Blue
The battle of Hogwarts is over. With all of the horcruxes destroyed, Voldemort is dead. Finally, Harry Potter can rest.
Surrounded by the witches and wizards who fought alongside them and the order celebrating the end of the Second Wizarding War, Harry is filled with hope for the future.
There's no more dark wizard after him, he can live his life as peacefully as he never had since the unfortunate deaths of his parents at Godric's Hollow where he is the lone survivor.
All there is left to do is to rest and heal- and of course, clean-up.
There are still a lot of things to do but they can face that later. Merlin knows they all need a very well-deserved rest.
Everywhere he looked he saw families reunited.
From the corner of his eye from where he stood, he spotted a group of familiar red heads—the Weasleys and near them, he saw the two whose company he craved the most.
Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger are resting against each other on one of the House tables with blissful and relive expressions, hands intertwined and thumbs softly rubbing against each other's knuckles—he grinned. After long years of dancing around each other, they're finally together.
As if sensing eyes on them, the two lift their heads and turn towards him—blue and brown meeting green and the group of friends grinned, exchanging looks of happiness and content.
He moved to join them when he heard a commotion happening behind him.
He turned, so did the rest of the Great Hall.
Along the aisle between the tables he had walked earlier were the three Malfoys huddled together as though unsure whether or not they were supposed to be there, but nobody was paying them any attention—but everyone is paying attention to them now as the family of three all stood as a group of Aurors lead by Kingsley Shacklebolt—who has left immediately after the fall of Voldemort to go after the fallen Dark Lord's followers who are attempting to flee—entered the hall and announced the rounding up of the remaining Death Eaters that may still be in the premises.
A group immediately rounded on the family and both the elder Malfoys pulled their only son—Draco Malfoy—behind them as the men approached.
"Put those wands away!" Lucius Malfoy barked as he pulled his wife and son behind him protectively—Narcissa Malfoy pushing against his arm to stand next to him, keeping the youngest Malfoy behind them.
"No can do, Malfoy." One of the approaching Aurors said, lifting his wand higher. "Who knows what the three of you have up in your sleeves. We won't risk you and your wife—and that bastard son of yours—a chance to escape."
As the Aurors neared, the matriarch of the Malfoy Family took a menacing step forward, a scorned look etched across her elegant face despite the soot and cinders marred on her hair and skin.
"Don't call my son such names." She sneered, keeping a tight grip on her son's shoulder behind her, ignoring her husband's attempts to pull her back.
She met with Kingsley's eyes.
"We'll turn ourselves in voluntarily." She said, her head held up high. "No need to point your wands at us."
The Auror regarded her.
"As it may, Mrs. Malfoy." Kingsley started. "We can't keep our guard down. We must stay vigilant in the course of which you may attempt to escape."
Narcissa’s sharp features twisted with irritation, though she kept her composure.
“Escape?” she repeated, her voice icy. “And where exactly would we go, Mr. Shacklebolt? We are practically wandless!” Her tone hardened, and she gestured faintly toward her husband and son. “Lucius’s wand was broken in service to that... monster. Draco’s is in—as I believe—Mr. Potter's possession. And mine? Lost during the battle.”
The Great Hall fell eerily silent, save for the faint crackle of the fires that burned in the hearths. Many eyes flicked between the Malfoys and the approaching Aurors.
Kingsley’s brow furrowed, his wand still steady in hand. “Your lack of wands doesn’t erase the part you played in Voldemort’s rise to power, nor does it absolve you of your crimes. Do you deny your family’s support of his cause?”
Before Narcissa could respond, another voice interrupted the tension.
“Kingsley.” Professor McGonagall stepped forward from the gathered crowd, her robes still torn and soot-streaked, but her demeanor was composed as ever. “Perhaps we should handle this matter with more... care. The war is barely over, and the Malfoys are currently no threat. Not in their current state.”
“Care?” Kingsley turned to McGonagall, his expression stern but measured. “Minerva, with all due respect, this family enabled Voldemort’s regime for years. The atrocities committed by their hands—whether directly or indirectly—cannot simply be set aside because they look pitiful now.”
“That may be so,” McGonagall said, her voice steady but firm. “However, there is a time and place for everything. Right now, this hall is filled with survivors—many of whom have lost loved ones to this war. Creating more chaos and hostility will do no good, not today.”
Kingsley looked torn, his grip on his wand tightening briefly. But before he could reply, a new voice broke through the quiet.
“She’s right.” Harry stepped forward, his voice clear and resolute. All eyes turned toward him as he strode to stand between Kingsley and the Malfoys. Behind him, Ron and Hermione followed, flanking his sides with equal determination.
Harry’s emerald-green eyes fixed on Kingsley.
