Fic...Issues...Chapter 7: Issues of Human Nature...H/D
Title: Issues, Chapter 7: Issues of Human Nature
Author: jamie2109
Rating: PG-13 this chapter, higher for later chapters
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Word Count: 4315
Summary: Dean ran one finger along the scars on his face. “I know. Not something that anyone could ever have predicted. But he was… Actually,” Dean laughed abruptly. “He was the same arrogant sod that he’s always been."
Warnings: Ummm nothing really...yet.
Disclaimer: Not Mine
A/N: At last...here she is, the new chapter. Hopefully, you'll think it worth the wait. I had planned on continuing this chapter past where it finishes to add Draco's tale, however, I decided that it needs its own chapter. Soon, I promise. Big smooshes to nocturnali for the beta and to son_of_darkness for the read through. If there's any mistakes, then it's their fault. *g* Oh, if anyone is good at making icons, I'd love an icon for this series. I have cookies...
Playing catch up?
Deep in thought, Harry paused before entering the room he’d been told was the one Dean was recovering in. The nurse had also told him that Dean was doing well and should be released in a few days, once they were sure that he would be emotionally fit to handle the changes to his life.
What had happened to Dean was unfair. What had happened to them all was unfair. War made no allowances for what ‘side’ you were on. Pain, death or incapacitating injuries were indiscriminate of justice or morality. However, Harry allowed himself a moment of anger, as much in guilt that he had not been able to achieve his goal faster in order to prevent outcomes like this, as in rage at Voldemort for being the source that enabled those like Fenrir Greyback.
He knew that the anger and guilt were futile. Neither of those emotions was going to assist Dean, now. Making himself take a deep breath, he opened the door and entered, willing himself to compose his features.
Dean looked up and smiled at Harry, who just stopped himself in time from gasping at Dean’s ravaged face. Most of the damage had been healed, at least as well as it was ever going to be, but the scars were permanent. Obviously, a claw had caught on the edge of his eye, as there was a scar that ran from the corner of his eye, down the length of his cheek to his jaw. The way it had healed had left him with a lasting droop from that eye.
There was a matching scar a few centimetres from the long one, inside, closer to Dean’s nose. This one ended by splitting his lip. Harry couldn’t help himself from looking at the scars intently. He hoped his face was impassive; his brain was recording every scar and imprinting it into his memory so that he would never forget the human face of the tragedies of war.
After a few moments, he blinked and smiled back at Dean, feeling a little guilty at having stared. The look in Dean’s eyes, though, was far from condemning him for looking. And suddenly, Harry knew why Ginny loved Dean. He had a quiet strength about him; a gentle understanding of human nature in allowing, even expecting Harry to stand there surprised at the way he looked.
“Dean, mate, good to see you,” Harry greeted him and stuck his hand out to shake.
“Harry, you too,” Dean replied, shaking Harry’s hand and indicating that he sit. “Ginny was here just before, but she’s gone to get me something to drink. She’s mothering me, but I don’t need it.”
“Women,” Harry laughed back, although there had been a trace of frustration in Dean’s voice. “How are you doing, anyway? The nurse says that you’ll be released in a few days.”
“I’m doing okay now, actually. It’s just a face, Harry, and mine was nothing to write home about in the first place. A few scars here or there doesn’t change who I am, does it?” He looked at Harry with a knowing look, and Harry nodded, smiling in understanding.
“You don’t mind if I look properly then?” he asked, indicating with his eyes, the scarring on Dean’s face.
“Course not, Harry,” Dean replied, turning his face side on to Harry, who was struck by how one side of Dean’s face was perfectly formed and dark-skinned, as it had always been. It wasn’t until you saw the other side that you realised just how much damage had been done by those ripping claws. “Ask me again in a few months if I’m tired of these being all people see when they look at me. I bet you understand that.”
Harry nodded and shifted his line of sight to Dean’s eyes. “I do understand that.” He thought that Dean was handling things much better than Ginny had given him to believe and he was happy for that, though it did make him wonder if Ginny had been looking for an excuse as to why she didn’t want to get back together with Harry. He didn’t doubt for one minute that Ginny loved Dean, but he certainly didn’t need her to look after him, as she had claimed.
With a small pang of residual hurt, he asked, “Do you remember what happened?”
Dean sighed and leant back on the pillows, a troubled frown on his face. “I do…though it was all so confusing. I remember seeing you go down, clutching your ribs, and I would have gone to you but a curse hit me and the next thing I knew I was flat on my back, looking up at the sky. I couldn’t even move, except to twist my head around a bit.”
He stopped and drew a deep breath. “And I hurt. Everywhere. There was yelling all around me and I saw Neville run past. He stopped and came back to make sure I was alive and he told me that you’d been fighting like someone possessed, but you’d gone down and he’d go to help you, then come back for me. He looked so proud, Harry,” Dean smiled, remembering their friend. “He really came into his own didn’t he?”
“He lifted me up off the ground and slapped Ron around a bit until he woke up,” Harry said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “Then he told me to hurry up, too many people were dying.”
“What happened to him, Harry? I asked and no one seems to want to tell me. They think I’m too fragile to handle bad news, but he was my friend, and I deserve to know.” Dean’s plaintive entreaty made Harry blink back the tears. He’d made himself not think about the way Neville died.
