Hard Time, Chapter 26
Title: Hard Time Ch. 26/?
Author: Juwel (juweldom@yahoo.com)
Pairings: Draco/Harry
Rating: Adult (NC-17)
Catetories: romance, hurt/comfort, angst
Warnings: SPOILERS for DH, compliant with DH except for the epilogue. Warnings for rape (early chapters), submission and domination, and suicidal tendencies.
Archive: just ask.
Disclaimer: The characters in this fic are the property of J.K. Rowling and not mine, sadly. That doesn't seem to have stopped anyone from using them in truly sick and demented ways. No money is being made from this.
Summary: The war is over, and the Death Eaters must do hard time in Azkaban. Draco must vanquish his worst enemy; his own fear.
Notes: This one's a heavy chapter as far as emotions are concerned. Many thanks to slashpervert for her beta reading!
3430 words this chapter
Previous chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25
******
At the top of the stairs, McGonagall was waiting for them.
Draco had thought that perhaps with the title of Headmistress that she might have at least stepped up her wardrobe just a little, found new robes or something, but she was dressed exactly the same as always, with that slightly rumpled-looking witch's hat and her hands folded at her waist as she took in the sight of the two of them. Harry was shaking badly, and he seemed to be having trouble breathing, sucking in gulps of air, staring resolutely at the floor. He stopped several feet away from McGonagall and refused to budge further. Draco looked at the Headmistress for help. "Prof -- I mean Headmistress -- I think Harry's having a problem." He'd never seen Harry like this. He'd never seen the young man looking afraid to the point of tears.
"Harry?" McGonagall strode forward to cup Harry's cheeks, trying to look into his face, but Harry backed up a step, ducking away from her touch, his green eyes almost hauntingly bright with tears. He seemed to look everywhere and nowhere, as if he couldn't find a place to rest his gaze.
"I can't -- I need to leave," Harry said, pulling at Draco's hand still holding his.
Oh no he wouldn't, Draco thought with ire; he hadn't just faced a thousand fears crossing through Hogsmeade only to leave before things were settled. "Come on," he said in a sharp voice, and almost dragged Harry towards the office, trusting that McGonagall would follow. The doors were already open, and there was a table in the centre of the room with three chairs. Draco made Harry sit at one of them. He was conscious of paintings everywhere, all of them occupied with former Headmasters and Headmistresses, watching them. Harry had covered his face with his hands. A sob shook his frame, and Draco did what felt natural, not even thinking of their audience. He sat beside Harry and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer.
Harry responded by leaning against Draco, grasping his hand again and holding on so tightly, Draco was sure he'd have little crescent marks from Harry's nails. Harry tried to look around, but apparently what he saw did not comfort him; his gaze seemed to wander over to a pedestal and basin -- the Pensieve, Draco realised, wondering what kinds of things Harry had seen, experienced in this office. McGonagall looked on, her face grave and pinched with worry.
"I thought I was okay," Harry whispered in a broken voice, and then suddenly his face screwed up with pain and he broke down into tears, burying his face against Draco's shoulder. Draco looked at McGonagall helplessly.
On the one hand he thought he understood; if they were to drag him back to Azkaban this moment, he'd probably be having a similar reaction, if not worse. But on the other . . . Harry had won his fight. He'd defeated Voldemort. Had it really been that horrible for him?
Draco reckoned the answer was painfully obvious by Harry's actions. It had never occurred to him that Harry might have gone through just as much pain and terror as himself, albeit in different ways. "And you said I needed to talk about things," Draco chided in a low voice, meant only for Harry's ears, rubbing Harry's back. It was a bit late to worry about appearances, he'd decided. Let McGonagall and the paintings think what they would.
Across from him, McGonagall sat down. She seemed at a loss for words. "Was he . . . has he done this before?" She looked old, Draco found himself thinking. He shook his head.
"He has nightmares," Draco answered, since Harry showed no signs of recovering, but was sobbing even louder, clutching onto him. "But he doesn't cry." Not that Draco had seen, not even when Harry had listed off the names of the dead. Perhaps he was overdue for a breakdown.
"I . . . was fine," Harry whispered, removing his glasses to scrub at his eyes. "Was fine," he repeated, perhaps to convince himself. It wasn't convincing Draco. All it did was make him want to pull Harry into a hard embrace. He squeezed Harry's hand back and wondered how angry Harry would be if he leaned over right now and kissed him.
