Icarus Rising: Chapter 2 by Ryokoblue
2.
In the midst of war, Harry had never dared contemplate what life in the wizarding world might be like after Voldemort. Not much actually changed in the end. People continued working their jobs and children kept attending school. Despite the many empty chairs at the collective dinner table, the wizarding population as a whole proved remarkably resilient in the wake of Voldemort's devastation. Everything seemed to feel normal again. Feel good.
Harry wished he could say the same about himself. Some would say he deserved to feel good more than anyone. An idea he would quickly and uncomfortably shirk, even when it came from the mouths of those closest to him. In Harry's eyes, he had finished a job. A job Voldemort himself bestowed upon him when he was just a baby. Nothing particularly special about spending half your life a walking target. Getting the people you love most into trouble. Getting a few of them killed.
Harry tried to be happy in the weeks following Voldemort's demise, he really did. He wasn't unhappy exactly. Many families had indeed lost members to the struggle, but most of his friends were still alive and relatively unscathed. Ron remained living at the Burrow, saving up for his own flat in the city. Together, he and Harry were Aurors-in-training, side-by-side as they always had been. He trusted Ron more than anyone. They had saved each other's lives more times than he could count.
When Harry thought about how close he came to losing Ron at the hands of a crazed Draco Malfoy, he almost couldn't bear it. He would have killed the Veela, of that he was certain. Just as he had killed Bellatrix. And just like with Bellatrix, he would have had one more dead soul on his already over-burdened conscience. He was an Auror. He was trained to use deadly force when the circumstances called for it. But he had killed Bellatrix out of revenge. Just as he would have killed Malfoy had he been unable to stop the assault on Ron.
He wasn't sorry that Bellatrix was dead. He only wished she had died sooner. Before... before she had taken something so irreplaceable from him. He hadn't been able to save Sirius. But he hadn't lost Ron. And Malfoy... Malfoy was not Bellatrix. Harry didn't know what to think of Malfoy, but he could discern enough from the few minutes he had spent with him that this was no typical Death Eater bent on murder and mayhem.
The Draco Malfoy on that battlefield cared nothing for "purifying the wizarding race" or putting Voldemort up on some invisible throne. Snape had called him an animal and, while the idea left Harry feeling rather disgusted, he couldn't exactly say the man was wrong. The Veela appeared beyond normal communication. A mindless beast. By the orders sent his way from his father and Voldemort, it was clearly expected that Malfoy obey their commands without question.
Yet he had not. He had stepped between Harry and a curse thrown his way by Lucius Malfoy. He had attacked Voldemort with no apparent regard for who the man was or what business he had with Harry. Malfoy had protected him at the sake of his own life. Harry knew that. Had accepted it as truth. He just didn't understand it. Why had Draco done it? Why had he not only ignored two direct orders to attack, but saved his leader's enemy as well? It simply made no sense.
Before Malfoy disappeared from Hogwarts in the middle of their sixth year, the tension between he and Harry had reached a fever pitch. Malfoy made no secret of the fact that he blamed Harry for his father's "wrongful" imprisonment, going out of his way to instigate conflict with the Gryffindor and his friends at every available opportunity. Their final Quidditch match against one another ended in a stalemate as the two Seekers eventually abandoned the pretense of the game in order to engage in a brutal fistfight high up in the air.
Later, when the two houses held their make-up game in order to ultimately decide the winner, Harry faced Malcolm Baddock in the air. By then, Malfoy had been missing for five weeks. The match wasn't even a contest. Gryffindor defeated Slytherin 210-60. There was no way of knowing if Malfoy's absence had affected his team's morale, but it became quite clear that Slytherin was less of a powerhouse at the sport than they had been before with him as Seeker. Even if Malfoy's father really had bought his son's way onto the team, Harry figured it was still probably the best investment they'd ever made.
It proved impossible not to notice that Malfoy was gone. His disappearance served as spectacular fodder for the gossip machine at Hogwarts. Rumors surrounding his prolonged absence -- most of which seemed to originate in Ravenclaw, strangely -- varied from illness to defection to death. Some conjectured that Malfoy had transferred to Durmstrang so as to better acquaint himself with the Dark Arts, preparing to take his father's place in Voldemort's inner circle. A few of the younger years (mostly Hufflepuff girls) suggested that the only Malfoy heir had fallen in love with a muggle girl, choosing to run away with her rather than face the obvious disapproval of his parents and peers.
Harry didn't listen to the rumors. Not only were they largely absurd, the fact remained that no one had a clue what had happened to Draco Malfoy. And as time went by, fewer and fewer people cared. Even the Slytherins managed to pick up and carry on without him, replacing him on the Quidditch team with Baddock and in their power hierarchy with a rather uninspiring Theodore Nott. Nott did his best to continue Malfoy's legacy of torment, he just wasn't very good at it. He lacked Malfoy's scathing wit, and what insults Nott could come up with seemed half-hearted at best. Unlike his predecessor, Nott's hatred for Harry didn't appear to be personal.
Lying in the infirmary after the first Gryffindor-Slytherin match, with a broken nose and a lacerated lip, Harry thought nothing could ever make him any angrier at Malfoy. Their in-flight scuffle had been peppered with all the typical slights toward friends and family, Harry giving back as good as he got. He made rather derogatory (and admittedly unfounded) remarks about Malfoy's mother, and Malfoy retaliated by insinuating Harry's mother's blood was dirty for more reasons than just her muggle heritage. That was when Harry blackened his eye, consequently ensuring the boy a bed in the infirmary at the opposite end of his.
Except Harry had been wrong. Despite the intensity to his wrath at that time, it couldn't begin to compare with how he felt when Malfoy vanished. Unlike his schoolmates with their fantasy gossip, Harry was fairly certain he knew exactly why Malfoy disappeared. Two weeks prior, Lucius Malfoy had disappeared from Azkaban. Apparently, the elder Malfoy had plans to resume his former allegiances and Draco's inclusion was some sort of bargaining chip to get him back through the door. That was Harry's conclusion, anyway.
Harry shared only with Ron and Hermione what the Order had told him about Lucius Malfoy's escape. Somehow, the Ministry managed to keep his emancipation out of the papers, but naturally Harry was notified of having one more Death Eater at large than previously thought. Eventually, the story did break and everyone became aware of the news, but at that point Draco had been missing for several months and few thought to connect the two events. Not many people thought about Draco Malfoy anymore.