“Narcissa Malfoy may have been on Voldemort’s side,” Harry began, his voice steady but firm, “but in the end, she lied to him to save me. Without her help, we wouldn’t be standing here right now. And Mal—” He turned slightly, meeting the pale young man’s eyes. “—Draco refused to identify us when we were captured at Malfoy Manor. That gave us the chance to escape and keep fighting.”
Ron shifted uncomfortably, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his lips pressed into a thin line. He glanced at Harry, clearly reluctant to speak. But when Harry nudged him gently, he sighed and finally spoke, his tone gruff but sincere.
“They may have been Death Eaters,” Ron muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at Draco, “but not all of them had a choice in the end. Malfoy was just a kid, for Merlin’s sake! He didn’t even want to fight tonight. We saw him run when the Death Eaters turned on each other.”
His words hung in the air, and though his tone wasn’t exactly sympathetic, it was enough to lend weight to Harry’s argument.
Hermione added, her voice softer but no less firm, “And don’t forget, Kingsley, Lucius Malfoy didn’t lift a wand in Voldemort’s final moments. They surrendered. That’s more than can be said for the others.”
The hall was deathly silent again, the weight of Harry’s words settling over the crowd. Kingsley glanced between Harry, McGonagall, and the Malfoys, his expression unreadable.
Finally, he exhaled deeply and lowered his wand, though his gaze remained cautious.
“Very well. But this isn’t over. The three of you will answer for your actions in due time.” He turned to the Aurors. “Escort them to a secure room for now. No wands, no freedom to wander. We’ll decide the next steps once the Ministry regains order.”
Narcissa straightened, her grip still firm on Draco’s shoulder.
“That is acceptable.” Her tone was clipped, but there was a flicker of relief in her eyes.
Before the family could move, Hermione nudged Harry sharply with her elbow.
“Harry.” She whispered urgently, nodding toward Draco.
Harry turned his gaze to the youngest Malfoy and felt his stomach drop.
Draco’s pale complexion had turned ghostly white, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His eyes were wide, unfocused, and filled with growing panic.
“Draco?” Narcissa’s voice cut through the silence as she turned to her son, concern etched into her face. She placed her hands on his shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
Draco didn’t answer. Instead, he clutched his mother’s arm in a vice-like grip, his entire body trembling. His breathing became harsher, rasping as if he couldn’t draw in enough air.
“Lucius, he—he can’t breathe!” Narcissa cried, her calm exterior crumbling as Draco suddenly dropped to his knees.
Lucius knelt beside them, his usual haughty expression replaced with raw fear. “Draco!” he barked, shaking his son lightly. “What is happening? Speak to me!”
Draco’s lips began to turn an alarming shade of blue, his chest heaving as though he were choking on air. His head lolled slightly as his body spasmed.
“Help!” Narcissa shouted, her voice rising in desperation. “Someone, please!”
The entire hall seemed frozen in stunned silence, unsure of what to do. Harry, feeling his heart race in sync with the panic unfolding, whipped around to Hermione and Ron.
“Get Madame Pomfrey!” Harry ordered, his voice breaking through the haze of confusion.
At the same time, McGonagall snapped into action, barking the same orders as the boy-who-lived.
"You! Get Poppy!" She snapped to one of the stunned and clearly eavesdropping onlookers.
The student's eyes widened but nodded and immediately turned to run towards the corner of the Great Hall where the injured wizards and witches are being attended by the mediwitch—Hermione at his heels.
But before help could arrive, Draco’s choking suddenly stopped. His body went completely still, his hands slipping limply from Narcissa’s arm.
“Draco?” Narcissa whispered, her voice trembling. She shook him lightly, but there was no response.
The young man lay on the ground, his eyes wide open and glassy, staring unseeing at the enchanted ceiling above. His chest no longer rose and fell.
For a moment, there was only silence in the Great Hall, the horror of what had just happened sinking in.
“No!” Narcissa screamed, pulling Draco’s lifeless body into her arms, shaking him as if willing him to wake. “No, please! Draco, wake up!”
Lucius’s voice joined hers, sharp and panicked, calling his son’s name over and over.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, Draco’s body jolted violently, as though struck by a lightning bolt.
He gasped, sucking in a ragged breath, his chest heaving as he coughed violently.
“Draco!” Narcissa and Lucius exclaimed together, their hands frantically moving over their son, trying to steady him.
Draco’s breaths came in uneven gasps, his face drenched with sweat as his parents held him close. He coughed again, his trembling hands clutching at their robes as he fought to sit up.
Everyone near the vicinity stood rooted in place, stunned by the scene before them. The hall remained silent, all eyes fixed on the family of three as they hovered protectively over the boy who had just moments ago looked lifeless.