"I know it's hard, dear. It's going to take some time. We're all still mourning," McGonagall said, patting Harry's arm. Harry acknowledged her with a watery smile, but then his gaze drifted over to the paintings and grief struck him anew; he swayed in his chair, an odd keening noise coming from him. Alarmed, Draco abandoned his reserve, and pulled Harry into his arms.
"They died . . . so many," Harry sobbed, rocking himself and holding onto Draco.
Draco nodded, feeling embarrassed on Harry's behalf. Still, this timing was better than losing it in front of the Wizengamot, he reckoned. "You saved far more, though. You saved a lot of people. Like me." Three times now, he had saved Draco from death, in one form or another. He'd given Draco hope that there still was a future for him.
Harry nodded, but he still didn't seem able to pull things together; every time it looked like he had taken control of his emotions, he would look around and suddenly his face would crumple again, struck it seemed by some new memory. And then a sharp voice behind them cut in, "Oh for pity's sake, Potter. Stop your snivelling; none of us want to witness it. You weren't the only one who could have done better, you know."
Draco gasped and turned around, half expecting the former Headmaster and Potions Professor looming over the two of them. But of course Snape was dead. What he found was a small portrait of Snape hung on the wall nearby, with a thoroughly disgusted expression on his gaunt face. Draco flushed, easing himself and Harry apart a little. Harry glared at Snape's portrait, rubbing at his eyes.
"I watched you die. I should have been able to stop it somehow. I should have trusted you were Dumbledore's man." Harry paused to sniff a little, wiping his nose with his shirt. Draco sighed and handed him a handkerchief, wondering why he'd bothered to dress up. They were both rumpled now. And the sight of Harry looking this fragile was splitting his heart in two.
Snape gave one of his trademark sneers. "It was my own bloody fault, Mr Potter. I should have been better prepared for the snake's attack. In point of fact, I did have an anti-venom potion with me. But I hadn't counted on Nagini tearing out my artery." His expression turned shuttered. "In any case, I was ready to die. I'd done enough for the war." His eyes were flat, empty. It was a look that Draco recognised; his eyes had looked the same, when he'd looked into the mirror at St. Mungo's after his failed suicide attempt.
McGonagall broke in, tutting under her breath. "Thank you, Severus, for your little, mm, diversion. Harry, are you all right now? I'm sorry I suggested this meeting; I should have realised how difficult this was going to be for you." Her gaze refocused on Draco. "But I must say, I found this extremely enlightening."
There was no way to hide the blush this time, so Draco tried for his old standby; bravado. "Hopefully you found the application in order."
Harry added, "We could use your testimony to help grant Draco leniency, if you'd be willing to say something on his behalf." He obviously had recovered, and had tucked Draco's handkerchief into the pocket of his jeans. He looked pale and battered, but in control of his emotions once again.
McGonagall smiled, and there was actual warmth in her eyes, warmth Draco could scarcely recall seeing there before. "I think I most certainly can. I always knew there was more to Mr Malfoy here than what his father kept trying to pour into him. I hope that he can be a role model to the younger members of his House here."
Draco had no idea how to respond to that. The only real praise he could recall here at Hogwarts had come from Ms. Umbridge, and that praise had felt cold and slimy. He scratched the back of his neck which was growing hotter and hotter. "I didn't have a choice in who I was. Now I do."
That received a nod from the Headmistress. "Yes, you do." She turned to Harry, wagging a finger. "You see? I knew there might be more to those students who fought against us that night. I tried to tell Shacklebolt and the other Aurors. They think those children are lost causes, but right here is the evidence that not all of them are! If Mr Malfoy here can change his ways and return to school, we could work to bring back more of them -- his friend Mr Goyle, for example."
McGonagall continued talking, but a roaring in Draco's ears drowned out the words; the thought of Gregory, and Blaise, free from Azkaban, holding him in the Slytherin dormitory and hurting him overtook any other thought. He was aware of the blood leaving his face, of the shudders that went through him, but he couldn't move. Fear paralysed him. Goyle free. He'd be dead. He'd be raped, and tortured, and finally murdered. Hogwarts wouldn't be safe. No place would be safe.
