Author's note: It's been quite a while since I last wrote something for the HP fandom. I might be a bit rusty but this is an idea that has been lingering in my mind for a while now, so why not write the first part for Harry's birthday? I hope this first part isn't too awful!

Warnings: Draco's pov; canon divergent, meaning that some people remained alive; right after the war; some minor angst

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

I hope you'll like the first part!

Part 1

"I have to admit that I had never expected this particular request from you, Mister Malfoy," Shacklebolt remarked neutrally as they made their way through the long, winding, too white corridors.

Everywhere they walked, Healers, Mediwitches and Mediwizards paused their work to stare at them none too subtly; some actually gaping before they realised where they were and turned around, pretending to be busy.

"I understand," Draco replied, equally as neutral.

Frankly up until a year, perhaps a year and a half ago, he would never have thought he would ever make this request or even consider making it, but as they said times had changed and so had he. It wasn't a request he was comfortable with by any means, but nevertheless he felt he needed to do this if only to settle the irritating part of him that was his conscience.

"I'll be honest: I didn't know what to make of your request and neither did any of my colleagues," Shacklebolt admitted, being surprisingly open. "I don't think it will come as a surprise to you that not many were eager to agree to your request."

"Is that the reason why you are accompanying me?" Draco asked, ignoring the many heavy stares directed his way.

He had actually been shocked when his request had been met with official Ministry approval, having expected a very clear rejection instead, given who he was. Even greater had been his surprise when the letter had mentioned the Kingsley Shacklebolt of all people would accompany him. Considering the rumours flying about how the man was heavily considered to be the next one to become Prime Minister, Draco hadn't expected Shacklebolt to be the one appointed to him.

Then again, he stared at the back of Shacklebolt's head, perhaps it wasn't so surprising when he took into account how low the Malfoy name had fallen since the start of the war. If there would be one Auror willing to accompany a Malfoy, it would be someone who had previously belonged to Dumbledore's group.

Shacklebolt side-eyed him before offering a rueful smile. "Hm, like I said, not many people really trusted your request."

"Yet you agreed to accompany me," Draco remarked, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets.

The cloak he wore was the plainest he owned with the pockets just big enough to fit his hands. As per the Court's orders, he didn't have his wand with him. It was currently locked up in a box guarded by another Auror until the visit was over. While his sentence for his involvement in the war hadn't been as severe as many had hoped it would have been, it still left him without the protection of his wand in public and even at home restrictions had been put on his wand, rendering it absolutely useless for spells that went above a second year student's knowledge.

It was aggravating – and very uncomfortable – to live with such restrictions, but he could count himself lucky as he had got away with a lighter punishment than father, who had been sentenced to five years in Azkaban for his own involvement in the war. The only reason why his prison sentence wasn't longer was because –

Shacklebolt halted in front of a door at the complete end of the corridor and knocked. "Harry? Are you up for a visitor?"

There was silence on the other end, only broken by an odd noise as if something had fallen onto the floor. The sound had Shacklebolt jumping into action immediately, opening the door without even a second knock.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," came the very exasperated answer, followed by an explosive sigh. "Like I've been telling the Healer over and over again, I'm bloody fine. No need for panic."

"I heard something drop," Shacklebolt said, slightly more relaxed now, lingering in the open doorway. "Did you try to get up and walk around?"

"Now why would I do that when I've been explicitly forbidden from even putting one toe down on the floor?" Potter couldn't have sound more chagrined if he tried. "Merlin forbid I actually can do something else besides staring at the bloody ceiling the whole day. Who's visiting me? If it's for an interview, not in the mood."

"Journalists can't even come here," Shacklebolt said reassuringly. "We made sure of that. No, this is someone who wants to talk to you for a bit. Draco Malfoy to be exact."

"Malfoy?" Potter repeated Draco's name in a mutter, sounding bemused.

"Yes, are you okay with him visiting?"

"Sure, I guess," Potter replied, still sounding fairly befuddled.

Draco couldn't exactly blame him. If their roles had been reversed, he honestly couldn't say whether he would have wanted Potter to visit him. He supposed even in this regard, Potter was much better than he was.

For once that thought shot through his mind without too much bitterness.

