A/N: This has been copied and pasted from my AO3. Figured I'd put it up here, too.
A/N: This story is Mpreg but with a bit of a twist. I like Harry as a top, and so I like to write him edgier and confident and a little dark. One thing that always bothers me about most of the Drarry stories out there is that I don't believe that Draco would change his entire worldview after Voldemort was defeated, so this is my take on a completely unapologetic! Draco. Obviously this story is not epilogue-compliant.
Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou amongst women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of our death. Amen.
It had been the most uncertain few hours of their lives, from the moment the Dark Lord's body hit the ground until the time the Aurors finally saw fit to bind them up and drag them away. When that time came, they didn't resist or fight or deny, for it could not be like the last time. No amount of money or influence could save them. Their hands were red, quite literally, with blood.
Though to be fair, a good deal of it was their own.
They huddled together in the corner of the desecrated greathall. The battle for Hogwarts had ended, but the chaos of the aftermath was still rampant. Bodies littered the ground. Towers and retaining walls had been reduced to rubble. Cries of despair and agony pieced the air. Glances were spared for them, but no one dared approach them yet.
Draco sat numbly, listening to his mother's quiet sobs.
They had come back for him. They might have chosen to flee once the battle was lost but they chose to forfeit their lives in order to seek out their lost son. A quick glance around showed Draco that they had not been the only Death Eaters to do so. It was something the 'light' side would never understand. For most of his followers, it had never been about serving the Dark Lord. It had been about preserving families, preserving a way of life. No price was too high, no act too despicable. The ends justified the means.
Lucius had his arms around his wife and son, fingers clamped tightly on each of their shoulders as he held them both, as if he could use his body to shield them from what was to happen next.
"Father..." Draco whispered, breaking the unbearable silence. Lucius stared back at him, his eyes wide and glassy and a bit crazed. He knew. He knew their time was running out.
"I am the only one who shall face execution for this," Lucius said as if he so desperately wished to believe it. "I will make certain neither of you shall see Azkaban if it is the last thing I do."
Narcissa choked on her next sob and she clung to her husband's blood-splattered robes.
"You will endure," Lucius commanded them, hands tightening in hopeless reassurance, "Because you are Malfoys."
The aurors came not long after that, prying them away from one another, taking Lucius first. Then Narcissa. Then Draco. Tears stained their faces and they each took care to memorize the look in each other's eyes. They all knew well this could be the last any of them saw of their family. It could be their final good-bye.
.o.o.o.o.o.
Lucius intended to make good on his promise to them. There was no time for failure. Even though the old administration was in its death throes, the Malfoy name still commanded enough respect in the higher echelons that Lucius was able to delay his summary execution long enough to see through a final request.
Some might have considered it odd, that as Lucius Malfoy sat in Azkaban awaiting the end of his life, he would wish an audience with the boy who was, arguably, responsible for his unfortunate fate.
Harry Potter did not disappoint, arriving at the wizard prison flanked by a number of young guards that Lucius knew he could easily strike down if only he still had his wand. That thought would get him nowhere, however.
"Leave us," Potter commanded the others imperiously. They looked hesitant for a moment, but then reluctantly obeyed. It seemed the savior of the wizarding world was not to be questioned, even on matters where his own safety was a concern.
The two of them, once alone, stared at each other for some time. The boy exuded confidence, power, and a deep, simmering anger. Had he not cloaked himself in holy righteousness, Lucius realized that standing in his presence would have felt no different than standing in the presence of the Dark Lord himself.
"I knew you'd come. I was told you can't resist a soul in need of saving," Lucius remarked with a quiet chuckle.
"There is no saving you, Malfoy," Potter answered darkly, " I couldn't even if I'd wanted to, even if I could somehow ignore the legions of innocents that you so callously murdered."
"You are right, Potter. I am beyond hope. If you believe I asked you here simply to beg for my life then you are no less a fool than the day you charged headlong into the Department of Mysteries in order to save Black."
Potter made a noise of fury, stepping forward to grab the bars of the cell, but Lucius continued speaking.
"My wife and son. They are innocent."
"They are not!" Potter snarled.
"They are redeemable!" Lucius corrected, equally harsh, "They never shared my vision, but they went along with it, regardless. They knew I only wanted what was best for all of us."
"And you stupidly believed that Voldemort could provide it for you," Potter finished. Lucius did not hang his head in shame or apologize. The boy would never understand.
"The new ministry will take everything from us purebloods," Lucius explained, "They will seize our properties, clean out our vaults, and drive those low ranking enough to avoid Azkaban out of the country entirely. You do not realize the consequences that will arise from this. The old, pureblood families are what hold our society together. Without us, old magics and histories will be lost forever, traditions will die out, businesses will close. There will be inflation and unemployment-"
"There is nothing I can do," the boy cut him off. He looked suddenly weary, as if Lucius had just made him personally responsible for these future problems. "You made your choice. You could have renounced him at any time."