“After…after he set Ron and I on our feet, I turned to thank him and…I think it was painless. One of the Death Eaters hit him with some curse or other. He looked peaceful, still had that look on his face. That determined one that he used to wear back when I started the DA and he learnt that he could do all the spells after all.” Harry smiled a little in remembrance. “But, he just wasn’t ‘there’ anymore. I thought that it might have been a Stupefy or something he was so still, and he looked just like he always did. But,” Harry shifted uncomfortably, “of course, there was no pulse.”
They both sat there quietly for a while, Dean’s story momentarily forgotten, each in their own memories of Neville. Eventually, Harry smiled.
“He would have made his gran proud, and his parents.”
“He would at that, Harry,” Dean replied.
“Do you want to continue your story?”
Dean glanced up at Harry, nodding. “I remember lying there for what seemed like a long time and then a shadow loomed over me. I’ll never forget him,” Dean shuddered, “that look in his eyes like I was a juicy meal. I was so scared, Harry. Lupin was the only other werewolf that I’d met and he was no danger to anyone. But him… They told me later who he was. I was positive I was about to die, but I couldn’t move or anything.”
Indeed, Harry was surprised that Dean had survived an attack by Greyback. From what he’d been able to ascertain, the werewolf had left many others dead in that final battle.
“So, what happened?”
“Malfoy happened, would you believe it?” Dean replied shortly, and Harry started in surprise.
“What?”
Dean ran one finger along the scars on his face. “I know. Not something that anyone could ever have predicted. But he was…Actually,” Dean laughed abruptly. “He was the same arrogant sod that he’s always been. He stood there after Greyback had swiped me the first time and told him in no uncertain terms that I was a Mudblood and that this was no time to be ‘playing amongst the swill’ I think were his words. Greyback growled and told Malfoy that he had better watch it himself as he was in no position to be ordering people about, but he left anyway after giving me one more swipe with those talons of his.”
Harry was astounded that Malfoy had bothered to save Dean at all, let alone put himself in danger because of it. These things he was finding out about Malfoy were definitely at odds with the boy he had grown up with and hated at school. There were hidden depths to him and Harry felt compelled to explore them further.
“What happened then?” he asked.
“Malfoy just looked around to make sure that no one could see him, then he removed the spell so that I could move again. He didn’t say much other than to get to help as soon as I could and then he took off. I thought for a moment that I should hex him or something but he saved my life; I just couldn’t.”
“You did the right thing, Dean. Much as I dislike Malfoy, you did the right thing,” Harry said thoughtfully. “Will you speak for him at his trial?”
“Sure,” Dean replied. “Happy to. Even though we all hated him at school…things are different now, aren’t they? We’ve all had to grow up and I don’t reckon he had such an easy time of it, either.”
Harry nodded and they sat there together talking for a while longer. Harry asked what he planned on doing when he got out of the Hospital and was pleased that Dean had decided to make use of his artistic talent, joking that he didn’t need his face to paint. It was while they were reminiscing about the banners Dean had made for the common room numerous times at Hogwarts that Ginny returned with the drinks. Not wanting to intrude on their time, or confront Ginny with her lie about how well Dean was handling his new situation, Harry took his leave from them. He had some thinking to do.
As Harry exited the ward and made his way to the entrance, he decided to Floo straight to the Burrow and see Hermione. Put her onto that reporter, Sully, from the Freedom Press. She would be in her element helping him.
When he arrived, it was to loud voices and an argument. Harry could hear Hermione and Ron’s raised, cross voices, interspersed with Molly’s conciliatory one. They were coming from the kitchen and Harry headed there, entering just in time to hear Ron.
“Harry isn’t gay, Hermione, that’s just wrong and you should be ashamed of yourself for even suggesting that he could do something as vile as that!”
God, Ron could be a stubborn git at times, Harry thought, standing in the doorway, not participating in the argument, and blushing that he was the topic. Harry wasn’t surprised that Ron seemed homophobic, but he did wonder how the topic of his sexuality came up. Then he saw the newspaper on the table and knew. Somehow in the few short hours since the interview that morning, there had been an edition printed and obviously some mention had been made of those personal questions he’d been asked.
Hermione virtually shrieked at him. “Ron! How could you? Why would it matter if Harry were gay? I’m not saying he is, just why would it matter?”
Harry didn’t want Ron to answer that and so he made his presence known by moving over to the table to read what was obviously the article that prompted the discussion.
“Not that it’s anyone’s business, but no, I am not gay,” Harry remarked dryly.
He picked up the paper, giving Ron’s open-mouthed face a stern look, and began to read. None of it really surprised him; he was used to being pilloried by the press and, in comparison, most of it was complimentary. Except the part where they gave legitimacy to the claims made by that reporter about his and Malfoy’s relationship. Still, Harry could live with that. If being gay was the only thing they could think of to say about him, then he could quite comfortably laugh at that.
“Of course not, Harry, I never thought you were,” Ron snorted. “It was these women that were all fluttery over that report."
“Oh, shut up Ron,” Hermione snapped. “Fluttery indeed. You were the one to run off your mouth that Harry would never dare to prefer men to women. You were the one spouting all that rubbish about it being an abomination. I was supporting one’s rights to love whomever they liked.”
“I have to agree with Hermione, Ron. If I was gay, why would it matter to you?” Harry asked, perversely getting a bit of a kick out of seeing Ron flushing and stuttering.