Shacklebolt turned to address Draco. "You can go inside. I'll wait for you at the end of the corridor."

Draco had expected to hear some kind of threat, something along the lines of that he should watch out what he did, but he supposed a threat coming from an Auror was a moot point when the one he would visit was the same person who had managed to defeat the strongest Dark Wizard of all time.

The first thing Draco noticed when he entered the room was the sheer amount of flowers. Everywhere he looked he saw one bouquet after the other; there were vases crowding both nightstands, vases on the windowsill, flowers in the corners, flowers on a table that had to have been put here specifically for that purpose … The abundance of colours in the bouquets at least made up for the lack of actual colour on the walls and ceiling; the same pattern of having everything white repeating even in the room where the famous Hero of the War was resting.

Potter himself was seated on the bed; one leg bent and the other one dangling off the bed, the tips of his toes almost touching the floor. Potter's earlier remark about not being allowed to put even one toe on the floor was almost comical now. His hair was still as dreadful looking as ever; apparently saving the world did not mean he had become capable of using a comb correctly. Some bandages peeked from underneath the hospital gown; when Draco approached the bed, the smell of potions was hard to ignore. Potter had appeared immaculate during the trials, but it only became clear up close just how badly injured he actually was. He had done a great job hiding his injures in the courtroom; even mother had been hard pressed to find anything to comment on.

While Draco was studying Potter, the other one was scrutinizing him in return.

"Not that I want to be rude," Potter started neutrally, "but what are you doing here, Malfoy?"

"I …" Now that he was actually standing in front of Potter, the words suddenly became stuck in his throat and he swallowed; his hands curling into fists in his pockets.

They were such easy words, yet he had a hard time actually speaking them, even though he had been the one to request this meeting in the first place. It wasn't as if he had never spoken these words before either; whatever people might think of him, he wasn't that boorish. Most of the time the words were even spoken absentmindedly, almost like an afterthought. Except they were far from being an afterthought now. It was only now in front of Potter that he fully realised for the first time how much weight these words truly possessed.

He needed to do this, though. He had to do this.

So he took a deep breath, looked at Potter and said haltingly, "I … want to thank you for – what you did during the trials. You didn't need to speak in our defence, yet you did and for that – thank you. If it hadn't been for your testimony, no doubt it would have turned out worse for me and father – or mother."

Mother had had the least involvement out of all three of them, yet she had still been put on trial as well. Having had a part in actually saving their world by having lied to the Dark Lord, the court had ended up being quite lenient with her and mother had been acquitted of all charges, leaving her free to go and do what she wanted.

"You're welcome?" Potter replied confused before clearing his throat. "Sorry about your father, though. I heard he has been put in one of the higher security levels which means you can't visit him easily, so … sorry."

"Are you really?" Instead of venomous Draco's question came out exhausted because that was simply how he felt. Exhausted to the bone, not even able to muster up the slightest hint of resentment towards Potter – a far cry from how it had been once.

Potter shrugged. "He's still your father," he said simply.

Draco had no idea what to say to that, but he did know what to ask. "Why did you do it?" he questioned, clarifying when Potter raised an eyebrow, "Why did you defend us? You had no reason to do it and frankly, I doubt anyone would have blamed you if you hadn't done it."

In fact, people were probably more likely to blame Potter specifically for coming to the Malfoys' defence. Draco hadn't really looked at the newspapers, not interested in their drivel, but from the few glimpses he had thrown at some of them, it had become clear that not many people were happy with what Potter had done.

"I think that was one of the main reasons why I did it," Potter replied, confusing Draco this time. "Hermione has been keeping tabs on the trials, wanting to know the outcome. From what she picked up, it appeared that the court had already made up their minds about you and your family before your trials even happened."

Draco was taken off guard when Potter's face noticeably cooled. "I don't care what their reasoning is, a trial is supposed to be fair. So I testified in your defence because it was the only way to force them to treat you fairly. I'm sure the press would have been very interested otherwise to hear how the great court truly works," he sneered.

"You probably made some enemies amongst them," was all Draco could think of to say.