Dimly, Draco was aware that somebody was shaking him and calling his name. Hands were on him, hands that seemed hot to the touch, stroking at his face, rubbing his arms. A choked whimper escaped him. He didn't want to go back to that. He couldn't go back to that. All alone . . . .
Lips pressed to his forehead and arms encircled him, holding him. But Pucey had never done that; held him like a little boy. "Draco, nobody's releasing Goyle. You're safe. You're with me -- you're safe, remember?"
Suddenly Draco was back in the Headmistress's chamber again and he was aware Harry was the one holding him, and that McGonagall had knelt down beside him and was stroking his hair, trying soothe him. Draco's lower lip trembled. He didn't want to cry, not here, not now. Especially not with Snape watching, even if he was only a painting.
"You two are a pair, aren't you," McGonagall said in a soft voice, standing up again as Draco fought to get a grip of himself, breathing hard and trying to shove down all the fear, all the tears, to be dealt with later. He felt like he was going to be ill.
"He was one of them, wasn't he?" Harry asked, looking into Draco's eyes. No tears in Harry's eyes now; all Draco could see was concern. And anger -- not directed at him. Draco gave a stiff nod. Harry's jaw clenched.
McGonagall looked bemused. "One of whom?"
Draco begged with his eyes to leave off, but of course this was Harry, and subtlety had never been his strong point. "One of the inmates who raped Draco," Harry answered. Draco shut his eyes, wishing he could just quietly die about now. Yes, this was all going to come out in the trial in two weeks. But he really didn't relish the thought of having to go over it at the moment.
He heard McGonagall swallow audibly, against the backdrop of several muttered exclamations from the paintings. One notable exception was Snape. Draco opened one eye to peek in that direction. Snape was frowning but silent, watching him thoughtfully.
"Oh," McGonagall finally said when she'd mastered herself. "Well that does . . . complicate things."
"Yeah," Harry said. Oh, brilliant deduction, Draco thought acidly.
Resolutely Draco raised his head, refusing to cower or bow with shame. Yes, he was tarnished and defeated, and now everyone knew it. He also wasn't going to lie down and hide. Not any longer. "Gregory did it for revenge. He blamed me for Vince's death. He tried to kill me." The fear was trying to swallow him again. He choked down a breath. "He'd probably try again." Not that he blamed Gregory, really. But lately he'd found himself wanting to live.
"I see," McGonagall said in a weary voice, sounding deflated. She wanted to believe in the good of men; Draco could see it. A stalwart Gryffindor. But sometimes reality did not match ideals.
"I tried to tell you, Minerva," Snape said in a low voice. Draco risked another look at him, and was given a little nod from his old Potions professor in return. Somehow, it validated things for him. At least one other person here had been through some of what he'd been through what he had, enduring Voldemort's taunts, his punishments, the constant fear of death. Perhaps even more.
Screwing up his courage, Draco added, "I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep in the Slytherin dorms." The thought quite simply terrified him; too many memories. Too much risk, especially if the Wizengamot decided to allow any others from Azkaban to return to Hogwarts. He shook his head. "Perhaps I should simply study from home and take my N.E.W.T.s." He'd be apart from Harry; he'd be alone. But then, even if he did return to Hogwarts, they'd still be separated.
Harry looked grieved by the idea, and threw McGonagall a pleading look. "It's true -- he doesn't sleep well . . . alone." Draco thought it was risky to further imply what was happening between Harry and him, but then again, the Headmistress had already seen too much, and yet she hadn't rejected them. Perhaps it was worth the risk. He certainly had little enough to lose.
McGonagall pursed her lips, looking uncomfortable. "I'll . . . think on it. There's a lot of work to be done around here, healing the wounds of this past year." She looked like she wanted to say more, eyes flicking from Harry to Draco and back again, but she only sighed. "I could use any help that either of you could provide. We're going to have a lot of new teachers this year."
Draco swallowed uncomfortably. He had to give the new Headmistress credit for pulling things together and trying to make them work after such chaos. It wouldn't only be himself and Harry with demons to face in coming back here, he reflected. It would be just as hard for the other survivors who had survived the conflict at the castle. And the young ones who had been forced to endure a very dark year last year. He nodded slowly, resigning himself to the idea of many, many sleepless nights. "I could try to help."
