked as she loaded an empty plate for him. "It'll be cold, and there's no one there to cook for you." Harry shook his head.
"There's no need, Molly, please," he said, looking at the plate of food she held out to him. "It's August, I doubt it'll be cold. Even if it is, I know how to start a fire."
"But it's got to be a right mess, dear. Just stay the night and I'll go with you tomorrow━"
"You don't have to pretend you want me to stay. I know none of you want me here. I've overstayed my welcome. I get it." Molly looked stricken, but nobody told him he was wrong. "I really appreciate all you've done for me."
"It's not a bother, Harry," Molly said softly. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to owl." Harry ducked his chin in affirmation, stifling the urge to say he hadn't an owl and couldn't afford a new one, then turned to leave. He'd reached Ron's room when he heard hurried footsteps banging up the stairs. Turning around, he saw Ginny had followed him, looking panicked.
"Harry," she said, out of breath. "Can we talk?"
"Um, yeah, I guess so." He had no clue what she'd want to talk about, but he widened the door to Ron's room for her anyway, following her when she entered. She stood, looking away from him, while he started packing his things into the suitcase he pulled from beneath 'his' bed.
"Why are you leaving so suddenly?" she asked as she turned to face him. Her brown eyes were pleading, and he wasn't sure why.
"Because I have my own house. There's no point in me staying here anymore." He tossed the knitted sweater from two Christmases ago that was too small now in the suitcase.
"But I thought, maybe…" she trailed off.
"You thought what?" He paused from tossing things in to focus on her.
"I thought that maybe you'd change your mind, about us."
"What do you mean? You're the one who broke up with me, Ginny."
"Yes, I know, but I still thought that as time went on you'd realise you still━"
"Still what? Still want to argue?" He knew he was taking the frustration at what George had said, and the lack of denial about being unwanted, out on her, but he couldn't stop himself.
"No, Harry. I thought you'd see that you still love me."
"I'm sorry, but I don't. At least, not romantically. I don't really know why at the moment, and I'm really not trying to be horrible to you, but I won't lie about that. I can't pretend that everything is okay. It would only hurt you more in the end." Ginny's lip twitched and Harry thought he might gone too far, but she held back her emotions, planting a blank expression on her freckled face. Harry said nothing as she reached out to him, then put her hands back down before they made contact. Ginny whirled around and ran from the room, letting the door slam behind her. He'd probably feel bad about what he'd said later, but at that moment he couldn't care less.
Harry finished packing his things and went down stairs, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone before he used the Floo to get to Grimmauld Place. Stepping out of the fireplace in the basement, he turned and lit the old logs in the hearth ablaze. The light of the fire exposed the grimy kitchen area. The table was covered in a thick layer of dust and several stools were knocked over. Harry went to the pantry door and opened it, instantly covering his nose with his hands and staggering backward. Whatever food he'd been hoping to find was obviously rotten.
"Lumos," he said, flicking his wand with the hand that didn't shield his nostrils from the attack on his sense of smell. With another spell five sconces lit all around the kitchen, and Harry was disgusted by how old and mouldy the food in the pantry had gotten. He was sure that nothing had been touched since before the battle of Hogwarts, and it smelled like it, too. The mess was enough to make him briefly think twice about coming here so late in the evening. The empty pantry made him wonder how he was going to afford food until he could access his money. Stressed and anxious to the brink of tears, Harry pushed the thought of his rumbling stomach from his mind and focused on his filthy surroundings.
There was so much to do, but he started by vanishing the rotten food and the insects that were buzzing around and crawling in it. He wasn't tired, at least, and he supposed he could get a lot done in the time it would take to clean things up a bit. All he could hope was that the rest of the five stories weren't as bad as this, but he didn't have very good expectations.
Deciding the rest of the kitchen could wait until the next day, he went up the stairs, past the ground floor, silently using the scouring charm to rid the stairs of dust. The wood was still worn, with chips of it missing, but it would do. He entered the drawing room and frowned. Keeping his mind focused, he used the few cleaning charms he knew until everything was dust-free and more orderly. The furniture was ratty, and there wasn't much he could do to help that. He'd have to buy all new sets of armchairs and sofas once his bank account was unfrozen. He supposed that someone more talented than him might have been able to fix it up, but it was much too far gone for him to transform it into something nice.
