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Harry tensed. His bones were aching and he wanted to leave. Five years ago he had killed the dark lord, all of this was supposed to be over. They promised him it would be over. He should have known better, even as a child, no-one thought he could be trusted with the truth and that’s how it had remained. He was merely an instrument of war in the Ministry’s hands.
He leant forward, hunching over his desk. Trying to figure out if they were being serious, if the paper in his hands was real. It couldn’t be, surely? He had one request when he’d joined the Aurors straight after the war. Freshly eighteen and supposedly single-handledly saving the wizarding world – a load of rubbish, he had joined up with one request. He was the boy that lived, the boy that saved the world, and he had bled with only one request; He would not hunt Draco Malfoy, no one would.
Harry Potter would sign his life away to fight more as long as they left Malfoy alone. Some called it stupid, some called him selfless. He was neither. Fighting was all he had ever known, he had been raised a weapon and thought it was a shame to put all that to waste. And secretly, he liked the pulse of dark magic that brushed against his veins when he used an illegal tracking charm or applied slightly too much pressure on a target. He’d come back from the dead all wrong. He wasn’t the clean cut hero that people wanted, so they used his image and shuttered him into an office deep inside the Ministry.
He liked to think that he was neither good or bad. His option to choose had been taken from him as an infant, it wasn’t as if he necessarily wanted to be a dark wizard but he didn’t want to be a light wizard either, it was the principle. Why did the alleged chosen one never get to choose anything in his life? It was bullshit.
He might not be able to save enough people, but he would save Malfoy. They were mirror reflections of each other, Harry had realised this standing to face a very pale Malfoy at his Azkaban trial. Malfoy had his option to choose ripped out of his grasp as an infant too. The only difference was, Harry had miraculously been forced onto the winning side. It didn’t slip his mind that Malfoy could have been on the winning side and Harry on the losing side. It was mere luck, nothing more.
His hand shook as he crushed the paper between his fingers. Wanted: Draco Malfoy, Death Eater. Five years on; time to face the consequences, the paper had read. The Ministry had put him on their hit list and Harry was furious. The desk creaked oddly as his magic slipped from the sturdy restrains he had on it. The windows in his office fractured and blew outwards, shards of glass spun around on the breeze before plummeting to the concrete below.
How fucking dare they.
Ron’s red hair shone as he entered the office, his face grim.
‘Harry,’ His eyes flickered to the windows.
‘Don’t,’ Harry’s voice was a lit flame, ‘Don’t defend them.’
‘I’m not,’ Ron stepped back an inch, ‘but you had to know it was only a matter of time.’
‘A matter of time! I had one fucking request Ron, one. I saved the fucking world and they couldn’t even honour one measly request.’
Ron inhaled sharply, nodding, ‘I know, so what are we going to do about it?’
That gave Harry pause in his rage. We. He might have made a mess of his second chance to live but this, this he hadn’t failed. Ron Weasley and his honourable friendship. He was as straight as an Auror could be until it came to Harry. Harry was his priority and then the Ministry. Which, conveniently, the Ministry always seemed to forget.
Ron had filled out after the war and after the Auror training program. His body was filled with tight lines of muscle, his eyes dark with the horrors they’d endured in the war, his hair cropped short to his skull. As he stepped fully into the room, the one piece of jewellery he wore, glinted in the harsh gaze of the fluorescent lights – his intricate wedding band. Wizards didn’t much care of wedding bands but Hermione had; after all she was Muggle raised. Ron had roped Harry into making them, Harry was excellent at any craft that needed hours dedicated to it. He had spent two years meticulously crafting and carving two similarly matched golden bands.
Harry dragged a hand down his face, trying to smoother some of the anger. Merlin, he was bone-deep tired. He stepped towards Ron and tore off his Auror robes, to the muggle clothes beneath.
‘That’s that, then,’ Harry grinned, all sharp teeth, ‘The Aurors were fun while they lasted... or not.’
Ron rolled his eyes, amused.
Harry clicked his spine back and allowed the usually restrained magic, to flood his body. He was tired of being what they wanted. He hadn't minded when it meant that he got something in return but he wasn’t playing fucking golden boy while he was actively being betrayed.