Again, Lucius refused to be drawn into a debate. There wasn't enough time left in his life.
"Potter, I am asking you to save my family. Protect Draco and Narcissa from the worst of what is to come. You know the looming trials are to be held before a kangaroo court. There is no one who would dare defend them." Lucius had been sitting against the wall, but now he shifted forward so that he was on his knees. "I... am begging you, Potter. I do not wish my wife or son to see the inside of this horrid place. They would not last long in here."
Potter had gone silent while he regarded Lucius. Likely he was thinking back to a few years ago, when the entire ministry had been against him. When he had been an outcast of society, the Boy who Lied, tried as a criminal for underage magic. Yes, the boy had sympathy.
"I will do my best to see that your son and wife receive a fair trial," he looked away from Lucius as he said this, anger momentarily forgotten. "You have my word."
"And you have my gratitude."
Potter bristled again at this, uncomfortable perhaps that he'd found himself speaking so civilly with a long-time enemy. He turned away, heading for the door, pausing there for a moment..
"Your death will be painless," he said quietly, "I'll make sure of it." Lucius closed his eyes, head bowing. He would not have expected such mercy, not after all that had happened. As he listened to Potter's retreating footsteps he realized that he might have hedged his bets at the perfect moment after all.
.o.o.o.o.o.
They didn't send dementors to Draco's cell as an escort like they'd done with his father when he once sat in the ministry detention level. He supposed they couldn't. The dementors were still rogue entities, masterless without the guidance of the Dark Lord, but not yet rounded up and returned to their Azkaban posts by the ministry.
They sent aurors instead. Two young witches and a young wizard. They were green things, fresh out of training, Draco supposed. Their ranks had been thinned by the war, and he doubted there were many older ones left. Draco thought he recognized the boy's face as one he'd once seen at Hogwarts. Yes, he'd been the Hufflepuff prefect in Draco's first year. He didn't remember a name, however, and good thing. It made the hate easier.
"We've come to escort you to your hearing, Mr. Malfoy," one of the witches said. Draco replied with nothing as he got to his feet and allowed their magical bindings to snake around his wrists.
The holding cells of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were in the pits of the Ministry, but the courtrooms were deeper still, so deep that the lifts didn't even travel down that far. Courtroom four was a circular room. Witches and wizards in scarlet and black robes sat in the risers, like carrion on their perches and waiting to devour anything placed before them.
There were two chairs set before the Wizenagamot. One of them was already filled by the petite form of his mother. She had been slowly wasting away since the Dark Lord had come to occupy their manor, but now she looked positively skeletal. Draco didn't much care, however, because he'd already assumed her dead. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes upon realizing he was not yet alone.
They put him in the second chair and the chains slithered up over his arms.
"Mother!" he called to her. "Mother!" he said again when she did not respond. Slowly, she turned her head to regard her son and a look of shock broke her stony expression.
"Draco," she whispered as though she could not believe he was there with her, "You're alive." He wished he could embrace her. He wished to put his arms around her and lay his head on her shoulder like he was a young boy again, but alas, his bindings would not allow for it.
A booming voice spoke from above.
"Sentencing hearing of the fifteenth of July." It was Kingsley Shacklebolt speaking, who had apparently become the new Minister of Magic in the time Draco had spent in his cell. His voice had no inflection in it, no particular malice or sympathy, and Draco was left to wonder if this was to his advantage or not. Surely he and his mother would find themselves in Azkaban after this, despite whatever last plot his father might have concocted. The only question now was to discover if they might stay long enough to die there. Shacklebolt rattled off the names of interrogators and when he reached the end something odd happened. A woman stood from the crowd above and spoke in a hesitant, but clear voice.
"Witness for the defense, Hermione Granger."
Granger? Draco's eyes had locked onto her as soon as the first word came from her lips. The mudblood, willing to come to his aid? What sort of new game was this? Shacklebolt must have been thinking something similar, but he did not object to Granger's outburst, instead waiting wearily whilst the young woman stepped down from the risers to join the Malfoys upon the ground. The Wizenagemot was muttering and stirring. Perhaps not all of them had known beforehand that Granger, lauded friend of the Savior, was to intercede in this trial.
"Narcissa Malfoy, you are called before the Wizenagamot today a witch accused of aiding and abetting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named during his second war, inciting violence against muggles and muggle-borns, and harboring known criminals in your place of residence," Shacklebolt said in a calm voice that belied the severity of the situation. "How do you plead?"
"Guilty," Narcissa answered in a breathy whisper. Shacklebolt then turned to Draco.