Satisfied with the state of the drawing room, Harry cleaned the bedroom on that floor, along with the small bathroom, then went to the second floor and the master bedroom where Arthur and Molly had slept when they'd stayed here. Mostly the room was dusty, but he thought the bed could use a new bed set. Other than that he hadn't much to do. He summoned his suitcase from the basement and began unpacking, choosing for this to be his room. At first he'd considered taking Sirius's old room, but the thought of sleeping where his late godfather had stayed was too much for him to bear. He wasn't even sure he'd be able to manage cleaning it. The wound of his death was not nearly as fresh as it used to be, but it hadn't scarred over yet.
Feeling as though he'd exerted himself and cleaned enough for one evening, he changed into his pyjamas. Lying in the king sized bed, he appreciated the fact that is wasn't as lumpy as the one he'd slept on in Ron's room, even if it did smell of mildew. He thought about his birthday, which had been the day before Malfoy's hearing, as he turned over and tried to get comfortable in the bed he'd never slept in before. The only people who had wished him a happy birthday had been Molly, Arthur, and Hermione. Everyone else had ignored him as usual. Being eighteen didn't feel any better than being seventeen had. If anything, it felt more awful. True, he didn't have the stress of Voldemort to deal with anymore, but the unwanted attention from the public, the near-rejection of the only people he had left to call family, and his financial woes threatened to break him. Just the feeling of the Weasleys tiring of him hurt enough to give all of his troubles from the past year a run for their money. If he didn't have the Weasleys, who did he have? He consoled himself with the fact that they didn't hate him. He couldn't deny that their general apathy at his departure had been hurtful, though.
He thought of all the things he'd need in order to be self-sufficient and wondered if it would be possible. The Weasleys couldn't afford him, which was a large reason he'd left, so it would be out of the question to ask them for help. Hermione hadn't spoken much to her parents since she'd restored their memories, and Harry and Hermione hadn't spoken much since he'd refused to return to school. Asking her for a loan would be just as bad, even if he would be able to pay her back eventually. Sighing, he thought he may have to consider taking up the Auror job offer before he was ready to. As he fell asleep, he hoped that something would work out, because it seemed like everything was getting worse and worse as each day passed.
The Manor stood, proud and large, before Draco. As he walked slowly up the mountain bluestone path to his childhood home, he felt like the tall hedges on either side of him would reveal Death Eaters waiting to get their hands on the son of their betrayer. This did not deter him from feeling the joy that consumed him as he marched toward the doors to his home. He'd been held at the Ministry for nearly a month after his final hearing, forced to go through tests and countless questions that were supposed to see if he was ready to reenter society. He was thankful that he was no longer being abused and that they'd provided a room for him that wasn't below freezing, healed his broken bones and cuts, and had given him clean━albeit unfashionable━clothes.
When he'd reached them, Narcissa opened the doors for him, a large smile on her tear-stained face. She drew her son into a very tight embrace and planted kisses all over his cheeks and forehead.
"Oh, Draco, you're home!" she cried as she held his face between her hands. "You're home!" He reached up and stroked her pale cheek, thankful that after all that had happened he still had his mother.
"I am," he said, unable to prevent the curve of his lips. When she ushered him inside, however, shock took hold of him. Most of their possessions were gone, leaving the foyer almost bare. "What's happened, Mother?" he wondered in alarm. Her face fell as she began to explain.
"Our trials may be through, but the house is still under inspection by the Ministry. We're technically not supposed to be here." Draco felt his mouth fall open.
"What do you mean the house is under inspection? Mine and father's imprisonment wasn't enough? Where have they taken our things?"
"Calm yourself," Narcissa said stiffly. Draco's mouth shut instantly at her tone. "Your father is a criminal, Draco. He owned many dark artifacts, and you have to remember that this was… his base." Draco didn't need to ask to know who she referred to. More softly she told him, "It's not permanent. It's just for a time. Once they see that the house is safe, they'll give it back to us. The things they've taken are being held somewhere in the Ministry. We'll get them back." Her reassurances felt mildly forced, but he was too startled to question that.