“But I…we…I lived in the same dorm as you all those years and there was never any indication…you weren’t looking at me like that were you?”
“Ron!” Harry yelled. “For crying out loud, I am not gay and even if I was, you’re like a brother to me and that would be just so wrong. Now can we leave this piece of rubbish,” he said, tossing the paper down onto the bench, “and I can update you on everything that’s happened since last night?”
“Of course, Harry,” they both said and across the room at the sink, Harry saw Molly heave a sigh of relief.
He sat down and told them both about his day and what he had discovered. Hermione was delighted about the Freedom Press and had heard of it. Of course she had. She promised to contact Peter Sully soon and find out what the paper’s agenda was. Harry smiled at her response; Hermione’s dedication to something she believed in was fierce and if Harry knew her at all, he almost felt sorry for Sully and the staff at the Freedom Press.
Both Hermione and Ron were concerned however about the presence of the other man claiming to be a reporter and agreed with Harry that it was likely that Coghill was behind it.
“Harry, you should look at the wards on your flat,” Molly added, as she placed plates of sandwiches on the table and left the room to do laundry. Harry was glad as he had things to discuss with the two of them that Molly didn’t need to know about.
“I agree with Mrs. Weasley, Harry. You can’t afford to take any chances; even now that Voldemort is dead,” Hermione said.
A rebellious streak in him wanted to refuse to continue to let the fear of possible attack dictate how he lived his life. Hadn’t he spent enough time looking over his shoulder while all manner of dark wizards came after him? He relented however, as something told him that in the light of recent events, he had committed himself to another cause that was escalating out of his control.
“Well, Fred and George are going to see who that so-called reporter reports to. If it is Coghill, then…I don’t know that he’s broken any laws, has he? But at least we’ll know he’s out to get me,” Harry said. “Just another one to add to the list,” he finished flippantly.
At the rolling of eyes from both Ron and Hermione, Harry changed the subject and bought up the most sensitive news about how Malfoy had saved Dean.
Ron, of course, was doubtful, though he didn’t dispute Dean’s version. There’d be no reason to give the credit to Malfoy if it weren’t true. Both of them said that they planned on going to see Dean later on that afternoon.
The real shocker was when Harry told them that Malfoy had known and helped to discover the spell that he had used to kill Voldemort. The expected disbelief from Ron was covered by Hermione’s brain going into overdrive.
“That actually makes sense of a few things, Harry,” she said. “Those files you had about Malfoy showed that he wasn’t suspected in taking part in any attacks on Muggles. So, what was he doing? He must have been working with Snape.”
“Oh, come on, Hermione, just because his name isn’t on those files doesn’t mean he was working with Snape. You can’t jump to conclusions like that,” Ron snorted beside her and then rubbed his arm as she hit him.
“Then what was he doing, Ron?” she asked. “It’s logical, it fits.”
“Oh yeah?” Ron looked back at her with a disbelieving look on his face. “For a start…Why would Snape want Malfoy working with him? Malfoy would have been scum as far as V-Voldemort was concerned, seeing as he failed in his mission. Malfoy would be just barely tolerated by that whole bunch…why would Snape even trust Malfoy not to go to V-Voldemort with the knowledge of what he was looking for?”
Hermione sat back, defeated by Ron’s logical conclusion and very put out by it. Harry frowned, as Ron had a point. Although he believed Malfoy had helped Snape, there was no reason to believe him other than the fact that Malfoy knew what Snape had been looking for and Snape would not have trusted Malfoy with that information had he not been one hundred percent sure of Malfoy’s allegiance.
“You’ll have to ask Malfoy, Harry,” Hermione said quietly beside him.
Harry nodded. “I know. There’s still so much to ask him. Not the least of which is why he’d been allowed to stay away from the raids and why Voldemort kept him alive.” He looked around at both of them. “Well, we both know that Voldemort didn’t suffer fools or those who failed him easily. There must have been a reason he was allowed to live.”
There was something niggling at the back of Harry’s mind when he made that statement but for the life of him, the harder he tried to think about what it was, the less it seemed like there was anything there. Eventually, he gave up and decided that when it wanted to make itself known, it would.
Harry’s ‘social’ commitments required his presence at a Ministry function that evening. It was a formal occasion and Harry had wrinkled his nose at the thought of formal dress robes, but he convinced himself that it was worth it. In fact, the more he was finding out about Malfoy, the more worth it it seemed to be. He gave himself a small sardonic grin, as he dressed, at the thought that Malfoy would actually be worth anything to him.
His mirror flirted with him, which was unusual, as he normally charmed it to shut up. He guessed that it just thought that he looked better than normal and was able to break through the charm, so he shrugged and laughed it off, straightening his tie and trying, unsuccessfully, to flatten his wayward hair. Even his mirror laughed at that attempt.
Picking up a pile of books, packages of food and some clean clothes for Malfoy, Harry Apparated to the Ministry, intent on seeing Malfoy for a short while prior to the official function.
When he took down the wards and entered the cell, he was met with a flurry of arms and a warm body pressing itself against his. Malfoy had thrown himself at Harry, wound his arms around his neck and was hanging on tightly. Harry could feel the trembling of his body where it was flush up against his.
“Whoa…hang on, Malfoy, what’s going on?” Harry asked, surprised and standing awkwardly as he had his hands full of the things he’d been carrying and Malfoy hanging off his neck.