That received a nod and a smile from the Headmistress. "That all I needed to hear, Mr Malfoy."
"I'll help too. What about Ron? Ginny? And what about Neville? I heard Neville and Ginny in particular helped with a lot of things last year," Harry asked, looking a lot more sure of himself again, a lot more at peace with the surroundings. He even glanced over at Snape, for the first time that Draco had noticed.
"I am also considering Mr Longbottom for Head Boy," McGonagall said with pride in her voice. "As I said, he and Mr Thomas have been very helpful in working on repairs around the school, along with other past and present students. And as for young Mr Weasley, I was thinking he could be the captain of Gryffindor's team." Apparently McGonagall had been thinking this over extensively.
Harry nodded slowly, glancing over at Draco. "I think that sounds good. I don't want to be captain. I just want to finish my studies."
Draco had thought that was what he wanted as well. But as he stared back at Harry, all he could think was, I just want to be with you. Nothing more. And nothing less.
McGonagall stood up. "Well, I think this just about concludes this interview then, boys. I will have to ask the expected question of you, Mr Malfoy. You won't try to use any Dark magic in this school while you are here, I presume? And you'll work to help heal, not hurt, this school and its students?"
Snape snorted.
Stupid questions, but necessary, Draco reckoned. He nodded, looking into McGonagall's face so that she could see his sincerity. "Believe me, I have no plans to let anything evil into this school ever again." In fact, he would even join the fight against such things. It would be preferable dying that way than ever being trapped by the likes of Voldemort or Pucey.
"I believe you, Mr Malfoy." McGonagall offered Draco a hand, and he willingly shook it, returning her smile with a little one of his own. Harry stood up, and Draco stood as well, throwing one more glance at Snape. He wished he could talk to the man a little. They'd had more in common than he'd known.
"You really were working against You Know Who all the time?" Draco needed to hear it directly from Snape's lips.
"And protecting you," Snape replied quietly. He sighed a little. "I apologise for not doing a better job of it."
McGonagall took Harry's arm. "Perhaps we should leave them alone for a moment. I'll call Hagrid back to escort the two of you. You heard about that awful werewolf prowling near here, I presume? He tried to attack Neville and Dean while they were repairing one of the walls." Her lip gave a twist. "We encouraged him to 'bugger' off, as they say. I do hope he's learned not to come near again."
The two of them headed out the door, with Harry throwing one last look at Draco, checking on him. Draco faced Snape's portrait feeling a heavy weight in his chest. Not that Snape had ever been a warm, loving man, but he really wished right now that he could hug him. "How did you survive it? All the things they made us do, made us watch?"
Snape's voice was cold, emotionless. "You just do. It is eminently possible to survive a number of twisted indecencies. It is harder to actually recover. To thrive, after such fallout." A flicker of something crossed his face. Was it pride? "You're doing unaccountably well. It seems Potter was of use after all."
Draco nodded, blushing a little. "He's . . . he's been wonderful." Was it insanity to want a blessing from his former godfather? He certainly would never receive it from his real father.
That received a dramatic sigh. But Draco thought he saw the corner of Snape's mouth turn up. "Then I suppose I shall have to reconcile myself to the sight of you two together."
He couldn't help it; Draco grinned. "I suppose so, Sir. But I can assure you, I am as Slytherin as I ever was." Even Harry couldn't change that about him.
"I should hope so. I shudder to think what travesties that Slughorn will do to our House."
Even as Draco chuckled, he found that he was weeping. "I'm going to miss you, Sir." Perhaps even more than his real father, Snape had always been there for him, always supported him, in that acidic but noble way of his. It was nice being able to speak to even a portrait of him, imbued with all his personality. But it would never replace the real thing. It hurt. The loss of one of the few friends he'd had in his young life.
Draco slowly walked over to the painting as the tears rolled down his cheeks. Snape had turned away, unable to watch him cry, perhaps. But that was Snape's way. Draco reached out a hand and gently touched the flat surface of the painting, imagining that he could feel the soft wool of Snape's robes.
Then he turned and left the office.
When he rejoined Harry and McGonagall, Harry was holding out his handkerchief. Draco took it back and dabbed at his eyes. Harry didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. The look on his face stated plainly that he understood.
Draco let out a sigh. "I'm ready to go home."
