Chapter Text
Prologue
July
Harry was angry and upset and he almost shouted at the newly appointed Minister for Magic. "I testified for him. How could he get six months?" Kingsley Shacklebolt sighed. "He only got six months because of your testimony, Harry," he answered patiently.
"He never killed anyone, he couldn't in the end," Harry persisted. "And he saved my life."
"He used Unforgiveables."
Harry clenched his jaw and stuck his chin out. He was aware of how painfully stubborn and immature this made him look, but he couldn't help himself. "I cast Unforgivables too, you know," he said. "We all did, there was a war on."
"That's different. Draco Malfoy has the Dark Mark."
"He was underaged when he took it." Harry flung his arms out. He couldn't believe the injustice of it all.
Kingsley gave him a long silent look. "Harry, the Wizengamot has decided. Lucius is in for twenty-five years and Narcissa got two. A lot of the delegates wanted to give the whole family longer punishments and set an example, but your testemonies and my pleading got Mrs Malfoy and her son this. My hands are tied now, there's nothing more I can do."
He stood and rounded his desk. It was filled with scrolls and stacks of papers, but Kingsley pushed them aside and took a seat on the edge closer to Harry's chair. The diamond in his ear caught the light from the artificial window and threw a reflection on the wall. Harry knew the Minister's workload was almost inhuman these days, with so many things to set right in the tumult after the war, and that he couldn't possibly have time for frustrated teenagers, even if they had saved the world.
"I know you claim the Malfoys changed their allegiances at the end of the war," Kingsley said, and his voice turned softer, less official, "and I want to believe you, Hatty, I really do, but there's no proof of it other than your word. The other Death Eaters comfirms that Lucius had fallen from grace, but apart from that..." He broke off.
"I know what I saw," Harry muttered. They'd had this conversation many times now and Harry was growing tired of it.
"At least there are no Dementors at Azkaban anymore," Kingsley said. "As soon as we have employed a new staff of guards it will be a different prison, and until then the Aurors are in charge. Six months will be over in no time at all."
"Yeah," Harry said as slumped back in his seat and chewed his lip. "I suppose." He wondered a little why he cared so much about Malfoy at all.
Kingsley kept his gaze at him, silent and opaque. "Your birthday is coming up soon, isn't it?"
"Yeah, next week," Harry said.
Kingsley nodded. "Eighteen. You're a grown wizard now, Harry, with experiences few others have."
Harry winced at the implication.
"You know that offer from the Auror Academy still stands," Kingsley said briskley. "For you and Ron Weasley too. You'll need to work hard to keep up, but isn't this a wonderful opportunity for the two of you?"
"Yeah, I know." Harry paused and bit his lip but went on. "Hermione wants us to go back to Hogwarts with her and take our N.E.W.T.s of course, but Ron says, 'The sooner we can go out there and fight the bad guys the better'."
Kingsley's dark enigmatic eyes bore into him. "And what do you say, Harry?"
Harry swallowed under the scrutinizing gaze. "It's what I always wanted, I suppose. I agree with Ron, we're not the academic types. I'm sure it'll be alright." And with the slightest hesitation he added. "I just want to do the right thing."
January
"What's the matter with you today, Harry? That one was easy and I got you. You're not blocking anything." Ron shook his head. "You've had your mind in the clouds all day, mate."
"Yeah." Harry squeezed the shoulder where Ron's stinging hex had hit him. It really was a pitiful duelling session on his part today.
This morning Harry had woken with a gasp, covered in cold sweat, and all through the day he'd been unable to rub off the feeling of unease. He got to the Academy as usual and sat through lessons on Stealth without scribbling down a single note. At the next lecture he felt so restless he could barely sit, his leg bouncing with a tremor as if it was just about to run out the door. He had lunch with his fellow trainees without participating in their usual banter, and now this afternoon, as he and Ron had their daily Combat-practice, Harry got hit over and over again.