For a brief moment, Harry felt Malfoy’s face pressing into his neck, before he pulled away and looked down at the floor. Harry could see by the look on his face that he was horrified at himself for what he’d just done. “S-sorry…I…”
“Malfoy, stop,” Harry said firmly. “Take a deep breath and tell me why you’re upset.”
Harry wondered if someone had managed to break through his wards and hurt Malfoy again, or if…well nothing else could have happened since he’d been there this morning, could it? He watched as Malfoy did as he was told and then looked up at Harry, the almost frantic look replaced by one of wary relief.
“I…I’m sorry, Potter. I had a bad day…Do you think that you could ask the guards out there to listen and come when I call?” Malfoy started and Harry looked confused and not a little suspicious that Malfoy wouldn’t take advantage of it and call the guards and make demands every five minutes.
“Why, Malfoy?”
“Because…” Malfoy blushed and looked ashamed. He opened his mouth as if to continue and then closed it again defiantly, turned and went to sit down on the chair, where they were both surprised by a rather loud gurgling from the direction of Malfoy’s stomach in the silence. Harry went to laugh, but at the look on Malfoy’s face, he stopped.
“What, Malfoy? You may as well tell me what’s going on, or should I ask the guards?”
That seemed to decide Malfoy, as he frowned and looked back at Harry as if he felt betrayed.
“Fine. After months of near starvation, all that wonderful food you gave me last night decided that it didn’t agree with my stomach…” Malfoy’s face was as red as Harry had ever seen it. “I called them for a fucking long time…I couldn’t do anything…” Harry could see the abject humiliation in every line of Malfoy’s body.
Oh…
“Are you alright now?” Harry asked, deciding not to focus on what happened, but to make sure that Malfoy had been taken care of. And that he had thought to alter the wards to allow access to the guards on duty.
He nodded. “When they did come, they were most apologetic and they…cleaned me up and gave me something to settle my stomach,” Malfoy continued, the tone almost grateful at the end.
“Good. I’m sorry; I had no idea that your system might not handle all that food.”
“No, well you wouldn’t, would you,” Malfoy replied flatly.
“That still doesn’t explain why you threw yourself at me when I came in,” Harry asked gently.
Malfoy blushed again and bit his bottom lip for a moment before he tried a weak cheeky grin. “Well, I could say that I missed you terribly and couldn’t wait to get my hands on your body…” Malfoy looked him up and down. “And that might not be far from the truth, Potter, you look positively…not like something the cat dragged in today. Hot date?”
At Harry’s look, though, his smile faltered and he sighed. “It’s not that far from the truth, actually,” he smiled sadly. “I hate being in here…there’s nothing to do, no one to talk to…I’m a prisoner, I can’t go anywhere or do anything and yet I don’t feel safe.” Harry’s eyebrows rose; he wasn’t sure where this was going, so he stayed quiet and let Malfoy speak.
“You ask the guards…I was beside myself by the time they came, and not just because of the…mess…I…panicked…” Malfoy ran a thin hand through his lank hair, clearly uncomfortable with everything. “I thought that they were gone; that you had gone and I’d been forgotten about and left in this cell to…die.” Malfoy shivered and put his hands under his armpits, sitting on the chair, looking at the floor between his feet.
“And then you arrived and I was so relieved… so…happy, I just forgot myself.” Malfoy looked up and gave Harry a wry grin. “So, in a way, I really did miss you.”
“I’m touched,” Harry grinned back, trying to not make a huge deal out of Malfoy being so vulnerable. It was bad enough feeling like that as it was, let alone people bringing it up all the time and making such a big deal out of it. He was rewarded with a bigger smile and Harry thought that he looked a lot better when he smiled. “I’ll tell the guards to keep a closer ear out for you, but if I hear that you have been abusing them, you’ll be on your own until I arrive. Understood?” Harry said. Malfoy nodded. “And I won’t leave you here,” Harry added. “I’m trying to get you out, remember?”
“But if something happens to you, then…” Malfoy asked.
“It might surprise you to know that Hermione is on your side,” Harry said, loving the amount of surprise he saw in Malfoy’s eyes at that.
After a moment, a strange look crossed Malfoy’s face before he gave a loud laugh and then kept laughing until there were tears in the corners of his eyes.
“What’s so funny?” Harry asked, smiling even though he had no idea why.
“I was just imagining propositioning Granger like I did you the other night…something entirely different for me, she would have been.”
“Why, because she’s Muggle-born?” Harry asked, voice dropping.
“Oh no,” Malfoy hurried to correct him. “Because she is a ‘she’ and not a ‘he’. I’ve not…no…Besides, she would have knocked me out, right? I still remember third year.”
Harry nodded, remembering back to that year and how stunned he’d been when Hermione had slapped Malfoy. Harry stood to leave; he had this Ministry function to attend after all and he’d only dropped off a few things for Malfoy to keep him entertained and fed and clean.
He had one question for Malfoy, though, before he left.
“Apart from that, you would have propositioned her, though, if you thought it would help you?” He was thoughtfully curious.
There was a deep bitterness in Malfoy’s voice and it was accompanied by a hard, cold…old look in his eyes, as if he had seen too much of the underbelly of the world…and he probably had.
“Oh yes…Potter, when you come back, I’ll tell you the whole sordid story of how I managed to stay alive all year.”