Harry thought about Draco Malfoy. His ruminations trickled to a stop as time passed, of course, as memories faded and new problems arose. But in the beginning, it was hard for Harry to ignore just how... betrayed he felt. How disappointed he was in Malfoy. Which was stupid, really. He'd never suspected for even a moment that Malfoy was an unwilling participant in his father's cause. Never once doubted that Malfoy's hatred for him and all he stood for was genuine.
Even so, Malfoy's disappearance made Harry recognize that he just didn't believe anyone to be completely beyond redemption. As much as Malfoy bothered him, Harry's subconscious still held out hope that there could be a way to get to him. To make him see reason. To prevent himself, Harry, from having to meet one more familiar face on the battlefields ahead. He didn't like Malfoy. But he was still just a boy. A boy Harry's own age, with potential and dreams. Snuffing out his life would have been infinitely more difficult than ridding the world of cold-blooded killers like Bellatrix Lestrange and Tom Marvolo Riddle.
But Harry never saw Malfoy at any battles. The years went by and he, like his classmates, forgot about the boy. Malfoy was just one of many casualties in a long and painful conflict. Harry couldn't afford to stop and mourn the dead any longer. The time for self-indulgence had passed. He had a war to win, friends to keep alive, an enemy to defeat. He had a job to do. What came after, Harry never stopped to consider. Maybe some part of him never thought he would actually live to see the sun rise on a peaceful world. When he did, and Voldemort died in his stead, Harry realized with a disconcerting clarity that all meaning to his life had died with him.
It should have been enough for Harry to live for himself. He had good friends, friends that were like family. He had the job he'd always dreamed of, or would when his training was complete. His attempts at finding love never amounted to much, but he always chalked that up to having higher priorities. Still, he was free now to pursue his own interests. He had triumphed at his greatest task and should be proud of it, proud of himself just for surviving. Of fulfilling his destiny. Of being everything everyone always said he was.
He should be. And sometimes he was. Other times, it just wasn't enough. Having lived so long with a mission on his mind, Harry needed something new to live for. Some new cause, some purpose to fulfill. He needed to feel needed. Harry was a good Auror. He knew that. But he also knew he was no better than Ron. Or Tonks or any of the other Aurors, both in training and in station. Harry had gotten used to feeling special, even when he didn't particularly want to be. And to suddenly be so normal again took some serious adjustment.
Perhaps it was this need to do something that inspired him. Maybe it was even a little guilt. Guilt over another life he couldn't save. It made no sense to feel so. By all appearances, Malfoy had made his choice, had unequivocally chosen a side. Even when it counted the most, Malfoy had slighted him, falling prey to his own blind loyalty. It had been Malfoy, then, refusing the handshake between them. Not that Harry ever truly extended it. Rarely could he remain cool-headed around Malfoy long enough to see him as any more than Daddy's little Death Eater-in-training. It wasn't until Malfoy's vanishment that Harry felt his influence on the world as that of an actual human being's.
Perhaps it was simple nostalgia, a wistful remembrance of a younger age not so long ago, that brought him to the Ministry that day. Feeling sentimental over the loss of your childhood rival seemed altogether silly. Reality was Harry didn't know why exactly he first decided to visit Draco Malfoy in his temporary cell at the Ministry's war headquarters. When he told Hermione of his intentions, Harry claimed morbid curiosity. Hermione, ever the practical one, warned him from becoming the proverbial doomed cat. This curiosity could quite literally kill him should it ever get the chance.
Harry assured her that Malfoy was safely tucked away behind thick bars and a dozen guards, and regardless Harry had every confidence in his ability to protect himself from the Veela. Truthfully, Harry didn't believe Malfoy would hurt him even if they were standing together with nothing between them. Harry didn't know why Malfoy had protected him on that battlefield, couldn't fathom what the Veela was thinking or if he had been thinking at all, but it didn't really matter.
Malfoy had saved his life. And foolish a notion as it may have been, the hero in Harry wanted to save Malfoy's life right back.
Getting into the room proved ridiculously easy. He was Harry Potter, after all, not a door in the wizarding world ever shut in his face. Besides, he was an Auror-in-training, well within his rights to interrogate a prisoner of war even when he had not been directly assigned to do so. Harry would later come to learn that there was no Auror assigned to the Malfoy case. In the Ministry's eyes, his upcoming arraignment was little more than a formality. Malfoy was a Dark Creature and a servant of Voldemort to boot. There was no future in the world for a being like that.
Harry wasn't exactly sure what to expect when he walked up to Draco Malfoy's cell. The guards warned him not to expect much response from the prisoner. Sometimes the Veela prowled his cage like an agitated animal, sniffing out and touching his surroundings until a new tray of food was brought in, which he would attack with all the desperation of a starving dog. Most of the time, Malfoy stayed in the corner, huddled in on himself as though waiting for a blow that would never come.
So he was when Harry saw him again, prison robes torn to shreds over his body where his talons had ripped through them like paper. Head lolled to one side, mouth slightly open, the image belied the reality of the Veela's existence with a look of preternatural innocence. Asleep then, Harry determined. Harry took a step towards the cage, stopping when a guard laid a steady hand on his arm. "Don't get too close, sir. It sent Jenkins to St. Mungo's last week."
"How?" Harry blinked.
"Daft git tried to touch the thing. We're all taking anti-toxin, but it doesn't seem to work as well against male Veela. It's a major problem for anyone lacking in considerable willpower."
"No worries," Harry tried to smile, but it came out forced. "His powers have no affect on me."
"One of the perks to being you, I suppose, sir," the guard chuckled.
Harry laughed along to a mirth he didn't feel before turning back to the cell. Now wide open, a pair of piercing grey eyes stared right through him. Harry swallowed as the Veela rose with an eerie grace and approached him. He came to a halt in the middle of the cell, glancing suspiciously at the two guards accompanying Harry. The dark-haired wizard followed his gaze and took the hint. "Could you leave us, please?"
The guard looked alarmed. "With all due respect, sir, that isn't advisable. The creature's unhinged."
Harry maintained Malfoy's stare with his own. "I have every confidence in the structure of your jail. He can't come near me. And I'm well-capable of taking care of myself."
"Our orders are strict--"
"Who is your supervisor?"
"Silverstone. Jonathan Silverstone."
"I'll talk to him once I leave here. You won't be in any trouble."
The guards shared another dubious glance, but nodded just the same. "The cell is warded, so he can't summon even natural magic, but if you should need anything--"
"I will call you straight away, of course. Thank you."