Potter snorted and ran his fingers through his hair. "Probably, but I don't particularly give a crap about that. My testimony forced them to treat you and your family fairly and that's all that mattered. You might have been a right prick at times, but that didn't give them the right to treat you like shit when they let worse people go with lighter sentences."

"So you came out of the hospital just to defend me and my family?" Draco asked sceptically, opting to ignore the insult for now. No point in getting into a brawl when he didn't even have his wand with him and there were Aurors waiting in the corridor, ready to jump to action at even the slightest hint that something might be amiss.

"I already told you, I wanted you to have a fair trial," Potter repeated before adding, "And it finally let me leave this damn place for a while. With how much they're checking up on me, you'd think they expect me to drop dead any bloody second now."

"I'm surprised you're still here," Draco remarked, because while Potter had been known to be a regular visitor of Hogwarts' infirmary, he had also been known to never stay that long there.

"Yes well, I made them swear that if I'm still alive tomorrow morning, I get to leave here," Potter grumbled. "I've been stuck here for way too long when I'm fine."

"I suppose when you leave, you can start a flower business," Draco commented, glancing at the mass of flowers.

Some of them were pleasant to look at, but a lot of them were also complete eyesores, likely put together by people who had no idea at all how flower bouquets worked.

"Like I'm going to take those with me," Potter snorted. "The majority of them are from people I don't even know. The rest of the patients can have them, I don't care."

"How gracious of you," Draco drawled. "Why accept them in the first place then?"

At that moment a knock sounded on the door before it was swiftly opened, revealing a Mediwitch carrying a dark blue vase with what Draco recognised to be cyclamen. It was a collection of white and purple flowers and while it was beautiful, he idly considered it to be a weird choice to give to a patient. He supposed it was at least more creative than the many blue chrysanthemums spread out across the room.

The Mediwitch, a brunette with a bright smile and very pinkish cheeks, held out the vase to Potter. "Good afternoon, Mister Potter! Another get well present arrived for you!"

"Yes, thank you," Potter smiled.

His smile was as bland as could be, but the Mediwitch only beamed harder in response and walked over to the nightstand. "Here, let me change some flowers around so that you have something different to look at!" she chattered, using her wand to levitate two vases from the nightstand, directing them to the corner next to the window before placing the new vase down. "They really are pretty!" she smiled before pocketing her wand. "Your dinner will be ready in three hours, Mister Potter."

"Right, thanks." He nodded at her.

She blushed more fiercely before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.

"Because Dumbledore and others think I should just accept the people's gratitude," Potter droned, picking up the conversation again. He rolled his eyes, clucking his tongue. "Don't see why when I don't know them and they didn't give a shit about me before."

"That's quite cynical," Draco remarked. "If only your adoring fans could hear you now. You'd break their poor little hearts."

Green eyes looked at him unimpressed and Potter opened his mouth – right before the cyclamen released an odd purple cloud.

The next second Draco was suddenly on the floor, half underneath the bed and Potter was right on top of him; a protective shield snapping over them.

Right as the shield covered them completely an explosion rocked the room and a dark purple cloud sank down around them, making the shield spark in response.

"What the fuck?" Potter hissed on top of him; his whole body tense.

Ignoring how awkward their position was, Draco twisted his head to the side; his breath leaving him in a sharp hiss of his own when he recognised the small sparks floating amongst the dark purple cloud.

"I know what this is," he muttered and unwilling dread filled the pit of his stomach.

"Yeah? Care to enlighten me then?" Potter asked irritated.

"It's a rare poison meant to burn you from the inside when you inhale even a little bit of it," Draco answered flatly. "It can also eat through magical shields like this one – within minutes."

"Well, fuck," was Potter's eloquent reaction.

Well, fuck indeed.

AN2: So how was this for a start? Like I said, it's been a while since I last wrote a Drarry fic, so I hope I haven't become too rusted! I don't have a specific updating schedule in mind for this one, but if there is enough interest, I will do my best to keep the updates regularly :)

So with that said: interested in more?

Please leave your thoughts behind in a review; should you spot any mistakes, please point them out to me.

I hope to see you all back in the next chapter! Please stay safe and take care of yourselves!

Cuddles

Melissa

P.S. For more information about my upcoming and posted stories, please visit my profile.