Chapter 8
Author: jamie2109
Rating: PG-13 this chapter, higher for later chapters
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Word Count: 4315
Summary: Dean ran one finger along the scars on his face. “I know. Not something that anyone could ever have predicted. But he was… Actually,” Dean laughed abruptly. “He was the same arrogant sod that he’s always been."
Warnings: Ummm nothing really...yet.
Disclaimer: Not Mine
A/N: At last...here she is, the new chapter. Hopefully, you'll think it worth the wait. I had planned on continuing this chapter past where it finishes to add Draco's tale, however, I decided that it needs its own chapter. Soon, I promise. Big smooshes to nocturnali for the beta and to son_of_darkness for the read through. If there's any mistakes, then it's their fault. *g* Oh, if anyone is good at making icons, I'd love an icon for this series. I have cookies...
Playing catch up?
Deep in thought, Harry paused before entering the room he’d been told was the one Dean was recovering in. The nurse had also told him that Dean was doing well and should be released in a few days, once they were sure that he would be emotionally fit to handle the changes to his life.
What had happened to Dean was unfair. What had happened to them all was unfair. War made no allowances for what ‘side’ you were on. Pain, death or incapacitating injuries were indiscriminate of justice or morality. However, Harry allowed himself a moment of anger, as much in guilt that he had not been able to achieve his goal faster in order to prevent outcomes like this, as in rage at Voldemort for being the source that enabled those like Fenrir Greyback.
He knew that the anger and guilt were futile. Neither of those emotions was going to assist Dean, now. Making himself take a deep breath, he opened the door and entered, willing himself to compose his features.
Dean looked up and smiled at Harry, who just stopped himself in time from gasping at Dean’s ravaged face. Most of the damage had been healed, at least as well as it was ever going to be, but the scars were permanent. Obviously, a claw had caught on the edge of his eye, as there was a scar that ran from the corner of his eye, down the length of his cheek to his jaw. The way it had healed had left him with a lasting droop from that eye.
There was a matching scar a few centimetres from the long one, inside, closer to Dean’s nose. This one ended by splitting his lip. Harry couldn’t help himself from looking at the scars intently. He hoped his face was impassive; his brain was recording every scar and imprinting it into his memory so that he would never forget the human face of the tragedies of war.
After a few moments, he blinked and smiled back at Dean, feeling a little guilty at having stared. The look in Dean’s eyes, though, was far from condemning him for looking. And suddenly, Harry knew why Ginny loved Dean. He had a quiet strength about him; a gentle understanding of human nature in allowing, even expecting Harry to stand there surprised at the way he looked.
“Dean, mate, good to see you,” Harry greeted him and stuck his hand out to shake.
“Harry, you too,” Dean replied, shaking Harry’s hand and indicating that he sit. “Ginny was here just before, but she’s gone to get me something to drink. She’s mothering me, but I don’t need it.”
“Women,” Harry laughed back, although there had been a trace of frustration in Dean’s voice. “How are you doing, anyway? The nurse says that you’ll be released in a few days.”
“I’m doing okay now, actually. It’s just a face, Harry, and mine was nothing to write home about in the first place. A few scars here or there doesn’t change who I am, does it?” He looked at Harry with a knowing look, and Harry nodded, smiling in understanding.
“You don’t mind if I look properly then?” he asked, indicating with his eyes, the scarring on Dean’s face.
“Course not, Harry,” Dean replied, turning his face side on to Harry, who was struck by how one side of Dean’s face was perfectly formed and dark-skinned, as it had always been. It wasn’t until you saw the other side that you realised just how much damage had been done by those ripping claws. “Ask me again in a few months if I’m tired of these being all people see when they look at me. I bet you understand that.”
Harry nodded and shifted his line of sight to Dean’s eyes. “I do understand that.” He thought that Dean was handling things much better than Ginny had given him to believe and he was happy for that, though it did make him wonder if Ginny had been looking for an excuse as to why she didn’t want to get back together with Harry. He didn’t doubt for one minute that Ginny loved Dean, but he certainly didn’t need her to look after him, as she had claimed.
With a small pang of residual hurt, he asked, “Do you remember what happened?”
Dean sighed and leant back on the pillows, a troubled frown on his face. “I do…though it was all so confusing. I remember seeing you go down, clutching your ribs, and I would have gone to you but a curse hit me and the next thing I knew I was flat on my back, looking up at the sky. I couldn’t even move, except to twist my head around a bit.”
He stopped and drew a deep breath. “And I hurt. Everywhere. There was yelling all around me and I saw Neville run past. He stopped and came back to make sure I was alive and he told me that you’d been fighting like someone possessed, but you’d gone down and he’d go to help you, then come back for me. He looked so proud, Harry,” Dean smiled, remembering their friend. “He really came into his own didn’t he?”
“He lifted me up off the ground and slapped Ron around a bit until he woke up,” Harry said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “Then he told me to hurry up, too many people were dying.”
“What happened to him, Harry? I asked and no one seems to want to tell me. They think I’m too fragile to handle bad news, but he was my friend, and I deserve to know.” Dean’s plaintive entreaty made Harry blink back the tears. He’d made himself not think about the way Neville died.