Harry watched out of the corner of his eye as the guards exited. Now that he was alone with the Veela, however, he wasn't quite sure what to do. He'd never thought this far ahead when initially considering such a visitation. Malfoy was watching him with a shining look in his eyes, cautious and yet strangely hopeful at the same time. "They're gone now," Harry ventured. "It's just you and me. I won't hurt you, understand?"
Malfoy's only acknowledgment of this statement was to finish his walk to the bars, gripping two of them in pale, fine-boned hands. The look on his face was both plaintive and desperate. Harry couldn't remember ever having seen so much emotion cross Malfoy's face at one time. No emotion that wasn't rage or fear, that is. "Will you talk to me?" Harry asked.
No answer. According to the guards, Malfoy had not spoken once, never uttered so much as a word. Still, it was worth a chance. "It's okay if you don't want to talk to me," Harry continued. "I'm not here to question you. This is strictly unofficial business."
Malfoy cocked his head, curiously.
"To tell you the truth, I'm not entirely sure why I'm here. I guess... I guess I mostly want to know why you did what you did. Why you saved me. Your father..." Harry trailed off at the pinched look in the Veela's eyes. "Do you know who I'm talking about when I mention your father? Do you even understand what I'm saying?"
The grey eyes trailed off.
"Just... nod if you do."
Slowly, the blond's head moved up and down. Harry breathed an inner sigh of relief at this small amount of progress. "Your father is also imprisoned and will soon be put on trial for his crimes, as will you. Do you understand what that means?"
Malfoy seemed to ponder this for a moment before shaking his head. "You were witnessed attacking an Auror. I witnessed it. Your list of crimes is nothing like your father's -- no one knows where you've been or what you've been doing -- but you were fighting for Voldemort and the Ministry expects you to answer for that. Did you even...
"Did you have a choice? I mean, what did they do to you?"
Malfoy glanced down at his nails, which were, at the moment, short. He gave a small shrug, tilting his head and eyeing Harry through his long, blond hair. "You were transformed when I saw you last. You had... wings. You look much more... like yourself now. I think you're a bit taller than I remember. Do you remember me at all? I mean, from before that night?"
The Veela frowned and looked down, shaking his head subtly. "They made you forget who you are," Harry breathed. "If you didn't know me, then what made you want to protect me?"
Malfoy's mouth fell open slightly, but words continued to fail him. Instead, he reached his hand through the bars and held his palm out towards Harry. Instinctively, the Auror took a step back. "No," he snapped,. "You won't touch me."
Malfoy's arm fell instantly, eyes glossing over with painfully raw emotion. "I'm sorry," Harry heard himself blurting. "We're just not sure what you're capable of yet, or what you want."
The Veela moved his hand to the lock on the gate and rattled it dispiritedly. "I'm not here to release you, Malfoy. Even if it was in my power, I wouldn't."
Malfoy didn't appear to be listening anymore, turning away from Harry and shuffling to the back wall, dejected. Harry sighed, frustrated with the step back. "Look, I... Don't be that way. You must realize on some level that it's not safe for you to be around people. Yet," he qualified, quickly. "This is for your own protection as much as theirs. No one knows if you're in control of your own actions, or -- if you are -- then why you might choose to do what you've done.
"You came to fight for Voldemort, but you attacked him to save me. I still don't understand. Why? Do you even know why?"
The Veela turned pitiful eyes in his direction, head cocking in quiet affirmation. "Why?" Harry repeated.
But Malfoy only turned in on himself again and looked away. Harry stepped toward the cage, annoyed. "I won't talk to your back. Come over here."
In a flash, the Veela reappeared in front of Harry, as close to him as the bars would allow. The green-eyed wizard took a step back, startled. "Did you just...? Malfoy, touch your nose."
The blond gave him a look but complied, nonetheless. "Stick out your tongue."
Again, Malfoy did as he was told, although he glared at Harry as he did it. "Err... sorry. I'm not trying to humiliate you or anything, I just... You will do anything I say?"
The Veela nodded sharply. "Why?"
Once more, Malfoy reached out to Harry. Harry considered the outstretched hand -- the same one he had refused so many years before. For a second time, he declined to take it. "No, Malfoy. You're not allowed to touch anyone."
The former Slytherin's face fell and he returned to his corner. If Harry told him to come back, he supposed the blond would obey, but the idea seemed cruel. He didn't know why Malfoy obeyed him, but he wouldn't take advantage of it. Deciding they had both had enough for one day, Harry left Malfoy alone in his cell without another word. The Veela made no move to stop him, didn't even acknowledge his departure, and when a scowling Harry left the holding area, the guards wisely refrained from asking him how things had gone.
Harry tried not to think about Malfoy when he went to work the next day. He tried not to think about Malfoy when he went out with his friends for dinner. And he absolutely refused to think about Malfoy when he laid down to sleep at night. He didn't want to think about Malfoy again ever, but all he could see in his head when he closed his eyes was the hooded gaze of a soul confined.
He went back three days later.
The guards reported that the Veela had been even less responsive than usual, keeping mostly to the corner, only venturing out to snatch the provided food from its tray. Harry didn't know what to expect from a second encounter. He certainly had not expected the blond to throw himself against the bars of his cell at the sound of Harry calling his name. The Veela looked frightened and... apologetic? Why would he be apologizing?
Harry ran a hand back through his hair, sighing. "You're not too good at answering questions. I get that. You also appear -- for Merlin only knows what reason -- to obey my every command. So I'll tell you what. You and I will make a deal. Fair enough? I'll talk, you listen. That's the deal. I won't ask you any more questions you can't answer, and you won't go sulk in your corner just because I won't touch you, understood?"
The blond nodded uncertainly. He started to reach out through the bars, then seemed to remember himself and retracted his arm.
"I still don't know why I'm here," Harry admitted. "I'm not sure why I wanted to see you in the first place, and since I have, I can't stop thinking about you." He paused, laughing. "Okay, that totally came out the wrong way. I just... I don't know who you are anymore. I shouldn't even care. But what you did for me... I owe a Wizard's Debt to you now. I don't know what that means while you're in there and I'm out here, but I... I'll see to it that you receive a fair trial and that people know what you did to help defeat Voldemort."
Malfoy blinked owlishly.
"I... Don't you hate me anymore?"