"Give it back… Why would they be giving the Manor back to us?" Try as he might, he still couldn't wrap his mind around what his mother was telling him.
"They've seized the house. It is under Ministry surveillance and temporary ownership." Narcissa paused, giving Draco time to understand. "While I've been given permission to collect our clothing, they have wards in place that will notify them if we try to take anything else, or try to live here while they own it."
Draco didn't know what to say. He'd been freed from Azkaban, but finding out that his home had been taken from him had completely shattered any happiness he'd been feeling. Narcissa placed her thin hand on his shoulder, a comforting gesture that he couldn't bring himself to appreciate, given the circumstances.
"Where will we go?" he asked, realising she hadn't mentioned that.
"Well… Andromeda has offered for me to stay with her." Her blue eyes looked away from her son and Draco knew that this was something she had hoped not to have to explain. "She has that infant, Teddy, and there's really not much room there, but I can try to persuade her to let you stay as well."
"She doesn't trust me, does she?" he asked, his voice sounding harsher than he'd intended it to. Narcissa opened her mouth, but closed it again. That was enough of an answer for him. "That's fine. I'll find somewhere." Draco turned away from his mother, but she followed him as he went through the now sparsely decorated halls.
"I can still talk to her, Draco," his mother said from behind him.
"If you wish," he said, resuming his pretense of the son she always wanted. He'd failed her enough times by this point that he refused to decline her offer. The guilt he had to bear now was more than enough. When he reached his rooms he felt his eyes sting. The entire lounge area had been destroyed. His personal items were strewn all over the place, in no particular order, and some things were even broken.
"I'm so sorry." Narcissa once again placed her hand on his shoulder, and although he did not want to be touched, he allowed it to stay there as he looked over his demolished quarters. "I tried to stop them, but they said they had to be sure that there was no evidence to be used in your hearings."
"Thank you." He meant that, but the pain he felt had seeped into his words, making them sound false. Trying to ignore the knot in his chest, he went to his wardrobe and opened it, finding most of his clothing still in hanging from the silken hangers. The black robes he'd had to wear as a Death Eater were gone, and he was grateful that he didn't have to look at them again. He pulled his wand from his pocket, the feeling of holding it comforting and foreign at once, and summoned a reasonably sized suitcase. Opening it, he took all of the clothes from his wardrobe and piled them in, not bothering to fold them.
"Draco, they'll wrinkle if you put them in like that," Narcissa said from the doorway.
"Mother, I have much more to think about right now than wrinkled clothing." As much as he tried not to sound bitter he couldn't control the snappish way he'd said this. In any other circumstance his mother would probably have become furious at his lack of respect. When she did speak again, her words were devoid of any harshness.
"Come here, son," she requested softly. Draco stopped as he was about to zip the case closed and went to stand beside his mother. She placed her hand on his slightly sunken cheek and he looked into her icy blue eyes. "You're the man of the family now. You have access to our Gringotts vaults, and I want you to take as much as you need in order to see that you live comfortably. I can't say how long it will take for the Ministry to give us back the Manor, but I can say that you will not want for anything until the day comes when we can take back our home." Draco felt that stinging sensation behind his eyes that meant he was about to show weakness, and huffed as he looked away from his mother's intrusive gaze. Narcissa was perceptive, however, and saw the tears that had threatened to fall from her son's eyes. "After all you've been put through, it does not make you any less of a man to cry."
"I'm fine, Mother," Draco lied as he struggled to collect himself. When he faced his mother again, he saw the knowing look she sent him, but disregarded it. "Will I be allowed to take my cello?" He'd gone far too long without playing it, the one thing that he made him feel like a person through all the things he'd witnessed and been forced to do.
"Not this time, but I will discuss it with the Ministry. I'm sure they'll allow it." Draco's hopes were dashed further, and nodding his head solemnly, he passed his mother in the doorway and began retreating through the Manor towards the foyer.
At the door, his mother enveloped him in another embrace and kissed each of his cheeks. He didn't want to let her go so soon, but he knew that if they stayed too long the Ministry would feel it necessary to investigate their lingering presence.
"Buy another owl, Draco. I expect to hear from you frequently, though I won't be surprised if the Ministry intercepts our letters before they get to each other." Narcissa sighed, and even that was regal coming from such a proud woman. "Look for a room somewhere. Surely someone will accept you."