“After…after he set Ron and I on our feet, I turned to thank him and…I think it was painless. One of the Death Eaters hit him with some curse or other. He looked peaceful, still had that look on his face. That determined one that he used to wear back when I started the DA and he learnt that he could do all the spells after all.” Harry smiled a little in remembrance. “But, he just wasn’t ‘there’ anymore. I thought that it might have been a Stupefy or something he was so still, and he looked just like he always did. But,” Harry shifted uncomfortably, “of course, there was no pulse.”
They both sat there quietly for a while, Dean’s story momentarily forgotten, each in their own memories of Neville. Eventually, Harry smiled.
“He would have made his gran proud, and his parents.”
“He would at that, Harry,” Dean replied.
“Do you want to continue your story?”
Dean glanced up at Harry, nodding. “I remember lying there for what seemed like a long time and then a shadow loomed over me. I’ll never forget him,” Dean shuddered, “that look in his eyes like I was a juicy meal. I was so scared, Harry. Lupin was the only other werewolf that I’d met and he was no danger to anyone. But him… They told me later who he was. I was positive I was about to die, but I couldn’t move or anything.”
Indeed, Harry was surprised that Dean had survived an attack by Greyback. From what he’d been able to ascertain, the werewolf had left many others dead in that final battle.
“So, what happened?”
“Malfoy happened, would you believe it?” Dean replied shortly, and Harry started in surprise.
“What?”
Dean ran one finger along the scars on his face. “I know. Not something that anyone could ever have predicted. But he was…Actually,” Dean laughed abruptly. “He was the same arrogant sod that he’s always been. He stood there after Greyback had swiped me the first time and told him in no uncertain terms that I was a Mudblood and that this was no time to be ‘playing amongst the swill’ I think were his words. Greyback growled and told Malfoy that he had better watch it himself as he was in no position to be ordering people about, but he left anyway after giving me one more swipe with those talons of his.”
Harry was astounded that Malfoy had bothered to save Dean at all, let alone put himself in danger because of it. These things he was finding out about Malfoy were definitely at odds with the boy he had grown up with and hated at school. There were hidden depths to him and Harry felt compelled to explore them further.
“What happened then?” he asked.
“Malfoy just looked around to make sure that no one could see him, then he removed the spell so that I could move again. He didn’t say much other than to get to help as soon as I could and then he took off. I thought for a moment that I should hex him or something but he saved my life; I just couldn’t.”
“You did the right thing, Dean. Much as I dislike Malfoy, you did the right thing,” Harry said thoughtfully. “Will you speak for him at his trial?”
“Sure,” Dean replied. “Happy to. Even though we all hated him at school…things are different now, aren’t they? We’ve all had to grow up and I don’t reckon he had such an easy time of it, either.”
Harry nodded and they sat there together talking for a while longer. Harry asked what he planned on doing when he got out of the Hospital and was pleased that Dean had decided to make use of his artistic talent, joking that he didn’t need his face to paint. It was while they were reminiscing about the banners Dean had made for the common room numerous times at Hogwarts that Ginny returned with the drinks. Not wanting to intrude on their time, or confront Ginny with her lie about how well Dean was handling his new situation, Harry took his leave from them. He had some thinking to do.
As Harry exited the ward and made his way to the entrance, he decided to Floo straight to the Burrow and see Hermione. Put her onto that reporter, Sully, from the Freedom Press. She would be in her element helping him.
When he arrived, it was to loud voices and an argument. Harry could hear Hermione and Ron’s raised, cross voices, interspersed with Molly’s conciliatory one. They were coming from the kitchen and Harry headed there, entering just in time to hear Ron.
“Harry isn’t gay, Hermione, that’s just wrong and you should be ashamed of yourself for even suggesting that he could do something as vile as that!”
God, Ron could be a stubborn git at times, Harry thought, standing in the doorway, not participating in the argument, and blushing that he was the topic. Harry wasn’t surprised that Ron seemed homophobic, but he did wonder how the topic of his sexuality came up. Then he saw the newspaper on the table and knew. Somehow in the few short hours since the interview that morning, there had been an edition printed and obviously some mention had been made of those personal questions he’d been asked.
Hermione virtually shrieked at him. “Ron! How could you? Why would it matter if Harry were gay? I’m not saying he is, just why would it matter?”
Harry didn’t want Ron to answer that and so he made his presence known by moving over to the table to read what was obviously the article that prompted the discussion.
“Not that it’s anyone’s business, but no, I am not gay,” Harry remarked dryly.
He picked up the paper, giving Ron’s open-mouthed face a stern look, and began to read. None of it really surprised him; he was used to being pilloried by the press and, in comparison, most of it was complimentary. Except the part where they gave legitimacy to the claims made by that reporter about his and Malfoy’s relationship. Still, Harry could live with that. If being gay was the only thing they could think of to say about him, then he could quite comfortably laugh at that.
“Of course not, Harry, I never thought you were,” Ron snorted. “It was these women that were all fluttery over that report."
“Oh, shut up Ron,” Hermione snapped. “Fluttery indeed. You were the one to run off your mouth that Harry would never dare to prefer men to women. You were the one spouting all that rubbish about it being an abomination. I was supporting one’s rights to love whomever they liked.”
“I have to agree with Hermione, Ron. If I was gay, why would it matter to you?” Harry asked, perversely getting a bit of a kick out of seeing Ron flushing and stuttering.