***
Chapter Twenty-Seven
***
Author: Juwel (juweldom@yahoo.com)
Pairings: Draco/Harry
Rating: Adult (NC-17)
Catetories: romance, hurt/comfort, angst
Warnings: SPOILERS for DH, compliant with DH except for the epilogue. Warnings for rape (early chapters), submission and domination, and suicidal tendencies.
Archive: just ask.
Disclaimer: The characters in this fic are the property of J.K. Rowling and not mine, sadly. That doesn't seem to have stopped anyone from using them in truly sick and demented ways. No money is being made from this.
Summary: The war is over, and the Death Eaters must do hard time in Azkaban. Draco must vanquish his worst enemy; his own fear.
Notes: This one's a heavy chapter as far as emotions are concerned. Many thanks to slashpervert for her beta reading!
3430 words this chapter
Previous chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25
******
At the top of the stairs, McGonagall was waiting for them.
Draco had thought that perhaps with the title of Headmistress that she might have at least stepped up her wardrobe just a little, found new robes or something, but she was dressed exactly the same as always, with that slightly rumpled-looking witch's hat and her hands folded at her waist as she took in the sight of the two of them. Harry was shaking badly, and he seemed to be having trouble breathing, sucking in gulps of air, staring resolutely at the floor. He stopped several feet away from McGonagall and refused to budge further. Draco looked at the Headmistress for help. "Prof -- I mean Headmistress -- I think Harry's having a problem." He'd never seen Harry like this. He'd never seen the young man looking afraid to the point of tears.
"Harry?" McGonagall strode forward to cup Harry's cheeks, trying to look into his face, but Harry backed up a step, ducking away from her touch, his green eyes almost hauntingly bright with tears. He seemed to look everywhere and nowhere, as if he couldn't find a place to rest his gaze.
"I can't -- I need to leave," Harry said, pulling at Draco's hand still holding his.
Oh no he wouldn't, Draco thought with ire; he hadn't just faced a thousand fears crossing through Hogsmeade only to leave before things were settled. "Come on," he said in a sharp voice, and almost dragged Harry towards the office, trusting that McGonagall would follow. The doors were already open, and there was a table in the centre of the room with three chairs. Draco made Harry sit at one of them. He was conscious of paintings everywhere, all of them occupied with former Headmasters and Headmistresses, watching them. Harry had covered his face with his hands. A sob shook his frame, and Draco did what felt natural, not even thinking of their audience. He sat beside Harry and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer.
Harry responded by leaning against Draco, grasping his hand again and holding on so tightly, Draco was sure he'd have little crescent marks from Harry's nails. Harry tried to look around, but apparently what he saw did not comfort him; his gaze seemed to wander over to a pedestal and basin -- the Pensieve, Draco realised, wondering what kinds of things Harry had seen, experienced in this office. McGonagall looked on, her face grave and pinched with worry.
"I thought I was okay," Harry whispered in a broken voice, and then suddenly his face screwed up with pain and he broke down into tears, burying his face against Draco's shoulder. Draco looked at McGonagall helplessly.
On the one hand he thought he understood; if they were to drag him back to Azkaban this moment, he'd probably be having a similar reaction, if not worse. But on the other . . . Harry had won his fight. He'd defeated Voldemort. Had it really been that horrible for him?
Draco reckoned the answer was painfully obvious by Harry's actions. It had never occurred to him that Harry might have gone through just as much pain and terror as himself, albeit in different ways. "And you said I needed to talk about things," Draco chided in a low voice, meant only for Harry's ears, rubbing Harry's back. It was a bit late to worry about appearances, he'd decided. Let McGonagall and the paintings think what they would.
Across from him, McGonagall sat down. She seemed at a loss for words. "Was he . . . has he done this before?" She looked old, Draco found himself thinking. He shook his head.
"He has nightmares," Draco answered, since Harry showed no signs of recovering, but was sobbing even louder, clutching onto him. "But he doesn't cry." Not that Draco had seen, not even when Harry had listed off the names of the dead. Perhaps he was overdue for a breakdown.
"I . . . was fine," Harry whispered, removing his glasses to scrub at his eyes. "Was fine," he repeated, perhaps to convince himself. It wasn't convincing Draco. All it did was make him want to pull Harry into a hard embrace. He squeezed Harry's hand back and wondered how angry Harry would be if he leaned over right now and kissed him.