The Veela looked confused. "Maybe you don't remember," it dawned on Harry. "I mean, if you've forgotten me, then you wouldn't know about... everything else. Anyway, it doesn't matter. Things are different now. I don't know how or why, they just are. I wonder if... Has a medi-witch been to see you? You know, a healer?"
Malfoy shook his head. "You should be looked at immediately. We don't know what's been done to you or how. Maybe there's some way to help you remember, to help you speak again. Then you could tell me... why you saved me. Then you could tell me why I so badly need to know." Harry leaned back against the wall, and looked up. "I'm not who you knew in school, Malfoy. And I think it goes without saying that you're not who I recall either.
"Do you remember Hogwarts? No, I don't suppose you do. It's still the most amazing place I've ever been. The students there are separated into four houses. I was in Gryffindor and you... you were in Slytherin."
And so Harry talked. About anything and everything. About Hogwarts and Quidditch and Hogsmeade. About his first trip to Diagon Alley, where he met the very first wizard his own age. A pale boy in a robe shop, eager to start the new year. Harry neglected to mention the specific contents to their conversation. He didn't see the point. The pair of them had never shared a single pleasant moment, so Harry never mentioned any of their other interactions either. It seemed wrong somehow to remind Malfoy of flaws he could no longer remember possessing.
Harry still wasn't sure what to make of this new Malfoy. He was quiet, of course; no one had heard him speak since he was first brought into custody. He was also expressive in a way that the old Malfoy had never been. The Veela's eyes shimmered with feeling and interest in everything Harry had to say. He even smiled, though his smiles were usually tinged with a sadness Harry could never quite identify. Despite the few details trickling down through the Ministry regarding his involvement in Voldemort's cause, Malfoy's past remained a mystery to Harry as much as it was to himself.
Harry returned to see Malfoy again. And again, until he was using up his lunch break every day to meet with the young man. Some days he spent talking about his friends, confiding in the Veela how he suspected Ron was in love with their bushy-haired friend, but too amusingly chicken to do anything about it. Other days, he talked about Voldemort. About what killing him had done to Harry. How the thing that scared him the most was the fact that he didn't feel more guilty about taking the lives that he had.
Harry never talked about Sirius or Bellatrix. And he certainly never mentioned Narcissa Malfoy. As word came through from the Aurors interrogating Lucius Malfoy, the details of her death quickly spread. Harry wished he had never heard about it. According to the elder Malfoy, the remains of his wife's body had been buried in pieces. No, Harry never mentioned any of Draco's relatives. Even if the blond didn't remember any of them, it was still too weird.
Malfoy appeared to anticipate his arrival at times, waiting at the front of his cage for Harry to come. His eyes lit up at the sound of Harry's voice and, when it came time for Harry to leave, the Veela's countenance would collapse in on itself as he pushed his head forward as far as the bars would allow, watching the green-eyed Auror go. Every day, Malfoy seemed to get both better and worse. He was increasingly responsive to Harry's presence, but as a consequence he seemed all the more devastated by his absence.
Somewhere around his eleventh visit, Harry came into the room only to find Malfoy unconscious on the floor with Snape standing over him. "What the hell is going on?!"
Snape spared him an irritated look. "Mr. Potter. What a surprise."
"What did you do to him? Tell me now or I'll call the guards."
Snape very nearly rolled his eyes. "I'm taking a blood sample from Mr. Malfoy for the new anti-toxin I'm developing. I can't very well do that while he's awake, can I?"
Harry relaxed a little. "I could have gotten you the sample. There was no need to knock him out."
"Really. And what makes you think this creature would allow you to do such a thing?"
"I... I visit him sometimes. A lot, actually. He's familiar with me. He... trusts me."
Snape raised a curious eyebrow at that. "I won't ask what you think you're doing by fostering a... relationship with Mr. Malfoy. You're a Gryffindor; any reasons you have are not likely to be either good or logical. However, I feel compelled to warn you that he is not a human being like you or I. He cannot be controlled. It is questionable how much of his mind even remains."
Harry shook his head defiantly. "He understands every word I've said."
"I see. And does he understand why he is behind these bars? What he has done in Voldemort's name?" Harry flinched and faltered. "Lucius Malfoy has been telling Aurors what an efficient killing machine his son was. Or should I say, is."
"Forgive me if I don't believe a single word that man has to say."
"Understandable. However, he will be under Veritaserum at his trial. He will not be able to lie then."
"Draco is not his father," Harry insisted stubbornly.
"No," Snape agreed, walking out of the cage and locking the door behind him. "He's much, much worse."
Snape's robes snapped behind him as he turned and left the room. Harry found himself crouching in front of Malfoy's cell, hands wrapped around the bars, waiting for the blond to wake up. When he did, it was not with the slow, confused recovery that marked most victims of the Stupefy curse. Malfoy's awareness came immediately and his reaction to Harry's presence was electric. For the first time since his incarceration, Draco was within touching distance of Harry.
Malfoy's hands darted out at lightning speed, grasping Harry by the front of his robes and pulling him forward until his glasses clanged against the metal between them. Harry struggled to get away, but the Veela proved impossibly strong. Reaching for his wand, Harry halted abruptly at the feeling of a hand in his hair. Eyes widening, he stared at Malfoy. The Veela wasn't looking at him, however; he was looking all over him. At Harry's neck, Harry's chin, Harry's scar. The hand in his hair caressed him gently.
A galvanic reverberation passed through Harry's body at the touch and he wondered distantly if he really were so immune to the Veela's charms after all. The charge did not inspire any lust in him, but he did feel an overwhelming buzzing sensation flood his body from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes. The blond's attention fell rapt on him and he appeared more content than Harry had ever seen him. He seemed almost happy.
Taking advantage of Malfoy's relaxed grip, Harry yanked himself away, scrambling back into the wall behind him. His hand flew to his neck, where Malfoy's touch had quickened his pulse to an exaggerated beat. The Veela himself looked positively desolate at losing contact with Harry, arms falling limp to his sides, head leaning heavily against the bars that kept them apart. Eyes slipping closed, a burdened sigh escaped his lips. The Veela seemed so tired suddenly. So tired and so hopeless.
Harry shot to his feet and ran out of the room. He didn't tell anyone what had transpired. He lay awake all night thinking about it, thinking about Malfoy, until his lids grew too heavy and he succumbed to the weight of his own ruminations. In the morning, he woke with more questions on his mind than answers. It took him three hours to decide whether or not to visit Malfoy again. When he did, he found Malfoy waiting for him in his cell as if Harry had never even left.