"I think I'll call it a day, Ron," Harry said and wiped his face with a towel. "I'll go and tell Williamson, maybe I'm coming down with something."
"I'd say, somethings got your wand in a twist," Ron said tersley. "Go home, go to bed." He looked around the room at the other duellers, where Angelina just cast an exceptional Protego with her long braids swirling around her. Harry stuffed his things back in his bag and threw it over his aching shoulderon his way to the changing rooms.
"Tell Kreacher to make you chicken soup," Ron called after him as he left in search for a new partner. "Mum always did that when were feeling out of sorts."
Harry paced the floor of his living room, sat down and lifted the book he'd been trying to read. He stared at the pages for a whole minute before putting it down again. He got to his feet and walked up to the window.
Outside, on the small square of Grimmauld Place, the drizzling rain mixed with large wet snowflakes, and the few Muggles that were out in this weather wrapped their coats tighter and bowed their heads low to avoid the wind. Harry made up his mind, he was going to go flying.
Boosted by this new resolution and with adrenaline pumping through his veins, he sprinted down the stairs and flung the door open to the small cupboard where he kept his new Firebolt. Its varnish shone magnifically and its twigs lay perfect, even though it wasn't the best on the market anymore. Other brooms had surpassed it since he got his first from Sirius, but Harry had bought the same brand anyway. He really missed his gift from his Godfather when the war was over. Not as much as he missed Hedwig, but this he could easily replace, so he did.
He put on his thickest cloak, gloves and the woolly hat Hermione had knitted and given him for Christmas. It was wonky and ugly, but warm when he pulled it down over the ears. Without giving too much thought about what an absolute stupid thing he was about to do, he Apparated to the rooftop, cast an Impervius on his glasses, mounted and was off.
The wind nearly knocked him off the broom and this high up in the air the rain felt like ice. Harry kept his course nort-east and after half an hour or so he could make out the coastline down below.
The North Sea was raging as Harry flew lower now that the risk of being spotted was an absolute minimum. Sometimes he was spattered with a cascade of salty seawater when an especially fierce wave hit the rocky shore, but it only spurred his hightened spirits.
He followed the coast north -he knew where he was going, and he knew exactly what date it was. He'd known since he woke up this morning.
Darkness was settling as Harry approached the watch-point. A faint light shone from the windows of the little hut and created a yellow patch on the slope down to where the boats were moored.
Harry landed right outside the porch and knocked on the weatherworn door. A shuffle was heard inside and the door opened a small crack. A red-nosed aging wizard peered out.
"O' are you?" he grunted in a voice that sounded more like a toad's croak.
Harry pulled his hat down lower over his forehead, careful not to reveal his scar, but before he could answer the other wizard asked, "'ave yeh come for 'im?"
"Is he still here?" Harry asked, and a chill that wasn't caused by the long freezing flight took a grip on his insides.
The old wizard cackled. "Oh, 'es 'ere, alright. Been 'ere since mornin'. Didn't think anyone'd bother to come for' im at all, I did, the filthy little Death Eater." He spat loudly on the floor next to Harry's boot. Harry used it to press the door more open and let his eyes roam the inside of the hut. It was small and dirty, but apart from the old warden, it was otherwise empty.
"Where is he, then?" Harry demanded.
The warden chuckled again. "Oh. I'm not 'avin' 'im in 'ere with me, if tha's wattcha think." He jerked his head towards the jetty. "Them Azkaban guards left 'im on that bench, an' 'e's been sittin' there all day. Don't reckon' 'e thought anyone would come for 'im either."
"So, you just left him there, in this cold?" Harry raised his voice, furious for some reason.
The ward stopped cackling and his face contorted to a foul grimace. "What do I care. I'm just mindin' them boats." He gave Harry's boot a rather hard kick, jerked the door free and slammed it shut in Harry's face.