"I know it's hard, dear. It's going to take some time. We're all still mourning," McGonagall said, patting Harry's arm. Harry acknowledged her with a watery smile, but then his gaze drifted over to the paintings and grief struck him anew; he swayed in his chair, an odd keening noise coming from him. Alarmed, Draco abandoned his reserve, and pulled Harry into his arms.
"They died . . . so many," Harry sobbed, rocking himself and holding onto Draco.
Draco nodded, feeling embarrassed on Harry's behalf. Still, this timing was better than losing it in front of the Wizengamot, he reckoned. "You saved far more, though. You saved a lot of people. Like me." Three times now, he had saved Draco from death, in one form or another. He'd given Draco hope that there still was a future for him.
Harry nodded, but he still didn't seem able to pull things together; every time it looked like he had taken control of his emotions, he would look around and suddenly his face would crumple again, struck it seemed by some new memory. And then a sharp voice behind them cut in, "Oh for pity's sake, Potter. Stop your snivelling; none of us want to witness it. You weren't the only one who could have done better, you know."
Draco gasped and turned around, half expecting the former Headmaster and Potions Professor looming over the two of them. But of course Snape was dead. What he found was a small portrait of Snape hung on the wall nearby, with a thoroughly disgusted expression on his gaunt face. Draco flushed, easing himself and Harry apart a little. Harry glared at Snape's portrait, rubbing at his eyes.
"I watched you die. I should have been able to stop it somehow. I should have trusted you were Dumbledore's man." Harry paused to sniff a little, wiping his nose with his shirt. Draco sighed and handed him a handkerchief, wondering why he'd bothered to dress up. They were both rumpled now. And the sight of Harry looking this fragile was splitting his heart in two.
Snape gave one of his trademark sneers. "It was my own bloody fault, Mr Potter. I should have been better prepared for the snake's attack. In point of fact, I did have an anti-venom potion with me. But I hadn't counted on Nagini tearing out my artery." His expression turned shuttered. "In any case, I was ready to die. I'd done enough for the war." His eyes were flat, empty. It was a look that Draco recognised; his eyes had looked the same, when he'd looked into the mirror at St. Mungo's after his failed suicide attempt.
McGonagall broke in, tutting under her breath. "Thank you, Severus, for your little, mm, diversion. Harry, are you all right now? I'm sorry I suggested this meeting; I should have realised how difficult this was going to be for you." Her gaze refocused on Draco. "But I must say, I found this extremely enlightening."
There was no way to hide the blush this time, so Draco tried for his old standby; bravado. "Hopefully you found the application in order."
Harry added, "We could use your testimony to help grant Draco leniency, if you'd be willing to say something on his behalf." He obviously had recovered, and had tucked Draco's handkerchief into the pocket of his jeans. He looked pale and battered, but in control of his emotions once again.
McGonagall smiled, and there was actual warmth in her eyes, warmth Draco could scarcely recall seeing there before. "I think I most certainly can. I always knew there was more to Mr Malfoy here than what his father kept trying to pour into him. I hope that he can be a role model to the younger members of his House here."
Draco had no idea how to respond to that. The only real praise he could recall here at Hogwarts had come from Ms. Umbridge, and that praise had felt cold and slimy. He scratched the back of his neck which was growing hotter and hotter. "I didn't have a choice in who I was. Now I do."
That received a nod from the Headmistress. "Yes, you do." She turned to Harry, wagging a finger. "You see? I knew there might be more to those students who fought against us that night. I tried to tell Shacklebolt and the other Aurors. They think those children are lost causes, but right here is the evidence that not all of them are! If Mr Malfoy here can change his ways and return to school, we could work to bring back more of them -- his friend Mr Goyle, for example."
McGonagall continued talking, but a roaring in Draco's ears drowned out the words; the thought of Gregory, and Blaise, free from Azkaban, holding him in the Slytherin dormitory and hurting him overtook any other thought. He was aware of the blood leaving his face, of the shudders that went through him, but he couldn't move. Fear paralysed him. Goyle free. He'd be dead. He'd be raped, and tortured, and finally murdered. Hogwarts wouldn't be safe. No place would be safe.
