The world will still turn,
When I’m not around,
Rely on me and you’ll fall,
Back’s up to the wall,
Someone let me out
-Not Your Concern
Everything was going to be different now. The thought was both inviting and terrifying to Draco Malfoy. It had always been so singular, so straight-forward; The Dark Lord’s way provided little room for differentiation. His decisions had been made for him from the beginning and all Draco had to do was follow the path already laid in front of his feet. That, at least, had been his attitude until his sixth year at Hogwarts. Things seemed to become only steadily more complicated from that point on, and all notions had been thrown out the window in favour of survival. Now what? What to do now that that path and those decisions were completely obliterated. His mother seemed to have as little a clue as Draco himself did, suffering once more from his father’s absence. Narcissa had begged and bartered her way out of sentencing, accompanied by a testimony by Harry Potter about some kind of help she had given him during his supposed execution by the Dark Lord. But now, without Lucius and the lifestyle which she and Draco had maintained from their respective births onward, they were both completely lost.
Completely lost in his own musings, Draco nearly jumped out of his skin when a stag Patronus glided smoothly into the study and rested in front of his armchair. He stared; the stag stared back. It then opened its mouth and delivered a message in the voice of Harry Potter: “My office at three p.m. You know what to bring. Don’t be late.” With that, the stag dissipated.
Taking a few breaths to calm his racing heart, Draco was brought back to the reality of his situation and what he had had to do in order to avoid Azkaban. He had agreed to help Potter.
Draco stared anxiously up at their faces, a fine sweat breaking out over his entire body. They had to let him explain, they had to let him off.
“You understand the circumstances under which you have been called here?” boomed the voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt, the man’s face impassive and blank from the podium in front of him. Draco nodded numbly, eyes shifting restlessly around the room, desperate for a pair that would meet his own. A pair of deep, chocolate coloured eyes met his gaze steadily and Draco felt a brief shock go throughout his body before the eyes moved past him to look at the wall. “Then you understand that we have sufficient evidence to send you to Azkaban for being a known Death Eater.”
“I didn’t do anything, though! I didn’t commit any crimes!”
Kingsley Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow, and there was now angry hissing coming from all around the room. He had apparently said the wrong thing. Beside Shackebolt, on either side, sat Granger and Potter. Granger was looking at Draco with a mixture of disgust and pity, while Potter’s face simply looked pensive. On both walls of the large, wood-panelled room where Draco’s hearing was taking place were raised benches filled with newly appointed witches and wizards, and some old ones, ready to vote on his fate. The thought made Draco nearly hysterical.
“You were part of an organization with the purpose of exterminating all those without pure blood and which committed acts of unspeakable evil. Simply joining condemns you to be as much at fault for the actions of the group as a whole, whether you actively participated or not,” Shackebolt replied, just as calmly but with a note of coolness. Several people nodded and vocalized their agreement. Shacklebolt was about to speak again when Potter began to speak quietly into his ear. Granger leaned in, looking irritated to be left out of the discussion. Shacklebolt’s face turned to one of surprise, and he began speaking back to Potter, a look of doubt on his face. After a few moments, Shackebolt turned to face Draco again.
“Mr. Potter seems to think that you would be an invaluable tool in understanding, undoing and conquering the Dark Arts, Mr. Malfoy.” Draco’s heart leapt straight out of his body through his head and landed with a thunk back in his stomach, emitting a huff of air through Draco’s lips. He stared, unable to form words. Harry Potter had said it, if Harry Potter had said it they would listen, wouldn’t they? They had to!
“Harry?” Granger asked in an incredulous tone, giving her best friend a disbelieving look. She was not the only one who seemed less than fond of this idea. Potter ignored the dialogue going on all around him and looked straight at Draco.
“I have spent a great deal of my life in Draco Malfoy’s company, and I believe that he is, more than anything, a victim of circumstance,” Potter said, effectively silencing the room. Granger snorted, sitting back and frowning. “Raised how he was, with the information he was given, I believe that we may be able to gain a great deal of insight from his knowledge. It is only with a thorough understanding of the enemy that we may be able to completely vanquish it. I believe this is a pivotal step in that direction.”
It took a moment for Potter’s words to sink in, and Draco was beside himself with anticipation, watching the faces in the room change from scepticism to contemplation. Draco felt a gaze burning into him and looked again to find those brown eyes boring into his own.
“All in favour of clearing Draco Malfoy of all charges?” Draco did not look away, sure all of a sudden for some strange reason, that maintaining this contact would make all the difference. That this person held his life in his hands; and maybe that was true. Without breaking the eye contact, Draco saw the owner of the eyes shift her weight. As he watched, Ginny Weasley raised her hand, and successfully tipped the number to twenty one versus nineteen for his freedom.
From that moment on, Draco was indebted to Harry Potter, something which never failed to irk him. Not to be mistaken with a lack of appreciation, Draco just found his current position rather compromising and was not used to relying on any one person for the right to live his life. Now, his life included meeting Potter once a week with any and all information Draco had on the Dark Arts (of which there was plenty to be sure). Without going into extensive detail about his current beliefs in comparison with those of many years passed, Draco could safely say that he felt...awkward. There was nothing to be done about the fact that Draco felt he was betraying his father, himself and going entirely against the natural order of things by sitting in Potter’s office, helping him to understand, get around and ultimately destroy all thinks dark.
Yet, he was grateful and had struck up a sort of civil relationship which would never blossom into friendship but somehow never fall back into true enmity again. Potter had gained a sort of irritating, serene wisdom after the battle. He was certainly on his way to being the next Albus Dumbledore, which suited both Potter and Draco just fine, as Potter had admired him greatly, and Draco never really had time for that kind of nonsense. Once this project was over and Potter was satisfied with the results, Draco could go back to living his life and going about things his way. Which, of course, was exactly what Draco wanted.
With that, Draco raised himself from his chair, walked over to the fireplace, took a handful of glittery green Floo Powder from a vase on top of the mantel and threw it into the flames. Taking a deep breath, he stepped in the now emerald fire and said firmly: “Harry Potter’s Office, Ministry of Magic.” And he was gone.
Author notes: Thanks so much for reading everyone. Reviews always welcome.
To Be Continued.
laurenembee is the author of 0 other stories.
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