Harry turned on his heel and took the small path down to the shore in hasty strides. There was a muddy slush, and in the darkness he stepped on a icy patch and almost slipped. When he regained his balance, Harry took a couple of deep breaths to calm his anger. Now was not the time to rage over the unjust treatment of ex-prisoners. The wind roared and high waves made the small open boats bump and jolt against their anchoring. When Harry and the other tranees had paid a visit at the wizarding prison, as a part of their curriculum, it had been early autumn and sunny. A passage in this weather must have been a nightmare.
Harry peered into the darkness towards the bench beside the jetty. A figure sat there, huddled up with his arms around him. Harry took out his wand and cast a Lumos. It was Malfoy, all right, but the person here resembled nothing of the pampered boy Harry had known at Hogwarts.
He was skeletal thin, his hair hanged matted and dull around his face, its colour darker than its usual blond, and an unshaven beard grew in dirty tufts on his chin. His robes were worn and frayed at the hem, and there was a patch on the front that looked suspiciously liked dry sick. He was trembling from the cold.
Harry walked up to him. "Malfoy," he said, but there was no response. Harry got closer and squatted in front of him to be at the same eyelevel. "Malfoy," he repeated and took the other boy's hand in his own. It was ice-cold and bony, and it felt like holding a dead fish. "Why hasn't someone come to pick you up?" Harry asked.
There was still no response. Malfoy's eyes, surrounded by purple patches, kept there unseeing gaze in front of him. Harry stood and cast a warming charm over both of them while he evaluated the situation.
Malfoy's parents were in prison. The Malfoy estate, the Manor and the contents of their Gringotts vault had been confiscated by the Ministry. He had no wand, wasn't allowed to use one within the year after his release. As far as Harry knew his only living relative was his aunt Andromeda, and she obviously hadn't come for him.
His Slytherin friends, the ones innocent of serious war crimes, like Parkinson and Zabini, had all fled the country after the trials, Goyle was still in Azkaban for enthusiastically torturing schoolchildren under the regime of the Carrows, and Theo Nott had been committed to the Janus Thickey ward since he tried to cast Avada Kedavra on himself after the final battle.
Draco Malfoy had no one and nothing.
Harry knew what he must do. This wasn't one of his impulses, he'd known all day. He just hadn't let the thoughts come clear until now. He owed this to Narcissa Malfoy. He owed her his life and with that, the outcome of the war.
Harry bent down again and took hold of Malfoy's shoulders and shook him slightly. "Malfoy," he said and shook him again. "Malfoy! Draco, can you stand?"
Very slowly Malfoy lifted his head and blinked a few times. He tried to focus on Harry but failed and closed his eyes. Harry shook him more vigorously this time. "Draco, wake up!" he shouted.
Once more Malfoy turned his face up, opened his eyes and his gaze met Harry's. "Harry Potter?" he mumbled. "I must be dead for sure." Then he fell forward. as if the strain to speak took the last resorts of his strength. Harry caught him and held him up.
Harry stood with the slumped figure in his arms and wondered what he should do. He couldn't fly back; Malfoy was in no condition to sit on a broomstick. They had to Apparate, but it was too far to make in one jump, it had to be two at least, maybe three. There was no way he could take his broom with him, he needed both his hands to get a good grip on Malfoy, as not to splinch them or worse, lose Malfoy mid-spin.
Harry levitated his Firebolt, stacked it under the bench and cast a notice-me-not charm over it. He would have to come back for it later.
"All right, Malfoy," Harry said and hoisted the almost unconscious boy up and pressed him closer to his own body. He smelled, but Harry couldn't bother with that now. "Hold on to me as hard as you can," he instructed, and by some miraculous instinct Harry felt Malfoy's arms around his waist and Harry spun on the spot.
They landed in Harry's kitchen, the warmest place in the house. Harry pulled out a chair and sat Malfoy down on it while he checked there were no injuries. The three skips had been difficult, and at the last one Harry had felt Malfoy lose his grip and slightly slide out of Harry's arms. It was a wonder they had made it at all.