This time, it was Harry who reached out his hand.
>>3
In the midst of war, Harry had never dared contemplate what life in the wizarding world might be like after Voldemort. Not much actually changed in the end. People continued working their jobs and children kept attending school. Despite the many empty chairs at the collective dinner table, the wizarding population as a whole proved remarkably resilient in the wake of Voldemort's devastation. Everything seemed to feel normal again. Feel good.
Harry wished he could say the same about himself. Some would say he deserved to feel good more than anyone. An idea he would quickly and uncomfortably shirk, even when it came from the mouths of those closest to him. In Harry's eyes, he had finished a job. A job Voldemort himself bestowed upon him when he was just a baby. Nothing particularly special about spending half your life a walking target. Getting the people you love most into trouble. Getting a few of them killed.
Harry tried to be happy in the weeks following Voldemort's demise, he really did. He wasn't unhappy exactly. Many families had indeed lost members to the struggle, but most of his friends were still alive and relatively unscathed. Ron remained living at the Burrow, saving up for his own flat in the city. Together, he and Harry were Aurors-in-training, side-by-side as they always had been. He trusted Ron more than anyone. They had saved each other's lives more times than he could count.
When Harry thought about how close he came to losing Ron at the hands of a crazed Draco Malfoy, he almost couldn't bear it. He would have killed the Veela, of that he was certain. Just as he had killed Bellatrix. And just like with Bellatrix, he would have had one more dead soul on his already over-burdened conscience. He was an Auror. He was trained to use deadly force when the circumstances called for it. But he had killed Bellatrix out of revenge. Just as he would have killed Malfoy had he been unable to stop the assault on Ron.
He wasn't sorry that Bellatrix was dead. He only wished she had died sooner. Before... before she had taken something so irreplaceable from him. He hadn't been able to save Sirius. But he hadn't lost Ron. And Malfoy... Malfoy was not Bellatrix. Harry didn't know what to think of Malfoy, but he could discern enough from the few minutes he had spent with him that this was no typical Death Eater bent on murder and mayhem.
The Draco Malfoy on that battlefield cared nothing for "purifying the wizarding race" or putting Voldemort up on some invisible throne. Snape had called him an animal and, while the idea left Harry feeling rather disgusted, he couldn't exactly say the man was wrong. The Veela appeared beyond normal communication. A mindless beast. By the orders sent his way from his father and Voldemort, it was clearly expected that Malfoy obey their commands without question.
Yet he had not. He had stepped between Harry and a curse thrown his way by Lucius Malfoy. He had attacked Voldemort with no apparent regard for who the man was or what business he had with Harry. Malfoy had protected him at the sake of his own life. Harry knew that. Had accepted it as truth. He just didn't understand it. Why had Draco done it? Why had he not only ignored two direct orders to attack, but saved his leader's enemy as well? It simply made no sense.
Before Malfoy disappeared from Hogwarts in the middle of their sixth year, the tension between he and Harry had reached a fever pitch. Malfoy made no secret of the fact that he blamed Harry for his father's "wrongful" imprisonment, going out of his way to instigate conflict with the Gryffindor and his friends at every available opportunity. Their final Quidditch match against one another ended in a stalemate as the two Seekers eventually abandoned the pretense of the game in order to engage in a brutal fistfight high up in the air.
Later, when the two houses held their make-up game in order to ultimately decide the winner, Harry faced Malcolm Baddock in the air. By then, Malfoy had been missing for five weeks. The match wasn't even a contest. Gryffindor defeated Slytherin 210-60. There was no way of knowing if Malfoy's absence had affected his team's morale, but it became quite clear that Slytherin was less of a powerhouse at the sport than they had been before with him as Seeker. Even if Malfoy's father really had bought his son's way onto the team, Harry figured it was still probably the best investment they'd ever made.
It proved impossible not to notice that Malfoy was gone. His disappearance served as spectacular fodder for the gossip machine at Hogwarts. Rumors surrounding his prolonged absence -- most of which seemed to originate in Ravenclaw, strangely -- varied from illness to defection to death. Some conjectured that Malfoy had transferred to Durmstrang so as to better acquaint himself with the Dark Arts, preparing to take his father's place in Voldemort's inner circle. A few of the younger years (mostly Hufflepuff girls) suggested that the only Malfoy heir had fallen in love with a muggle girl, choosing to run away with her rather than face the obvious disapproval of his parents and peers.
Harry didn't listen to the rumors. Not only were they largely absurd, the fact remained that no one had a clue what had happened to Draco Malfoy. And as time went by, fewer and fewer people cared. Even the Slytherins managed to pick up and carry on without him, replacing him on the Quidditch team with Baddock and in their power hierarchy with a rather uninspiring Theodore Nott. Nott did his best to continue Malfoy's legacy of torment, he just wasn't very good at it. He lacked Malfoy's scathing wit, and what insults Nott could come up with seemed half-hearted at best. Unlike his predecessor, Nott's hatred for Harry didn't appear to be personal.
Lying in the infirmary after the first Gryffindor-Slytherin match, with a broken nose and a lacerated lip, Harry thought nothing could ever make him any angrier at Malfoy. Their in-flight scuffle had been peppered with all the typical slights toward friends and family, Harry giving back as good as he got. He made rather derogatory (and admittedly unfounded) remarks about Malfoy's mother, and Malfoy retaliated by insinuating Harry's mother's blood was dirty for more reasons than just her muggle heritage. That was when Harry blackened his eye, consequently ensuring the boy a bed in the infirmary at the opposite end of his.
Except Harry had been wrong. Despite the intensity to his wrath at that time, it couldn't begin to compare with how he felt when Malfoy vanished. Unlike his schoolmates with their fantasy gossip, Harry was fairly certain he knew exactly why Malfoy disappeared. Two weeks prior, Lucius Malfoy had disappeared from Azkaban. Apparently, the elder Malfoy had plans to resume his former allegiances and Draco's inclusion was some sort of bargaining chip to get him back through the door. That was Harry's conclusion, anyway.
Harry shared only with Ron and Hermione what the Order had told him about Lucius Malfoy's escape. Somehow, the Ministry managed to keep his emancipation out of the papers, but naturally Harry was notified of having one more Death Eater at large than previously thought. Eventually, the story did break and everyone became aware of the news, but at that point Draco had been missing for several months and few thought to connect the two events. Not many people thought about Draco Malfoy anymore.