He stormed from his office, an internal ministry cell, to Kingsley’s lavish office. The hallways were darkened from the force of his rage, the magic licking through to the rotting frame of the building. People were backing up into their respective cells, watching the-boy-who-lived go feral. Ron paced behind Harry, his magic never even attempting to touch Ron, his expression like thunder. The two of them were a building hurricane, Harry might be unbearably powerful but Ron wasn’t all that far off. He was a member of the sacred twenty-eight after all, which again, the Ministry seemed to conveniently forget. His magic was old, it went back centuries, he could call upon it whenever he wanted. Unlike Harrys’ whose was raw power, his magic was different, it was gifted from the dead.
The door to Kingsley office was open, his feet crossed on his desk as if he was waiting for them. Which fed into Harry’s anger. The fucking audacity of this man. Harry could bend his wrist and mutter two little words and Kingsley would be dead. How dare he sit there like he owned Harry Potter.
‘Harry,’ Kingsley begun, his facial expression bored.
Harry snapped. His magic lashed out. Kingsley looked less bored now he was pinned against the flimsy glass of the window from the twentieth story of the building.
‘If you touch him, I will kill everyone in this building,’ Harry’s voice rang out, undiluted power scorched the room around them.
‘It’s too late,’ Kingsley choked out, his face purple either with rage or lack of oxygen, Harry couldn’t tell and he didn’t care, ‘I’ve sent units, they’ve left hours ago’
‘That was fucking stupid,’ Ron smirked from next to Harry.
Ron raised his wand and lit the whole room on fire. He cast a protection charm around himself and Harry. They watched side-by-side as every corner of the Minsters office burnt to ash and then they turned back to the burning, screaming, minister himself.
‘Try again,’ Ron smiled all teeth, ‘Where did they go?’
Kingsley’s skin was charred, his eyes red with the smoke. Still, he said nothing.
Harry sighed and walked closer, ‘It’d be so much easier if you tell us.’
‘You’re the chosen one, you won’t hurt me, not really,’ Kingsley gasped against the pain.
Fool. Men like Kingsley were fools. The chosen one was a funny sentiment, at least Harry thought so. Chosen one. All that meant was that everyone was happy to stand by while a child walked to his death, chosen one. It gave them a phrase to excuse their unwillingness to save a child. Chosen one. It stripped Harry of a face, of a body. It dehumanised him, made it easier for people to stomach when they all collectively decided to sacrifice a child.
Chosen one.
The phrase fuelled his rage, his magic chewed into Kingsley's mind. Fine, he’d do this the hard way. He wasn’t bothered, he’d get his answers either way. He was in Kingsley's mind like a meat cleaver; memories were being tossed and chopped up. Kingsley screamed murder and Harry dug harder. Where were the Aurors going, where was Malfoy?
There.
There. Kingsley screamed harder as Harry pushed. It was irritating when people tried to hide their memories, fog wrapped around the image, Harry sliced through it. It never stopped him seeing what he wanted to or even slowed him down, but it was a nuisance all the same.
It was of Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy. His hair was flowing to his shoulders, his expression soft. He didn’t know that he had been made yet. He was walking back into a herbal remedy shop. Flowers encased the entrance, a soft melody was playing as Harry – as Kingsley – had stepped into the store. Malfoy was stood behind the counter, talking gently to an older women who was purchasing some type of tea. The memory of it was blurry, Harry couldn’t make it out because Kingsley hadn't cared to look at the details – he never did, what a fool. Kingsley had seen what he’d needed to, he cast a ‘notice me not’ and slipped back into the alleyway, straight to back to the Ministry. He stood in his office, looking at his reflection off of the window, his smile wide, ‘I’ve done it,’ he thought to himself, ‘I’ve found the deatheater, It’s time to kill the son of a bitch.’
Harry dropped Kinsley and he crumbled to the floor. Ron stepped forward and grabbed Harry’s wrist a second before he apparated to Knockturn Alley, directly outside Malfoys store. The store had been ripped to shreds, it was entirely trashed. Ron inhaled sharply as Harrys magic burst outwards. Ron's magic joined Harry’s, his was more refined, he wasn’t lashing out like Harry but rather, he was searching for clues.