“But I…we…I lived in the same dorm as you all those years and there was never any indication…you weren’t looking at me like that were you?”
“Ron!” Harry yelled. “For crying out loud, I am not gay and even if I was, you’re like a brother to me and that would be just so wrong. Now can we leave this piece of rubbish,” he said, tossing the paper down onto the bench, “and I can update you on everything that’s happened since last night?”
“Of course, Harry,” they both said and across the room at the sink, Harry saw Molly heave a sigh of relief.
He sat down and told them both about his day and what he had discovered. Hermione was delighted about the Freedom Press and had heard of it. Of course she had. She promised to contact Peter Sully soon and find out what the paper’s agenda was. Harry smiled at her response; Hermione’s dedication to something she believed in was fierce and if Harry knew her at all, he almost felt sorry for Sully and the staff at the Freedom Press.
Both Hermione and Ron were concerned however about the presence of the other man claiming to be a reporter and agreed with Harry that it was likely that Coghill was behind it.
“Harry, you should look at the wards on your flat,” Molly added, as she placed plates of sandwiches on the table and left the room to do laundry. Harry was glad as he had things to discuss with the two of them that Molly didn’t need to know about.
“I agree with Mrs. Weasley, Harry. You can’t afford to take any chances; even now that Voldemort is dead,” Hermione said.
A rebellious streak in him wanted to refuse to continue to let the fear of possible attack dictate how he lived his life. Hadn’t he spent enough time looking over his shoulder while all manner of dark wizards came after him? He relented however, as something told him that in the light of recent events, he had committed himself to another cause that was escalating out of his control.
“Well, Fred and George are going to see who that so-called reporter reports to. If it is Coghill, then…I don’t know that he’s broken any laws, has he? But at least we’ll know he’s out to get me,” Harry said. “Just another one to add to the list,” he finished flippantly.
At the rolling of eyes from both Ron and Hermione, Harry changed the subject and bought up the most sensitive news about how Malfoy had saved Dean.
Ron, of course, was doubtful, though he didn’t dispute Dean’s version. There’d be no reason to give the credit to Malfoy if it weren’t true. Both of them said that they planned on going to see Dean later on that afternoon.
The real shocker was when Harry told them that Malfoy had known and helped to discover the spell that he had used to kill Voldemort. The expected disbelief from Ron was covered by Hermione’s brain going into overdrive.
“That actually makes sense of a few things, Harry,” she said. “Those files you had about Malfoy showed that he wasn’t suspected in taking part in any attacks on Muggles. So, what was he doing? He must have been working with Snape.”
“Oh, come on, Hermione, just because his name isn’t on those files doesn’t mean he was working with Snape. You can’t jump to conclusions like that,” Ron snorted beside her and then rubbed his arm as she hit him.
“Then what was he doing, Ron?” she asked. “It’s logical, it fits.”
“Oh yeah?” Ron looked back at her with a disbelieving look on his face. “For a start…Why would Snape want Malfoy working with him? Malfoy would have been scum as far as V-Voldemort was concerned, seeing as he failed in his mission. Malfoy would be just barely tolerated by that whole bunch…why would Snape even trust Malfoy not to go to V-Voldemort with the knowledge of what he was looking for?”
Hermione sat back, defeated by Ron’s logical conclusion and very put out by it. Harry frowned, as Ron had a point. Although he believed Malfoy had helped Snape, there was no reason to believe him other than the fact that Malfoy knew what Snape had been looking for and Snape would not have trusted Malfoy with that information had he not been one hundred percent sure of Malfoy’s allegiance.
“You’ll have to ask Malfoy, Harry,” Hermione said quietly beside him.
Harry nodded. “I know. There’s still so much to ask him. Not the least of which is why he’d been allowed to stay away from the raids and why Voldemort kept him alive.” He looked around at both of them. “Well, we both know that Voldemort didn’t suffer fools or those who failed him easily. There must have been a reason he was allowed to live.”
There was something niggling at the back of Harry’s mind when he made that statement but for the life of him, the harder he tried to think about what it was, the less it seemed like there was anything there. Eventually, he gave up and decided that when it wanted to make itself known, it would.
Harry’s ‘social’ commitments required his presence at a Ministry function that evening. It was a formal occasion and Harry had wrinkled his nose at the thought of formal dress robes, but he convinced himself that it was worth it. In fact, the more he was finding out about Malfoy, the more worth it it seemed to be. He gave himself a small sardonic grin, as he dressed, at the thought that Malfoy would actually be worth anything to him.
His mirror flirted with him, which was unusual, as he normally charmed it to shut up. He guessed that it just thought that he looked better than normal and was able to break through the charm, so he shrugged and laughed it off, straightening his tie and trying, unsuccessfully, to flatten his wayward hair. Even his mirror laughed at that attempt.
Picking up a pile of books, packages of food and some clean clothes for Malfoy, Harry Apparated to the Ministry, intent on seeing Malfoy for a short while prior to the official function.
When he took down the wards and entered the cell, he was met with a flurry of arms and a warm body pressing itself against his. Malfoy had thrown himself at Harry, wound his arms around his neck and was hanging on tightly. Harry could feel the trembling of his body where it was flush up against his.
“Whoa…hang on, Malfoy, what’s going on?” Harry asked, surprised and standing awkwardly as he had his hands full of the things he’d been carrying and Malfoy hanging off his neck.