Harry called for Kreacher.
With a shuffle the old elf appeared from the door to the pantry. "Master called," Kreacher croaked. His bow wasn't especially servile, but Harry had learned that he could rely on the elf and had grown quite fond of him, despite his twisted mutterings of the old ways.
Harry stood and all resolve drained from him. "It's Malfoy here," Harry said. His mouth was dry, and suddenly he realised how cold and exhausted he was. "He's weak. I don't know what to do."
Harry felt young and helpless, now that his grandiose rescue mission was done.
Kreacher tilted his head and peered at Malfoy, who sat shivering with his head bowed low. "Miss Cissy's boy," the house-elf muttered in a low voice, almost as if he was talking to himself. "Yes, yes, of the old bloodline. A disgrace it is, how he is being treated. From such a noble family too." He abruptly turned to Harry. "Tea. Kreacher is making tea."
Harry slumped down on the chair next to Malfoy and let Kreacher serve the steaming hot tea. It was too sweet but tasted heavenly. Malfoy's hands shook as he tried to lift his cup, so Harry put his hands over Malfoy's to steady them. Slowly he managed to take sip after sip.
"Thank you." It was barely more than a whisper, but something had returned in those vacant grey eyes.
"Master," Kreacher said, and Harry took his gaze away from the blond boy. "Master Draco must have food and sleep, but first he is need of a bath. Master has to help while Kreacher makes supper."
"Help Malfoy take a bath?" Harry asked, stunned.
"Yes, Master, a good long bath. Master Draco is filthy. Kreacher will burn the dirty robes and then Kreacher will make good healthy soup." He nodded his big ugly head and his snout-like nose wobbled. He looked very pleased with the situation.
Harry put his empty cup down and rose. "All right. Come on then, Malfoy," he laughed a nervous little laugh. "I'll make you a bath." He pulled Malfoy to his feet and steadied him when he swayed a little. Harry kept his arm around him as they made it slowly towards the stairs. At the door Harry paused and turned to Kreacher. "Will it be chicken soup?"
The elf bowed, a little deeper this time. "If Master wishes. A good strong chicken broth."
Harry nodded.
Harry had to half carry -half levitate the other boy up the stairs to the bathroom. He sat Malfoy down on the toilet-seat while he poured water into the tub and took out some clean towels. Malfoy started to unfasten his robes with difficulty. "Here, let me," Harry said and helped him remove the soiled clothes.
"Uhm," Harry scratched his neck, "if you need to use the loo, I can step outside for a bit." Harry never used to feel embarrassed over these things, not after living in close proximity for so long in the boy's dormitory and at the Burrow, where there was very little privacy. It felt different with Malfoy somehow, his old school-nemesis, standing here in his underpants.
Malfoy shook his head and with shaking hands he removed the last garment. Harry kept his gaze averted while he helped the gangly boy sink into the tub.
Malfoy closed his eyes and sighed in relief. The steam of the hot water fogged up Harry's glasses, but he was greatful for that as he took out a washcloth and started rubbing soap on Malfoy's limbs. He started with his neck and shoulders, worked along one arm at a time. The Dark Mark had faded, but it still stood out black and ugly against Malfoy's pale skin. Harry clenched his teeth as he swiftly rubbed the cloth over it. It didn't mean anything anymore; it was only a reminiscence of evil.
When he was about to start on Malfoy's chest he paused. "Snape said it wouldn't scar." Harry gulped at a lump of guilt in his throat as he saw the white welts that crisscrossed Malfoy's chest. Malfoy opened his eyes and met Harry's gaze. "He said you couldn't possibly know what that spell would do," Malfoy said, sounding a little raspy.
"I didn't," Harry answered. "That's no excuse, though, is it?"
"Don't think about it." Malfoy closed his eyes again. "It doesn't matter. I've attained more scars since then."