Harry thought about Draco Malfoy. His ruminations trickled to a stop as time passed, of course, as memories faded and new problems arose. But in the beginning, it was hard for Harry to ignore just how... betrayed he felt. How disappointed he was in Malfoy. Which was stupid, really. He'd never suspected for even a moment that Malfoy was an unwilling participant in his father's cause. Never once doubted that Malfoy's hatred for him and all he stood for was genuine.
Even so, Malfoy's disappearance made Harry recognize that he just didn't believe anyone to be completely beyond redemption. As much as Malfoy bothered him, Harry's subconscious still held out hope that there could be a way to get to him. To make him see reason. To prevent himself, Harry, from having to meet one more familiar face on the battlefields ahead. He didn't like Malfoy. But he was still just a boy. A boy Harry's own age, with potential and dreams. Snuffing out his life would have been infinitely more difficult than ridding the world of cold-blooded killers like Bellatrix Lestrange and Tom Marvolo Riddle.
But Harry never saw Malfoy at any battles. The years went by and he, like his classmates, forgot about the boy. Malfoy was just one of many casualties in a long and painful conflict. Harry couldn't afford to stop and mourn the dead any longer. The time for self-indulgence had passed. He had a war to win, friends to keep alive, an enemy to defeat. He had a job to do. What came after, Harry never stopped to consider. Maybe some part of him never thought he would actually live to see the sun rise on a peaceful world. When he did, and Voldemort died in his stead, Harry realized with a disconcerting clarity that all meaning to his life had died with him.
It should have been enough for Harry to live for himself. He had good friends, friends that were like family. He had the job he'd always dreamed of, or would when his training was complete. His attempts at finding love never amounted to much, but he always chalked that up to having higher priorities. Still, he was free now to pursue his own interests. He had triumphed at his greatest task and should be proud of it, proud of himself just for surviving. Of fulfilling his destiny. Of being everything everyone always said he was.
He should be. And sometimes he was. Other times, it just wasn't enough. Having lived so long with a mission on his mind, Harry needed something new to live for. Some new cause, some purpose to fulfill. He needed to feel needed. Harry was a good Auror. He knew that. But he also knew he was no better than Ron. Or Tonks or any of the other Aurors, both in training and in station. Harry had gotten used to feeling special, even when he didn't particularly want to be. And to suddenly be so normal again took some serious adjustment.
Perhaps it was this need to do something that inspired him. Maybe it was even a little guilt. Guilt over another life he couldn't save. It made no sense to feel so. By all appearances, Malfoy had made his choice, had unequivocally chosen a side. Even when it counted the most, Malfoy had slighted him, falling prey to his own blind loyalty. It had been Malfoy, then, refusing the handshake between them. Not that Harry ever truly extended it. Rarely could he remain cool-headed around Malfoy long enough to see him as any more than Daddy's little Death Eater-in-training. It wasn't until Malfoy's vanishment that Harry felt his influence on the world as that of an actual human being's.
Perhaps it was simple nostalgia, a wistful remembrance of a younger age not so long ago, that brought him to the Ministry that day. Feeling sentimental over the loss of your childhood rival seemed altogether silly. Reality was Harry didn't know why exactly he first decided to visit Draco Malfoy in his temporary cell at the Ministry's war headquarters. When he told Hermione of his intentions, Harry claimed morbid curiosity. Hermione, ever the practical one, warned him from becoming the proverbial doomed cat. This curiosity could quite literally kill him should it ever get the chance.
Harry assured her that Malfoy was safely tucked away behind thick bars and a dozen guards, and regardless Harry had every confidence in his ability to protect himself from the Veela. Truthfully, Harry didn't believe Malfoy would hurt him even if they were standing together with nothing between them. Harry didn't know why Malfoy had protected him on that battlefield, couldn't fathom what the Veela was thinking or if he had been thinking at all, but it didn't really matter.
Malfoy had saved his life. And foolish a notion as it may have been, the hero in Harry wanted to save Malfoy's life right back.
Getting into the room proved ridiculously easy. He was Harry Potter, after all, not a door in the wizarding world ever shut in his face. Besides, he was an Auror-in-training, well within his rights to interrogate a prisoner of war even when he had not been directly assigned to do so. Harry would later come to learn that there was no Auror assigned to the Malfoy case. In the Ministry's eyes, his upcoming arraignment was little more than a formality. Malfoy was a Dark Creature and a servant of Voldemort to boot. There was no future in the world for a being like that.
Harry wasn't exactly sure what to expect when he walked up to Draco Malfoy's cell. The guards warned him not to expect much response from the prisoner. Sometimes the Veela prowled his cage like an agitated animal, sniffing out and touching his surroundings until a new tray of food was brought in, which he would attack with all the desperation of a starving dog. Most of the time, Malfoy stayed in the corner, huddled in on himself as though waiting for a blow that would never come.
So he was when Harry saw him again, prison robes torn to shreds over his body where his talons had ripped through them like paper. Head lolled to one side, mouth slightly open, the image belied the reality of the Veela's existence with a look of preternatural innocence. Asleep then, Harry determined. Harry took a step towards the cage, stopping when a guard laid a steady hand on his arm. "Don't get too close, sir. It sent Jenkins to St. Mungo's last week."
"How?" Harry blinked.
"Daft git tried to touch the thing. We're all taking anti-toxin, but it doesn't seem to work as well against male Veela. It's a major problem for anyone lacking in considerable willpower."
"No worries," Harry tried to smile, but it came out forced. "His powers have no affect on me."
"One of the perks to being you, I suppose, sir," the guard chuckled.
Harry laughed along to a mirth he didn't feel before turning back to the cell. Now wide open, a pair of piercing grey eyes stared right through him. Harry swallowed as the Veela rose with an eerie grace and approached him. He came to a halt in the middle of the cell, glancing suspiciously at the two guards accompanying Harry. The dark-haired wizard followed his gaze and took the hint. "Could you leave us, please?"
The guard looked alarmed. "With all due respect, sir, that isn't advisable. The creature's unhinged."
Harry maintained Malfoy's stare with his own. "I have every confidence in the structure of your jail. He can't come near me. And I'm well-capable of taking care of myself."
"Our orders are strict--"
"Who is your supervisor?"
"Silverstone. Jonathan Silverstone."
"I'll talk to him once I leave here. You won't be in any trouble."
The guards shared another dubious glance, but nodded just the same. "The cell is warded, so he can't summon even natural magic, but if you should need anything--"
"I will call you straight away, of course. Thank you."