"Draco Malfoy, you are called before the Wizenagomot today a wizard accused of aiding and abetting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named during his second war, inciting violence against muggles and muggle-borns, and as well, you have been named accomplice in the murder of Albus Dumbledore. How do you plead."
"Guilty," Draco responded. Why should he say anything else? It wasn't as if he'd any friends in this courtroom.
"Minister, if I may," Granger began strongly, stepping into the spotlight, "I should like to present new evidence to this court. Evidence of mitigating circumstances. For this, I would call upon a witness."
Draco was struck dumb in that moment. Never in all his wildest fantasies of escaping these hell-trials did he imagine that Granger would be the one to step forward and defend him. Theirs was an impossible case to argue, even if friends of the Malfoy family had still sat the Wizenagamot and even if the current Minister had not actively fought against them in past battles.
Draco's lip curled into a sneer when the witness was called upon. The doors to the courtroom opened again and who stood there, framed in the hall's torchlight, but Potter. The Boy who Lived... twice now, was it? Potter. The Savior. Merlin, the prat did have some sort of complex, didn't he?
Draco's eyes followed Potter as he took the stand. The interim months had treated him well. He was... quite fit, that is to say, built. There was more muscle on that skinny frame than Draco remembered, but something about his eyes remained haunted. He caught Draco's gaze for a moment and held it. It was Draco who scowled and looked away.
How dare he? How dare he come here when he was not wanted? No one had asked his help, his or Granger's.
"Will you submit to questioning under the influence of Veritaserum?" Shacklebolt asked Potter.
"I will," the younger man answered. A flask was delivered into his hand, from which he drank quickly. Granger began at once and Draco realized he could do nothing but sit and watch the performance, for this could be nothing else.
"Mr. Potter, I was wondering if you could tell us, that is the Wizenagamot, about what happened to you in the Forbidden Forest just before the Battle for Hogwarts."
"I entered the Forest and sought out Voldemort, intending to turn myself in to him," Potter replied, the Veritaserum making his voice sound dull and lifeless. However, the witches and wizards above suddenly sat rigid in their seats, all suddenly paying rapt attention to what began as just another Death Eater trial. According to the whispers, and the bits of the Prophet that Draco was able to borrow from his more merciful prison guards, Potter had not given any statements on his defeat of the Dark Lord. He hadn't said or done much of anything in the interim months aside from shut himself away from the world. No one knew the story, and the eye witness accounts could only fill in so many gaps.
"Why is that?" Granger prompted.
"I believed, at that time, that I had to die first in order for Voldemort to finally be killed."
Of course Potter wouldn't just die, he had to make himself a fucking martyr.
"But you did not die," Granger observed.
"No. The killing curse was cast upon me by Voldemort, but it did not kill me."
A shudder traveled up Draco's spine. What sort of wizard was immune to the killing curse? It was positively unholy. Unnatural. Terrifying.
"But Voldemort accepted that you were dead for a brief time. How is that possible?"
"He ordered Narcissa Malfoy to check my body to ensure my death. She knew I was alive, but told Voldemort otherwise."
"So she lied. She lied to Lord Voldemort, a man who, according to this court, she served faithfully until his death," Granger concluded. Draco could not help turn to his mother then, and he was sure a look of shock had distorted his carefully impassive expression. She had done that? But why? Surely not for Potter's benefit, right? She had been a loyal servant...
But Potter had taken the Veritaserum, therefore it had to be mostly true. Narcissa sat straight in her chair, her chin now held just a fraction higher than it had been. Her eyes slid to Draco, as if daring him to judge her.
"Yes, she lied," Potter confirmed, and the members of the Wizenagamot shifted uncomfortably. A few scribes in the corners however, seemed positively delighted with the testimony. They surely were reporters for the Prophet or other such rags, ravenous individuals unable to contain their hunger for previously untold war tales.
"And it was because of this lie that you were able to be brought back to Hogwarts and gain the element of surprise just before killing the most dangerous dark wizard of all time."
"Yes."
Draco attempted to wrap his mind around that. It couldn't have been intentional. His mother could not have known Potter would be victorious in the end, could she have? Granger was speaking again, however, and Draco could not dwell on this revelation for long.
"Let's move onto Draco Malfoy. You attended Hogwarts with him, correct?" Granger pressed on.
"Yes. We are in the same year," Potter answered easily.
"When did you suspect that he might have become a Death Eater?"
"In sixth year. I thought he'd been given the Mark. I followed him around throughout the year and overheard several conversations implying that Voldemort had entrusted him with an assignment."
Draco sneered. Entrusted? It had been a punishment... and that fact had been so humiliatingly obvious.
"And that assignment was?"
"To murder Albus Dumbledore."