Draco coughed violently, his body still trembling in his parents’ arms. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused as he gasped for breath. His disorientation was evident, his gaze darting around as if trying to make sense of his surroundings.
“Draco,” Narcissa said gently, her voice still laced with panic, though she worked hard to keep it steady. She cupped his face, her hands trembling slightly. “Draco, look at me. Are you alright?”
Through rasping breaths, Draco blinked, his confusion growing.
“Wha—what... what’s happening?” he croaked, his voice hoarse. His gaze shifted between his parents. “Mother? Lucius?” His tone held a strange, formal quality, as if he were addressing strangers rather than his own family.
“It’s alright, my son,” Narcissa said softly, though her voice cracked on the last word.
She stroked his hair, desperately trying to soothe him.
Draco shook his head weakly, his breathing uneven as he looked around. “What... what is going on? Why are you—” His eyes lingered on Narcissa’s disheveled appearance, taking in the soot and ash staining her normally pristine attire. “Why do you look like that? You’re... you’re always so proper. What happened to you?”
“Draco,” Lucius began, but his son cut him off, his confusion mounting.
“Are we... did I apparate—did you apparate? Where are we? Is this Hogwarts?” Draco’s eyes darted to the shattered windows, the upturned tables, and the battered witches and wizards scattered throughout the Great Hall. “What happened here? Why does it look like this?”
Harry watched the scene, his brows furrowed. He exchanged a glance with Ron, who whispered, “Does he... not remember?”
Narcissa leaned closer to her son, her composure fragile but determined. “Draco, it’s alright. You’re safe now. Just breathe. Please, don’t push yourself.” Her words were as much for herself as for him, her hands never leaving his shoulders.
Draco, however, continued to glance around wildly, his confusion only deepening. “Safe? I don’t—I don’t understand. What’s going on?”
Before Narcissa could respond, Kingsley Shacklebolt’s voice cut through the tension.
“Nice trick,” he said coldly, his arms crossed as he stepped forward.
Narcissa’s head snapped up, her expression thunderous.
“Trick?” she repeated, her voice rising with indignation. “Trick? My son was choking! Dying before your very eyes! And you dare call it a trick?”
Kingsley’s expression didn’t falter, his tone remaining hard.
“The Malfoys have been known to pull stunts before, Mrs. Malfoy. Do I need to remind you that during the First Wizarding War your family claimed to have been under the Imperius Curse? A convenient excuse that won’t work this time.”
“How dare you!” Narcissa hissed, rising to her feet. “You think I would fake my son’s suffering for sympathy?” Her eyes burned with fury, her hands clenched at her sides. “You, of all people, should know better than to accuse a mother of such deceit when her child nearly died in front of her!”
Kingsley held her gaze, unmoved. “Your family’s reputation precedes you, Mrs. Malfoy. Vulnerability has always been your greatest weapon. Don’t think I’ll fall for it.”
Before Narcissa could respond, Draco pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. He swayed slightly, his pale face etched with confusion, but he squared his shoulders with practiced dignity. Despite his disoriented state, his voice carried an edge of defiance.
“How dare you speak to my mother like that? Have you no respect?”
Though his legs were unsteady, Draco’s chin was raised in the unmistakable arrogance of a Malfoy. His hoarse, trembling tone only underscored his determination as he fixed a sharp glare on Kingsley.
The hall fell silent again, all eyes turning to the young man.
Kingsley’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t back down. “Respect is earned, Mr. Malfoy,” he said coolly. “And your family hasn’t done much to deserve it.”
Draco faltered slightly, confusion flickering across his face. He turned toward Narcissa and Lucius, his brows furrowing. “What is he talking about? Why is he addressing us like this? What did we do?”
Harry felt a strange pang in his chest as he watched Draco’s confusion grow. There was something unsettling about seeing him like this—so unsure, so unlike the smug boy he had faced so many times before.
“You did nothing wrong, darling,” Narcissa said quickly, her voice softening as she gripped his arm. She shot a glare at Kingsley. “Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“Don’t I?” Kingsley interjected, his gaze unwavering. “Everyone here knows exactly what the Malfoys have done, Mrs. Malfoy. And no amount of theatrics will change that.”
Draco’s face darkened, a flicker of his usual arrogance breaking through. “Theatrics? Is that what you think this is?” He stepped forward, though Lucius’s hand shot out to steady him. He shook it off, his voice rising with indignation. “You dare accuse my mother—my family—of such nonsense? I won’t tolerate this slander.”
“Draco,” Lucius muttered quietly, his tone cautious, but his son didn’t seem to hear him.
“You think you can treat us like common criminals?” Draco continued, his disorientation seemingly forgotten as he addressed Kingsley directly. “You forget who you’re speaking to. We are Malfoys.”