Harry watched out of the corner of his eye as the guards exited. Now that he was alone with the Veela, however, he wasn't quite sure what to do. He'd never thought this far ahead when initially considering such a visitation. Malfoy was watching him with a shining look in his eyes, cautious and yet strangely hopeful at the same time. "They're gone now," Harry ventured. "It's just you and me. I won't hurt you, understand?"
Malfoy's only acknowledgment of this statement was to finish his walk to the bars, gripping two of them in pale, fine-boned hands. The look on his face was both plaintive and desperate. Harry couldn't remember ever having seen so much emotion cross Malfoy's face at one time. No emotion that wasn't rage or fear, that is. "Will you talk to me?" Harry asked.
No answer. According to the guards, Malfoy had not spoken once, never uttered so much as a word. Still, it was worth a chance. "It's okay if you don't want to talk to me," Harry continued. "I'm not here to question you. This is strictly unofficial business."
Malfoy cocked his head, curiously.
"To tell you the truth, I'm not entirely sure why I'm here. I guess... I guess I mostly want to know why you did what you did. Why you saved me. Your father..." Harry trailed off at the pinched look in the Veela's eyes. "Do you know who I'm talking about when I mention your father? Do you even understand what I'm saying?"
The grey eyes trailed off.
"Just... nod if you do."
Slowly, the blond's head moved up and down. Harry breathed an inner sigh of relief at this small amount of progress. "Your father is also imprisoned and will soon be put on trial for his crimes, as will you. Do you understand what that means?"
Malfoy seemed to ponder this for a moment before shaking his head. "You were witnessed attacking an Auror. I witnessed it. Your list of crimes is nothing like your father's -- no one knows where you've been or what you've been doing -- but you were fighting for Voldemort and the Ministry expects you to answer for that. Did you even...
"Did you have a choice? I mean, what did they do to you?"
Malfoy glanced down at his nails, which were, at the moment, short. He gave a small shrug, tilting his head and eyeing Harry through his long, blond hair. "You were transformed when I saw you last. You had... wings. You look much more... like yourself now. I think you're a bit taller than I remember. Do you remember me at all? I mean, from before that night?"
The Veela frowned and looked down, shaking his head subtly. "They made you forget who you are," Harry breathed. "If you didn't know me, then what made you want to protect me?"
Malfoy's mouth fell open slightly, but words continued to fail him. Instead, he reached his hand through the bars and held his palm out towards Harry. Instinctively, the Auror took a step back. "No," he snapped,. "You won't touch me."
Malfoy's arm fell instantly, eyes glossing over with painfully raw emotion. "I'm sorry," Harry heard himself blurting. "We're just not sure what you're capable of yet, or what you want."
The Veela moved his hand to the lock on the gate and rattled it dispiritedly. "I'm not here to release you, Malfoy. Even if it was in my power, I wouldn't."
Malfoy didn't appear to be listening anymore, turning away from Harry and shuffling to the back wall, dejected. Harry sighed, frustrated with the step back. "Look, I... Don't be that way. You must realize on some level that it's not safe for you to be around people. Yet," he qualified, quickly. "This is for your own protection as much as theirs. No one knows if you're in control of your own actions, or -- if you are -- then why you might choose to do what you've done.
"You came to fight for Voldemort, but you attacked him to save me. I still don't understand. Why? Do you even know why?"
The Veela turned pitiful eyes in his direction, head cocking in quiet affirmation. "Why?" Harry repeated.
But Malfoy only turned in on himself again and looked away. Harry stepped toward the cage, annoyed. "I won't talk to your back. Come over here."
In a flash, the Veela reappeared in front of Harry, as close to him as the bars would allow. The green-eyed wizard took a step back, startled. "Did you just...? Malfoy, touch your nose."
The blond gave him a look but complied, nonetheless. "Stick out your tongue."
Again, Malfoy did as he was told, although he glared at Harry as he did it. "Err... sorry. I'm not trying to humiliate you or anything, I just... You will do anything I say?"
The Veela nodded sharply. "Why?"
Once more, Malfoy reached out to Harry. Harry considered the outstretched hand -- the same one he had refused so many years before. For a second time, he declined to take it. "No, Malfoy. You're not allowed to touch anyone."
The former Slytherin's face fell and he returned to his corner. If Harry told him to come back, he supposed the blond would obey, but the idea seemed cruel. He didn't know why Malfoy obeyed him, but he wouldn't take advantage of it. Deciding they had both had enough for one day, Harry left Malfoy alone in his cell without another word. The Veela made no move to stop him, didn't even acknowledge his departure, and when a scowling Harry left the holding area, the guards wisely refrained from asking him how things had gone.
Harry tried not to think about Malfoy when he went to work the next day. He tried not to think about Malfoy when he went out with his friends for dinner. And he absolutely refused to think about Malfoy when he laid down to sleep at night. He didn't want to think about Malfoy again ever, but all he could see in his head when he closed his eyes was the hooded gaze of a soul confined.
He went back three days later.
The guards reported that the Veela had been even less responsive than usual, keeping mostly to the corner, only venturing out to snatch the provided food from its tray. Harry didn't know what to expect from a second encounter. He certainly had not expected the blond to throw himself against the bars of his cell at the sound of Harry calling his name. The Veela looked frightened and... apologetic? Why would he be apologizing?
Harry ran a hand back through his hair, sighing. "You're not too good at answering questions. I get that. You also appear -- for Merlin only knows what reason -- to obey my every command. So I'll tell you what. You and I will make a deal. Fair enough? I'll talk, you listen. That's the deal. I won't ask you any more questions you can't answer, and you won't go sulk in your corner just because I won't touch you, understood?"
The blond nodded uncertainly. He started to reach out through the bars, then seemed to remember himself and retracted his arm.
"I still don't know why I'm here," Harry admitted. "I'm not sure why I wanted to see you in the first place, and since I have, I can't stop thinking about you." He paused, laughing. "Okay, that totally came out the wrong way. I just... I don't know who you are anymore. I shouldn't even care. But what you did for me... I owe a Wizard's Debt to you now. I don't know what that means while you're in there and I'm out here, but I... I'll see to it that you receive a fair trial and that people know what you did to help defeat Voldemort."
Malfoy blinked owlishly.
"I... Don't you hate me anymore?"
The Veela looked confused. "Maybe you don't remember," it dawned on Harry. "I mean, if you've forgotten me, then you wouldn't know about... everything else. Anyway, it doesn't matter. Things are different now. I don't know how or why, they just are. I wonder if... Has a medi-witch been to see you? You know, a healer?"