Harry continued rubbing the washcloth over Malfoy's thin body. Harry had grown up skinny himself, he knew what it was like to go long periods of time without a proper meal, but that was nothing to what Malfoy must have been experienced during his stay at Azkaban. Malfoy looked starved.
Harry could see the outline of his ribcage, as it jutted out over a hollow belly, and the pelvis bones stood out like spears. There was nothing on his arms and legs, they looked like spiderlegs, with large kneecaps.On top of that there were bruises, an old, almost faded one on the thigh and an angry red on on Malfoy's back, close to the knobbly spine.
Rage soared through Harry and he had to stop his ministrations and take long steadying breaths. When he opened his eyes they met Malfoy's. He held out his hand towards the cloth. "I can manage the privates myself, but if you could do something about my hair, I'd be most grateful."
Harry moved to the end of the tub and started rubbing shampoo into the tangled locks, but the worst wouldn't go out. He needed to use some conditioner. Harry stood and rumbled around insid the cabinet until he found the bottle. It was something Hermione had left behind after her stay during the summer. Harry poured a large dollop into the hair and carded his fingers through the strands. It almost worked but some parts were still a tangled mess.
"I might have to use some scissors," he said and Malfoy nodded. "Just don't hex me afterwards," Harry joked, "I'm no hairdresser."
"Don't have a wand, remember," Malfoy muttered, but there was a sligt upwards pull at the corner of his mouth. "Just do your best, Potter."
Malfoy sat wrapped up in the towel on the toilet once again, as Harry, equipped with a comb and scissors, tried not to make the mess worse. Malfoy's hair was still wet, but you could see it had regained some of its silky shine. Harry had always found the colour fascinating.
When he was done it covered the ears and the neck in an almost straight line. "I guess you'd want a shave too," Harry said, "but I only have a Muggle razor." When Harry had first started shaving he had still been living with the Dursleys, and he'd gotten used to it the Muggle way. The magical razor he got for his seventeenth birthday was lost a long time ago.
"I don't know how to handle those. Could you, please, try. It itches."
"Okay, but I've never done it on another man's face," Harry said. He took out his safety razor and shaving cream and started to lather up Malfoy's chin. It really was a pathetic excuse for a beard, less than what Ron managed to achieve when he once tried to grow one. Harry chuckled a little at the memory. For Harry himself, six months without shaving and he'd look like a smaller version of Hagrid.
Harry took the razor and, to get a better angle, he moved closer and positioned himself between Malfoy's knees and took his chin in his left hand. It felt like a gesture of trust and submission and was strangely intimate. Malfoy lifted his gaze at the sharp blade and his eyes went wide.
"I'm... not very good with... pain anymore," he said in a shaky voice. Harry wondered once again what he'd been through.
Kreacher had laid the coffee table in the small library Harry used as a study. There was a roaring fire in the hearth and the two armchairs in front of it were soft and comfy. It was Harry's favourite place in the house. Outside the wind and rain pounded on the window, creating a wall to the rest of the world.
There were two bowls of steaming creamy soup, rolls of fresh baked bread and two Butterbeers.
Malfoy was wrapped up in Harry's thick terry bathrobe and his pointy nose and cheeks had aquired a more pinkish tone. He looked infinitely more alive as he sat down with a content sigh. Harry relaxed too as he took the seat next to him. It had been a long and exhausting day.
Malfoy lifted the bowl up to his nose and closed his eyes as he inhaled. The savoury soup smelled delicious. He took a spoonful and swallowed, then another ans another, at an incredible speed. "Hey, slow down," Harry called out and put his hand on Malfoy's arm. "It's not going anywhere. You're just giving yourself stomach-ache." Harry remembered very well his first night at Hogwarts after the Welcoming feast and how he had indulged for the first time in his life and how it had felt afterwards.