A shadow moved in Harrys peripheral vison and he span, reaching out with his magic. It wrapped around the persons throat and dragged them out into the light of day. An Auror; he was clad it red robes, a harsh smile on his face.
‘Where is Malfoy,’ Harry’s voice was venom.
‘Don’t know,’ The Auror spat. Harry had to give him acknowledgement for a second, he was one brave motherfucker, ‘Hopefully burning in hell.’
The Aurors eyes went milky as Harry carved through his mind, digging out information. As soon as Harry snapped back into himself, Ron twisted his wrist left – wandlessly casting the killing curse. He was kind like that, Harry would have let the man live with his stupid pointless mistakes.
‘They’ve taken him to the manor.’
The noise of apparition snapped loudly through the room. Stunning the Auror backwards, Malfoys screams letting up momentarily. Seeing Harry and Ron, the Auror relaxed and raised his wand to continue slicing into Malfoys skin. Idiot.
Harry marched up to him and punched him directly in the mouth. Sometimes Harry got lost in the anger and he forgot magic, he had been raised in agony before magic was even a dream in his life. Sometimes, he was pushed to reverting into using his fist and teeth.
He was on the Auror. Thighs pinning the mans arms to the side of his body, he leant forward and headbutted his face into the Aurors; his head smashed backwards into the stone floor of the manor. There was blood everywhere, Harry was covered in it like a blanket, that’s when his magic swept in. He didn’t even have to think, it stopped the mans pulse in an instant.
‘Harry,’
Harry looked up. Ron was calling for him to help. Malfoy had been magically and physically restrained; his body convulsing against whatever they had done.
He shot to his feet and stormed forward until he had both palms pressed onto Malfoys’ chest and then he inhaled. Heal him. He ordered his magic, heal him. Then he poured every ounce of light and dark magic into Malfoys’ body and mind. Heal him.
For a second all Harry could hear was the stunted silence of the long-since-abandoned- manor and then Malfoy was gasping for breath like a drowning man. Harry laid him gently onto the floor, kneeling at his head so that he could rest against Harrys’ knees. Ron walked over to the fireplace, calling for Hermione. She stepped through, eyebrows raised at the dead Auror.
‘Do you two have to make such a scene, all the time? That stone will be a nightmare to clean blood from,’ Hermione tutted.
She headed for the two boys on the floor and her expression dropped.
‘What did they do?’ She asked sternly.
‘Killed him,’ Ron stated and Hermione gritted her teeth.
‘He doesn’t look dead,’ She aimed that one at Harry.
‘I brought him back,’ Harry growled, anger nipping at his heels, ‘Fix him.’
‘Please,’ She muttered. She was always going on about Harrys manners but he felt as if she could have let it slide this once.
She knelt down and cast a diagnostic spell on Malfoy.
‘Well, you weren't lying,’ She breathed a little in awe, ‘You did bring him back.’
‘Hermione,’ Harry wanted to set the world alight, he needed her to make Malfoy better.
‘Calm down,’ She raised her hands in mock-surrender, ‘He’s ok. Harry you brought him back and he is ok. He just needs rest. Your magic never fails to surprise me.’
‘Oh, he’s ok,’ Harry exhaled for the first time all day. Relief placating his magic, pushing it back to below his ribcage.
‘Yeah,’ Hermione smiled softly, ‘Take him home.’
He didn’t need to be told twice.
Softly he placed Malfoy in his bed and sagged against the doorframe, he looked like he belonged – in Harrys room.
Malfoy groaned and shifted slightly, ‘Potter?’
‘You’re safe,’ Harry said gently, ‘You’re safe now’
Malfoy stared at him for a moment too long. Harry began to think maybe Hermione had missed something and Malfoy was still dying. And then Malfoy laughed as loud as his aching body would let him.
‘Get over here,’ Malfoy gasped between laughter, ‘Of course the bloody chosen one would save me, again.’
Harry rolled his eyes and climbed into bed, pressing his forehead against Malfoys, ‘Every time, you know that.’
‘I do.’
Malfoy sighed heavily and rolled over onto Harry.
Harry’s soul ached for him, for them.
He whispered against Malfoys mouth, ‘Stay.’