Dimly, Draco was aware that somebody was shaking him and calling his name. Hands were on him, hands that seemed hot to the touch, stroking at his face, rubbing his arms. A choked whimper escaped him. He didn't want to go back to that. He couldn't go back to that. All alone . . . .
Lips pressed to his forehead and arms encircled him, holding him. But Pucey had never done that; held him like a little boy. "Draco, nobody's releasing Goyle. You're safe. You're with me -- you're safe, remember?"
Suddenly Draco was back in the Headmistress's chamber again and he was aware Harry was the one holding him, and that McGonagall had knelt down beside him and was stroking his hair, trying soothe him. Draco's lower lip trembled. He didn't want to cry, not here, not now. Especially not with Snape watching, even if he was only a painting.
"You two are a pair, aren't you," McGonagall said in a soft voice, standing up again as Draco fought to get a grip of himself, breathing hard and trying to shove down all the fear, all the tears, to be dealt with later. He felt like he was going to be ill.
"He was one of them, wasn't he?" Harry asked, looking into Draco's eyes. No tears in Harry's eyes now; all Draco could see was concern. And anger -- not directed at him. Draco gave a stiff nod. Harry's jaw clenched.
McGonagall looked bemused. "One of whom?"
Draco begged with his eyes to leave off, but of course this was Harry, and subtlety had never been his strong point. "One of the inmates who raped Draco," Harry answered. Draco shut his eyes, wishing he could just quietly die about now. Yes, this was all going to come out in the trial in two weeks. But he really didn't relish the thought of having to go over it at the moment.
He heard McGonagall swallow audibly, against the backdrop of several muttered exclamations from the paintings. One notable exception was Snape. Draco opened one eye to peek in that direction. Snape was frowning but silent, watching him thoughtfully.
"Oh," McGonagall finally said when she'd mastered herself. "Well that does . . . complicate things."
"Yeah," Harry said. Oh, brilliant deduction, Draco thought acidly.
Resolutely Draco raised his head, refusing to cower or bow with shame. Yes, he was tarnished and defeated, and now everyone knew it. He also wasn't going to lie down and hide. Not any longer. "Gregory did it for revenge. He blamed me for Vince's death. He tried to kill me." The fear was trying to swallow him again. He choked down a breath. "He'd probably try again." Not that he blamed Gregory, really. But lately he'd found himself wanting to live.
"I see," McGonagall said in a weary voice, sounding deflated. She wanted to believe in the good of men; Draco could see it. A stalwart Gryffindor. But sometimes reality did not match ideals.
"I tried to tell you, Minerva," Snape said in a low voice. Draco risked another look at him, and was given a little nod from his old Potions professor in return. Somehow, it validated things for him. At least one other person here had been through some of what he'd been through what he had, enduring Voldemort's taunts, his punishments, the constant fear of death. Perhaps even more.
Screwing up his courage, Draco added, "I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep in the Slytherin dorms." The thought quite simply terrified him; too many memories. Too much risk, especially if the Wizengamot decided to allow any others from Azkaban to return to Hogwarts. He shook his head. "Perhaps I should simply study from home and take my N.E.W.T.s." He'd be apart from Harry; he'd be alone. But then, even if he did return to Hogwarts, they'd still be separated.
Harry looked grieved by the idea, and threw McGonagall a pleading look. "It's true -- he doesn't sleep well . . . alone." Draco thought it was risky to further imply what was happening between Harry and him, but then again, the Headmistress had already seen too much, and yet she hadn't rejected them. Perhaps it was worth the risk. He certainly had little enough to lose.
McGonagall pursed her lips, looking uncomfortable. "I'll . . . think on it. There's a lot of work to be done around here, healing the wounds of this past year." She looked like she wanted to say more, eyes flicking from Harry to Draco and back again, but she only sighed. "I could use any help that either of you could provide. We're going to have a lot of new teachers this year."
Draco swallowed uncomfortably. He had to give the new Headmistress credit for pulling things together and trying to make them work after such chaos. It wouldn't only be himself and Harry with demons to face in coming back here, he reflected. It would be just as hard for the other survivors who had survived the conflict at the castle. And the young ones who had been forced to endure a very dark year last year. He nodded slowly, resigning himself to the idea of many, many sleepless nights. "I could try to help."