For a brief moment, Harry felt Malfoy’s face pressing into his neck, before he pulled away and looked down at the floor. Harry could see by the look on his face that he was horrified at himself for what he’d just done. “S-sorry…I…”
“Malfoy, stop,” Harry said firmly. “Take a deep breath and tell me why you’re upset.”
Harry wondered if someone had managed to break through his wards and hurt Malfoy again, or if…well nothing else could have happened since he’d been there this morning, could it? He watched as Malfoy did as he was told and then looked up at Harry, the almost frantic look replaced by one of wary relief.
“I…I’m sorry, Potter. I had a bad day…Do you think that you could ask the guards out there to listen and come when I call?” Malfoy started and Harry looked confused and not a little suspicious that Malfoy wouldn’t take advantage of it and call the guards and make demands every five minutes.
“Why, Malfoy?”
“Because…” Malfoy blushed and looked ashamed. He opened his mouth as if to continue and then closed it again defiantly, turned and went to sit down on the chair, where they were both surprised by a rather loud gurgling from the direction of Malfoy’s stomach in the silence. Harry went to laugh, but at the look on Malfoy’s face, he stopped.
“What, Malfoy? You may as well tell me what’s going on, or should I ask the guards?”
That seemed to decide Malfoy, as he frowned and looked back at Harry as if he felt betrayed.
“Fine. After months of near starvation, all that wonderful food you gave me last night decided that it didn’t agree with my stomach…” Malfoy’s face was as red as Harry had ever seen it. “I called them for a fucking long time…I couldn’t do anything…” Harry could see the abject humiliation in every line of Malfoy’s body.
Oh…
“Are you alright now?” Harry asked, deciding not to focus on what happened, but to make sure that Malfoy had been taken care of. And that he had thought to alter the wards to allow access to the guards on duty.
He nodded. “When they did come, they were most apologetic and they…cleaned me up and gave me something to settle my stomach,” Malfoy continued, the tone almost grateful at the end.
“Good. I’m sorry; I had no idea that your system might not handle all that food.”
“No, well you wouldn’t, would you,” Malfoy replied flatly.
“That still doesn’t explain why you threw yourself at me when I came in,” Harry asked gently.
Malfoy blushed again and bit his bottom lip for a moment before he tried a weak cheeky grin. “Well, I could say that I missed you terribly and couldn’t wait to get my hands on your body…” Malfoy looked him up and down. “And that might not be far from the truth, Potter, you look positively…not like something the cat dragged in today. Hot date?”
At Harry’s look, though, his smile faltered and he sighed. “It’s not that far from the truth, actually,” he smiled sadly. “I hate being in here…there’s nothing to do, no one to talk to…I’m a prisoner, I can’t go anywhere or do anything and yet I don’t feel safe.” Harry’s eyebrows rose; he wasn’t sure where this was going, so he stayed quiet and let Malfoy speak.
“You ask the guards…I was beside myself by the time they came, and not just because of the…mess…I…panicked…” Malfoy ran a thin hand through his lank hair, clearly uncomfortable with everything. “I thought that they were gone; that you had gone and I’d been forgotten about and left in this cell to…die.” Malfoy shivered and put his hands under his armpits, sitting on the chair, looking at the floor between his feet.
“And then you arrived and I was so relieved… so…happy, I just forgot myself.” Malfoy looked up and gave Harry a wry grin. “So, in a way, I really did miss you.”
“I’m touched,” Harry grinned back, trying to not make a huge deal out of Malfoy being so vulnerable. It was bad enough feeling like that as it was, let alone people bringing it up all the time and making such a big deal out of it. He was rewarded with a bigger smile and Harry thought that he looked a lot better when he smiled. “I’ll tell the guards to keep a closer ear out for you, but if I hear that you have been abusing them, you’ll be on your own until I arrive. Understood?” Harry said. Malfoy nodded. “And I won’t leave you here,” Harry added. “I’m trying to get you out, remember?”
“But if something happens to you, then…” Malfoy asked.
“It might surprise you to know that Hermione is on your side,” Harry said, loving the amount of surprise he saw in Malfoy’s eyes at that.
After a moment, a strange look crossed Malfoy’s face before he gave a loud laugh and then kept laughing until there were tears in the corners of his eyes.
“What’s so funny?” Harry asked, smiling even though he had no idea why.
“I was just imagining propositioning Granger like I did you the other night…something entirely different for me, she would have been.”
“Why, because she’s Muggle-born?” Harry asked, voice dropping.
“Oh no,” Malfoy hurried to correct him. “Because she is a ‘she’ and not a ‘he’. I’ve not…no…Besides, she would have knocked me out, right? I still remember third year.”
Harry nodded, remembering back to that year and how stunned he’d been when Hermione had slapped Malfoy. Harry stood to leave; he had this Ministry function to attend after all and he’d only dropped off a few things for Malfoy to keep him entertained and fed and clean.
He had one question for Malfoy, though, before he left.
“Apart from that, you would have propositioned her, though, if you thought it would help you?” He was thoughtfully curious.
There was a deep bitterness in Malfoy’s voice and it was accompanied by a hard, cold…old look in his eyes, as if he had seen too much of the underbelly of the world…and he probably had.
“Oh yes…Potter, when you come back, I’ll tell you the whole sordid story of how I managed to stay alive all year.”
Chapter 8