"You were present the night Dumbledore died, weren't you, Harry?"
"I was. I witnessed it."
"Can you explain what happened?"
"Dumbledore and I were standing up on the Astronomy tower at Hogwarts. Draco found us. Dumbledore immobilized me whilst I was hidden under my invisibility cloak. Draco disarmed Dumbledore-"
"But he didn't kill him?"
"No. He lowered his wand," and here Draco scoffed, silently outraged. He had not lowered his wand. Sure, he might have been crying a bit at that point, because he never expected to be able to disarm Dumbledore, but he knew there would be no going back. He had not lowered his wand because he'd been waiting for Dumbledore to kill him.
Fuck Potter and what he thought he saw.
"It was Severus Snape who came to perform the killing curse," Potter continued.
"Harry, I understand that during the Battle for Hogwarts Severus Snape relinquished a memory to you in the final seconds of his life. The memory concerned the murder of Albus Dumbledore. Can you share that with us?"
"I can. Via pensive I saw Albus Dumbledore prearrange his own death with Severus Snape. Malfoy was never meant to perform the curse himself, but it was crucial that he be seen making an effort to ensure that Voldemort would spare his life afterward."
Draco felt the breath stick in his lungs. Snape? No. The Dark Lord had trusted him completely, never failed to mention it out loud in fact, to the point where it had many of the other Death Eaters rolling their eyes.
"So by your own words might we conclude that Albus Dumbledore was never murdered, that his death was instead an assisted suicide, and therefore Draco Malfoy cannot be charged as an accomplice to a murder that was never committed?"
"That is correct."
All around there was shock and indignation. Some members of the Wizenagamot had even risen from their seats to shout objections. Draco was of a similar mind. The world seemed to be crumbling around him. Everything he thought he knew... everything he had done...
He had been just another pawn on the chess board. And Snape. Snape had been lying to him all along. He had lied to everyone. How ironic that in the end Draco had believed that Snape was the only one whose motivations he thought he'd understood.
Granger's voice rose above the uproar.
"I have more to present, Minister, if the Wizenagamot would hear it," she called. Shacklebolt regained control of his courtroom shortly afterword.
"We will hear it," he announced.
"Mr. Potter. Can you present your wand to the court?" Granger asked. Slowly, with eyes still dull from the Veritaserum, Potter drew out two wands. One of them Draco recognized immediately as his own.
"Why do you have two wands, Mr. Potter?"
"My own wand was snapped in half before the Battle for Hogwarts. I was...given... the hawthorn wand," Potter answered. Draco did hear the slight hitch in his voice at the word 'given.' Draco had not willingly given his wand away that day in the manor... had he? There had been a struggle, but he supposed he could have fought harder, he could have hexed Potter. He'd had the chance, hadn't he?
"Given by whom?"
"Draco Malfoy."
"When did this occur?"
"When I was imprisoned at the Malfoys' manor."
"And you were able to escape shortly afterward?"
"Yes."
Brilliant, the way Granger had worded it, making it seem as though Draco himself had set Potter free when it had been that traitorous house-elf all along.
"You continued to use this wand even during the Battle for Hogwarts, is that correct?"
"It is."
"So the wand that vanquished Lord Voldemort belongs rightfully to Draco Malfoy?"
"Yes," Potter confirmed. The Wizenagamot were muttering amongst themselves again. Their eyes were turned to Draco now, studying him as if he'd suddenly been thrust into a new light.
"Thank you, Mr. Potter. I have no further questions," Granger finished.
.o.o.o.o.o.
In the main atrium of the ministry, Draco walked briskly alongside his mother, his arm firmly supporting her weak frame while a contingent of aurors surrounded them, shielding them from the amassed witches and wizards. Cameras flashed in their direction. Quick-Quotes quills were being shoved in their faces despite the best efforts of the aurors to keep them away.
"Mr. Malfoy, a word for the Prophet-"
"Mrs. Malfoy, is it true that you saved the life of Harry Potter?"
"Mr. Malfoy, how is it that a convicted Death Eater walks away with only a year's probation as a sentence?"
"Mrs. Malfoy, in light of the recent revelations, do you believe your husband's execution was justified?"
They reached the designated Floo and stepped inside, vanishing instantly into the flames and leaving the chaos of the ministry behind them. It was the inside of the manor that greeted them. Dusty, broken, plundered by ministry officials and Death Eaters alike, but it was home.
Narcissa walked unsteadily to the chaise lounge and sank into it. Little puffs of dust rose from the cushion, but she did not seem to notice. She was already sobbing into the pillow.
Draco did not even bother to find a chair. He simply fell to his knees near the ashy hearth and leaned heavily against the stone of the fireplace.
.o.o.o.o.o.