That received a nod and a smile from the Headmistress. "That all I needed to hear, Mr Malfoy."
"I'll help too. What about Ron? Ginny? And what about Neville? I heard Neville and Ginny in particular helped with a lot of things last year," Harry asked, looking a lot more sure of himself again, a lot more at peace with the surroundings. He even glanced over at Snape, for the first time that Draco had noticed.
"I am also considering Mr Longbottom for Head Boy," McGonagall said with pride in her voice. "As I said, he and Mr Thomas have been very helpful in working on repairs around the school, along with other past and present students. And as for young Mr Weasley, I was thinking he could be the captain of Gryffindor's team." Apparently McGonagall had been thinking this over extensively.
Harry nodded slowly, glancing over at Draco. "I think that sounds good. I don't want to be captain. I just want to finish my studies."
Draco had thought that was what he wanted as well. But as he stared back at Harry, all he could think was, I just want to be with you. Nothing more. And nothing less.
McGonagall stood up. "Well, I think this just about concludes this interview then, boys. I will have to ask the expected question of you, Mr Malfoy. You won't try to use any Dark magic in this school while you are here, I presume? And you'll work to help heal, not hurt, this school and its students?"
Snape snorted.
Stupid questions, but necessary, Draco reckoned. He nodded, looking into McGonagall's face so that she could see his sincerity. "Believe me, I have no plans to let anything evil into this school ever again." In fact, he would even join the fight against such things. It would be preferable dying that way than ever being trapped by the likes of Voldemort or Pucey.
"I believe you, Mr Malfoy." McGonagall offered Draco a hand, and he willingly shook it, returning her smile with a little one of his own. Harry stood up, and Draco stood as well, throwing one more glance at Snape. He wished he could talk to the man a little. They'd had more in common than he'd known.
"You really were working against You Know Who all the time?" Draco needed to hear it directly from Snape's lips.
"And protecting you," Snape replied quietly. He sighed a little. "I apologise for not doing a better job of it."
McGonagall took Harry's arm. "Perhaps we should leave them alone for a moment. I'll call Hagrid back to escort the two of you. You heard about that awful werewolf prowling near here, I presume? He tried to attack Neville and Dean while they were repairing one of the walls." Her lip gave a twist. "We encouraged him to 'bugger' off, as they say. I do hope he's learned not to come near again."
The two of them headed out the door, with Harry throwing one last look at Draco, checking on him. Draco faced Snape's portrait feeling a heavy weight in his chest. Not that Snape had ever been a warm, loving man, but he really wished right now that he could hug him. "How did you survive it? All the things they made us do, made us watch?"
Snape's voice was cold, emotionless. "You just do. It is eminently possible to survive a number of twisted indecencies. It is harder to actually recover. To thrive, after such fallout." A flicker of something crossed his face. Was it pride? "You're doing unaccountably well. It seems Potter was of use after all."
Draco nodded, blushing a little. "He's . . . he's been wonderful." Was it insanity to want a blessing from his former godfather? He certainly would never receive it from his real father.
That received a dramatic sigh. But Draco thought he saw the corner of Snape's mouth turn up. "Then I suppose I shall have to reconcile myself to the sight of you two together."
He couldn't help it; Draco grinned. "I suppose so, Sir. But I can assure you, I am as Slytherin as I ever was." Even Harry couldn't change that about him.
"I should hope so. I shudder to think what travesties that Slughorn will do to our House."
Even as Draco chuckled, he found that he was weeping. "I'm going to miss you, Sir." Perhaps even more than his real father, Snape had always been there for him, always supported him, in that acidic but noble way of his. It was nice being able to speak to even a portrait of him, imbued with all his personality. But it would never replace the real thing. It hurt. The loss of one of the few friends he'd had in his young life.
Draco slowly walked over to the painting as the tears rolled down his cheeks. Snape had turned away, unable to watch him cry, perhaps. But that was Snape's way. Draco reached out a hand and gently touched the flat surface of the painting, imagining that he could feel the soft wool of Snape's robes.
Then he turned and left the office.
When he rejoined Harry and McGonagall, Harry was holding out his handkerchief. Draco took it back and dabbed at his eyes. Harry didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. The look on his face stated plainly that he understood.
Draco let out a sigh. "I'm ready to go home."
***
Chapter Twenty-Seven
***