"I... It was... I'm sorry, I've forgotten my manners," Malfoy stuttered with his head still bowed deep over the bowl.
Harry patted his arm an picked up his own dish. "It's okay, I think I understand. Kreacher's probably made more if you want, just take it easy, all right."
Malfoy gave Harry a long look, but soon resumed to eat at a more normal pace.
When they had finished, Malfoy sat up straighter in his chair and cleared his throat. Harry was almost dousing off in the heat from the fire with the remains of his Butterbeer in his hand and the delicious meal settling in his stomach. The feeling of having done the right thing wasn't so bad either. Malfoy looked everywhere but at Harry, and it was obvious he was working himself up to say something.
"You don't have to thank me, you know," Harry said.
Malfoy finally met his gaze and snorted. "No? Without you I'd be dead by now." His voice was still a little raspy, like he was unused to speak.
"Well," Harry said and made a gesture to his chest. "I almost killed you, you know." He thought of a Hogwarts bathroom not that long ago, of blood gushing out of the cuts on Malfoy's chest, mixing with the water on the floor.
Malfoy understood and his grey eyes flashed. "What about the Room of Hidden Things? I almost got you killed in that fire."
"That wasn't you, that was Crabbe."
Malfoy looked down at his hands clasped in his lap. "He died there, but you rescued me."
"And you refused to identify me at the Manor." Harry put his bottle down with a thud. "Look, Malfoy, we've said and done so many horrible things to each other over the years and yet we managed to save each other's necks as well." Harry pushed his glasses up and rubbed his face. "I guess I thought there better be an end to it all. We're even now."
Malfoy sat silent for a long time, staring into the flickering flames of the fire. Harry was starting to feel a bit drowsy. It was getting late. Suddenly Malfoy spoke again.
"I was prepared to sit there and die, you know. Freeze to death. When the guards left... When I realised no one would come for me... I gave up, in a way I'd never given up before." He swallowed hard. "I have no life outside the walls of Azkaban, no future. I don't know what to do, where to go."
Harry yawned. "Well, you can stay here. This house is too big for one, anyway." He stood and stretched. "Stay as long as you like, sort yourself out and get your health back, you look like shit. Let Kreacher dote on you. He's probably over the moon right now about having someone from the old family in the house again." Malfoy made a grimace and Harry laughed.
"I'll ask Kreacher to prepare Regulus's old room for you. It's on the top floor. I'll be in Auror-training during the days. With little luck you might not have to see that much of me at all." He paused and took on a more serious tone. "We might not be friends, Malfoy, but the time to bury our old enmity passed a long time ago. You're welcome to stay. Good night."
"Good night, Potter."
When Harry was getting ready for bed, he could hear a soft murmur of voices two floors above, as Kreacher showed Malfoy to his quarters. It ws nice to know he wasn't alone with just the batty old elf anymore. He really missed Ron and Hermione sometimes. When Hermione had gone back to Hogwarts Ron had moved out to stay with George at the flat above the shop. George had decided to keep the Wheezes as he and Fred had planned it, but he needed help doing it and Ron had volunteered. "I'm glad to do it. It's the least I can do for Fred, keeping his dream alive when he isn't. It's not as if we won't see each other every day anyway," he'd said as he packed his things. "And you still have Kreacher."
Harry sighed. Even after the renovations they'd made over the summer -getting rid of the stuffed elf-heads and Sirius's mother being their top priority -Grimmauld Place was still dark and gloomy. Malfoy might not have been Harry's first choice of a housemate, but at least he was another human being.
Kreacher had his ways, and Harry could still find the house-elf muttering about his old mistress and the true family. Malfoy's presence in the house would cheer him up, Harry could tell from the way his eyes had lingered on Malfoy. It wouldn't be at all surprising if the elf considered Malfoy to be a worthier master than Harry, and he would probably start plotting to revive the old bloodline.
Harry snorted a laugh and mumbled Nox before his eyes fell shut on the pillow.