Malfoy shook his head. "You should be looked at immediately. We don't know what's been done to you or how. Maybe there's some way to help you remember, to help you speak again. Then you could tell me... why you saved me. Then you could tell me why I so badly need to know." Harry leaned back against the wall, and looked up. "I'm not who you knew in school, Malfoy. And I think it goes without saying that you're not who I recall either.
"Do you remember Hogwarts? No, I don't suppose you do. It's still the most amazing place I've ever been. The students there are separated into four houses. I was in Gryffindor and you... you were in Slytherin."
And so Harry talked. About anything and everything. About Hogwarts and Quidditch and Hogsmeade. About his first trip to Diagon Alley, where he met the very first wizard his own age. A pale boy in a robe shop, eager to start the new year. Harry neglected to mention the specific contents to their conversation. He didn't see the point. The pair of them had never shared a single pleasant moment, so Harry never mentioned any of their other interactions either. It seemed wrong somehow to remind Malfoy of flaws he could no longer remember possessing.
Harry still wasn't sure what to make of this new Malfoy. He was quiet, of course; no one had heard him speak since he was first brought into custody. He was also expressive in a way that the old Malfoy had never been. The Veela's eyes shimmered with feeling and interest in everything Harry had to say. He even smiled, though his smiles were usually tinged with a sadness Harry could never quite identify. Despite the few details trickling down through the Ministry regarding his involvement in Voldemort's cause, Malfoy's past remained a mystery to Harry as much as it was to himself.
Harry returned to see Malfoy again. And again, until he was using up his lunch break every day to meet with the young man. Some days he spent talking about his friends, confiding in the Veela how he suspected Ron was in love with their bushy-haired friend, but too amusingly chicken to do anything about it. Other days, he talked about Voldemort. About what killing him had done to Harry. How the thing that scared him the most was the fact that he didn't feel more guilty about taking the lives that he had.
Harry never talked about Sirius or Bellatrix. And he certainly never mentioned Narcissa Malfoy. As word came through from the Aurors interrogating Lucius Malfoy, the details of her death quickly spread. Harry wished he had never heard about it. According to the elder Malfoy, the remains of his wife's body had been buried in pieces. No, Harry never mentioned any of Draco's relatives. Even if the blond didn't remember any of them, it was still too weird.
Malfoy appeared to anticipate his arrival at times, waiting at the front of his cage for Harry to come. His eyes lit up at the sound of Harry's voice and, when it came time for Harry to leave, the Veela's countenance would collapse in on itself as he pushed his head forward as far as the bars would allow, watching the green-eyed Auror go. Every day, Malfoy seemed to get both better and worse. He was increasingly responsive to Harry's presence, but as a consequence he seemed all the more devastated by his absence.
Somewhere around his eleventh visit, Harry came into the room only to find Malfoy unconscious on the floor with Snape standing over him. "What the hell is going on?!"
Snape spared him an irritated look. "Mr. Potter. What a surprise."
"What did you do to him? Tell me now or I'll call the guards."
Snape very nearly rolled his eyes. "I'm taking a blood sample from Mr. Malfoy for the new anti-toxin I'm developing. I can't very well do that while he's awake, can I?"
Harry relaxed a little. "I could have gotten you the sample. There was no need to knock him out."
"Really. And what makes you think this creature would allow you to do such a thing?"
"I... I visit him sometimes. A lot, actually. He's familiar with me. He... trusts me."
Snape raised a curious eyebrow at that. "I won't ask what you think you're doing by fostering a... relationship with Mr. Malfoy. You're a Gryffindor; any reasons you have are not likely to be either good or logical. However, I feel compelled to warn you that he is not a human being like you or I. He cannot be controlled. It is questionable how much of his mind even remains."
Harry shook his head defiantly. "He understands every word I've said."
"I see. And does he understand why he is behind these bars? What he has done in Voldemort's name?" Harry flinched and faltered. "Lucius Malfoy has been telling Aurors what an efficient killing machine his son was. Or should I say, is."
"Forgive me if I don't believe a single word that man has to say."
"Understandable. However, he will be under Veritaserum at his trial. He will not be able to lie then."
"Draco is not his father," Harry insisted stubbornly.
"No," Snape agreed, walking out of the cage and locking the door behind him. "He's much, much worse."
Snape's robes snapped behind him as he turned and left the room. Harry found himself crouching in front of Malfoy's cell, hands wrapped around the bars, waiting for the blond to wake up. When he did, it was not with the slow, confused recovery that marked most victims of the Stupefy curse. Malfoy's awareness came immediately and his reaction to Harry's presence was electric. For the first time since his incarceration, Draco was within touching distance of Harry.
Malfoy's hands darted out at lightning speed, grasping Harry by the front of his robes and pulling him forward until his glasses clanged against the metal between them. Harry struggled to get away, but the Veela proved impossibly strong. Reaching for his wand, Harry halted abruptly at the feeling of a hand in his hair. Eyes widening, he stared at Malfoy. The Veela wasn't looking at him, however; he was looking all over him. At Harry's neck, Harry's chin, Harry's scar. The hand in his hair caressed him gently.
A galvanic reverberation passed through Harry's body at the touch and he wondered distantly if he really were so immune to the Veela's charms after all. The charge did not inspire any lust in him, but he did feel an overwhelming buzzing sensation flood his body from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes. The blond's attention fell rapt on him and he appeared more content than Harry had ever seen him. He seemed almost happy.
Taking advantage of Malfoy's relaxed grip, Harry yanked himself away, scrambling back into the wall behind him. His hand flew to his neck, where Malfoy's touch had quickened his pulse to an exaggerated beat. The Veela himself looked positively desolate at losing contact with Harry, arms falling limp to his sides, head leaning heavily against the bars that kept them apart. Eyes slipping closed, a burdened sigh escaped his lips. The Veela seemed so tired suddenly. So tired and so hopeless.
Harry shot to his feet and ran out of the room. He didn't tell anyone what had transpired. He lay awake all night thinking about it, thinking about Malfoy, until his lids grew too heavy and he succumbed to the weight of his own ruminations. In the morning, he woke with more questions on his mind than answers. It took him three hours to decide whether or not to visit Malfoy again. When he did, he found Malfoy waiting for him in his cell as if Harry had never even left.
This time, it was Harry who reached out his hand.
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