"Thank you, mother," Draco said as he opened the door for her. They stepped out into the humidity of the evening and both took one last look at their home before they each Apparated to different locations.
At the bank the goblins had tried to give Draco a difficult time, saying that because he wasn't his father, or that because he wasn't accompanied by one of his parents, he wasn't allowed to withdraw money from the vaults. Finally, after much arguing, Draco had been allowed to access one of the Malfoy vaults. He took out enough money to cover any needs or wants he may have for the next three months. Of course, he didn't know if that was the amount of time he'd be kept from his home, but he didn't want to wander around with too much money on his person.
Money in his suitcase and a pair of his own clothes on, he went from inn to inn in search of a room, but as soon as the keepers of these places got a look at him they shook their heads quickly and escorted him out of the building. It was becoming apparent that he wasn't welcome anywhere anymore, not that it was much of a surprise. Still, it hurt, going from being one of the most influential wizarding families to one of the most loathsome.
Draco Apparated back from Hogsmeade to Diagon Alley, deciding he would get a bite to eat before he tried to think of some other place he could go. He walked past Eeylops Owl Emporium, thinking to himself that he'd stop there after he ate, when he was suddenly shoved against the storefront by a passing group of wizards.
"Excuse yourself," he hissed at them. He was about to walk away from the group, but they turned around and realised just who they'd run into. As it clicked that this was Draco Malfoy, the atmosphere about them went from offended to threatening, and Draco felt himself backing away as they approached him, closing in menacingly.
"Aren't you that Death Eater who got freed last month?" the burliest of the six of them asked. Draco had been about to say yes, but he didn't feel that the title was his any longer.
"I'm not a Death Eater," he barked at the man.
"'Snot what I heard." The man stepped closer to him and poked Draco sharply in the solar plexus. "You're that Malfoy kid, aren't you?"
"Draco Malfoy." His hand felt his pocket for his wand, but before he could slip it out to defend himself one of the other men grabbed his wrist and pinned it to the window behind him. His memories of the Auror who had visited him most frequently out of all the guards flitted into his mind, erasing any sense of bravery he'd been feeling before.
"He tried to pull a quick one on you, Titus. Did you see that?"
"I sure did. Well, boys, what do you say we teach this young pillock a lesson the Muggle way, seein' as he thinks he's so superior?" Draco shook his head in fear as he watched the man, presumably Titus, rub his fist into his open palm. He didn't have time to move before the giant fist was thrusted into his nose. A sickening crunch sounded, along with a severe blooming pain, and Draco knew his nose was broken. He felt blood trickling over his lips and chin, but the group hadn't finished with him. Another punch━Draco couldn't tell from whom; his eyes were closed━landed firmly into his gut, and he grunted as he doubled over in pain. Draco huddled in on himself, doing all he could to keep the blows from sensitive areas, but the men kicked and punched until Draco felt he would lose consciousness if they didn't stop soon.
"Hey! Hey, get off of him! What the hell?" The violence paused as the men turned to see who had interrupted their attack. Draco remained curled around himself, not looking up in fear that he'd be greeted with another fist to his already bloodied and bruised face.
"This is none of your business, kid," one of the men said.
"Yes, it is. Get away from him," the man's voice demanded.
There was a pause and Draco looked up, finally, to see the men staring at someone Draco couldn't see. But that voice was so familiar. The men promptly began muttering apologies and walked away, much to Draco's astonishment. He watched the group as they walked away, wiping the blood from his face with his shirtsleeve.
"Are you alright, Malfoy?" Draco turned to see that Potter was kneeling beside him. A concoction of emotions flooded Draco's chest as he realised who had just saved him, yet again. Displeasure was the most vibrant of them all, but underneath the thick layer of that was appreciation and fear.
"I'm fine," he lied for the second time that day. Standing up proved very difficult, but he managed it without taking Potter's proffered hand. Draco leaned against the building behind him, heaving in rough breaths, then pulled his wand from his pocket and got rid of what he could of the blood that drenched his face and shirt. Afterward he did his best to fix his broken nose and the rib he felt was trying to stab its way through his abdomen.
"You don't look fine," Potter said, now standing next to him, a full head shorter than Draco. "You look like you should take a trip to St. Mungo's, actually."
Draco put his best sneer on, the one he reserved specifically for Potter, and spit his words like venom at the wild haired wizard. "Not everyone needs your fucking help, Potter."
"Didn't quite seem that way at your last hearing," he muttered, tilting back on his heels smugly. Draco didn't really know what to say to that. Maybe the beating he'd just endured had knocked the witty replies out of his head, because he couldn't think of one then. Potter sighed and ran a hand through his already untidy hair, making it worse. "Listen, I'm sorry I said that. Can we start over?"
Draco stared at Potter's outstretched hand, wondering why part of him wanted to shake it and do exactly as he'd suggested. Starting over sounded like something he'd like very much to do━something he'd wanted since he was eleven years old━but his pride was wounded and he wasn't sure how to respond. Slowly, Potter's hand lowered and slid into his trouser pocket.
"Alright, well… I guess I'll see you later then." Potter turned away, then, and Draco felt his stomach drop, but steeled himself against it. He watched as Potter's form became more distant and a seed of irritation sprouted in him, causing him to jog after his enemy. When he'd caught up with Potter, Draco grabbed his shoulder and spun him around to face him.
"Look, I don't know what you're expecting out of this," he said angrily. "But I'm not your charity case, and I don't need your help, and I'm not going to thank you for what you did."
"I didn't expect you to thank me, you giant prat," Potter sputtered. Draco yanked his hand back from Potter's shoulder and shoved it into his pocket to wrap around his wand.
"Then why do you keep popping up at just the right moment, as though I need your help? You've already ruined my life thoroughly, don't you think? Or was seven years not enough for you?" Draco didn't know why he was acting this way, he didn't understand why he had followed Potter, or why he couldn't swallow his pride for one moment, if only just long enough for him to express how he really felt.
"I was asked to attend your hearing, something you're starting to make me regret going through with." Potter shook his head. "If you really think it was me who ruined your life then you're just as delusional as I've thought you were all those years in school."
"I'm the delusional one? You're the one who's convinced there's always saving to do, and I hate to break it to you, Potter, but you're unnecessary and in the way more often than not. I don't need you." Why was he saying these things?
"Then I guess I'll just let those men beat you to death next time, if you're so keen on 'taking care of yourself.' Oh, and next time you need help not getting thrown in Azkaban, don't expect me to be there." Potter was shouting now, and people were stopping to stare. Draco wanted to get the last word in, but a haphazard group had formed around them and people were brandishing their wands threateningly.
"This doesn't end here, Potter," Draco said as he turned on his heel and marched away. Walking through Diagon Alley, Draco thought to himself that he had right and properly fucked everything up. Why hadn't he been able to push back his stupid, awful pride for just one second? Why couldn't he stop being this person his parents raised him to be? It wasn't who he was, but he couldn't make himself act in a corresponding way to his real self. He was beginning to think he'd never be able to.
A/N: Hi there! Hoping everyone is enjoying the story so far! I'd like to note that we'll be responding to reviews here at the end of the next chapters we post, so keep your eyes peeled for that. Both of us will respond to the reviews we'd like to with "TR" meaning Thanatos Response and "RR" meaning Regina Response. Please feel free to leave as many reviews as you'd like! It helps fuel the writing process, and who doesn't like to hear feedback?
RR: Fifespice, I'm so happy you're enjoying the story so far! I'm a HUGE Hinny fan, but to each their own. It's interesting because with as much as I love Hinny, I also love Drarry, so I'm constantly in conflict! Sure, they don't necessarily have to be mutually exclusive ideas, but somehow I don't see a Ginny/Harry/Draco threesome working out too well ;). I guess I'll just have to be satisfied with two different universes.
TR: Fifespice, I'm very glad to hear you're loving the story! Poor Draco, indeed. I doubt this chapter will make you feel much better about his situation (or Harry's situation, for that matter), but I promise it'll get better. I think there's some positive points to the canon Ginny/Harry relationship, but I love the Drarry ship too much to want Hinny to work out. I suppose that's the whole point of me wanting to write a Drarry fic lol.