A murmur rippled through the Great Hall at his words, the reactions ranging from disdain to disbelief.
Ron leaned toward Harry, whispering under his breath, “He’s still playing the proud pureblood, even after everything. Can you believe this?”
Harry didn’t respond, his attention fixed on Draco. Something didn’t add up. This wasn’t just arrogance—it felt like Draco genuinely didn’t understand the gravity of the situation.
Kingsley’s expression hardened further, his jaw tightening. “Your name means nothing now, Malfoy,” he said, his tone sharp. “Whatever power or influence you once had, it’s gone. All that’s left is accountability for your actions.”
Draco flinched slightly, glancing back at his parents as if searching for answers. “Accountability? For what?” he demanded, his voice breaking. “What are you talking about? Someone tell me what’s going on!”
Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a brief, pained glance, but neither answered.
“Draco, please,” Narcissa said softly, reaching for him again. “You need to rest. You’ve been through a lot—”
“I don’t understand!” Draco interrupted, pulling away from her grasp. His eyes darted between the faces around him—his parents, Harry, and Kingsley—growing more frantic. “Why won’t anyone tell me what’s happening?”
Harry took a step forward, his instincts urging him to intervene. “Draco,” he said cautiously, his voice cutting through the tension. “Do you... remember anything? About what just happened?”
Draco turned to him, his brows knitting in confusion.
“Potter?” he said, his tone a mixture of recognition and disbelief. “What are you doing here? Why are you talking to me?”
The silence in the hall deepened as everyone waited for Harry’s response.
“Draco,” Harry began carefully, “you collapsed. Just now, here in the Great Hall. Do you remember that?”
Draco shook his head, his expression blank. “No. I—” He hesitated, his gaze unfocused. “I don’t even remember how I got here.”
Narcissa tightened her grip on his arm, her face pale but resolute. “It doesn’t matter,” she said firmly, her voice trembling slightly. “What matters is that you’re alright now.”
Kingsley, however, didn’t look convinced.
“Convenient,” he said sharply. “Amnesia to avoid questioning? How very Malfoy.”
Before anyone could respond, McGonagall returned, her face stern as she stepped between the Auror and the Malfoy family.
“That’s enough, Kingsley,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “We’ll sort this out properly, but not like this. The boy is clearly unwell.”
Harry glanced at McGonagall, relief flickering in his eyes as she asserted herself. The tension in the hall seemed to shift, though the air remained heavy with unanswered questions.
Draco, meanwhile, slumped slightly against his mother, his confusion and weariness finally overtaking him. Whatever had just happened, it was clear that this was far from over.
The commotion in the Great Hall was interrupted by hurried footsteps. Hermione returned with Madame Pomfrey and the student McGonagall had sent to fetch her.
The mediwitch immediately pushed through the gathered crowd, her sharp gaze falling on Draco.
“I’m here. Let me see the boy,” she said briskly, but before she could reach him, Draco suddenly straightened, slipping from his mother’s grasp.
His pale eyes locked onto Hermione, and the confusion in them softened into something startlingly gentle. “Hermione?” he said, his voice almost a whisper.
Hermione froze, startled by the way he was looking at her.
Draco took an unsteady step toward her, ignoring Madame Pomfrey entirely. His tone was tender, full of concern. “Love, what happened to you? Who did this? Why do you look like that?”
The room fell utterly silent, every eye on the pair. Harry and Ron exchanged confused looks, and even Narcissa seemed bewildered by her son’s words.
Hermione blinked, trying to process what she was hearing. “W-What?” she stammered, her voice shaky.
Draco moved closer, his expression pleading. “Did someone hurt you? Those Gryffindors again? Tell me who it was. I’ll handle it.”
“Malfoy,” Ron growled, stepping between Draco and Hermione.
Draco’s face twisted into an annoyed sneer. “Stay out of this, Weasley. This doesn’t concern you.”
Before anyone could respond, Lucius, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke in a cold, cutting tone.
“Draco, what are you doing? Why are you addressing her like that?” His lips curled slightly, the disdain evident in his voice. “You know perfectly well she’s a mud—” He caught himself, hesitating just a fraction too long, before spitting out, “Muggleborn.”
Draco rounded on him, his pale face flushing with sudden, unrestrained anger. “Don’t start, Lucius,” he snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room. “If I hear that word come out of your mouth again—just once—I’ll cut you off. No allowance nor will you ever lay a hand on a single knut from the family vaults. You’ll be out on the street, begging for scraps.”
His voice grew even colder, each word deliberate. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t send you to live in a Muggle nursing home.”
The hall fell into a stunned silence.
Lucius’s jaw tightened, his expression momentarily faltering. He stared at his son, his grey eyes wide with disbelief and barely masked bewilderment, as though Draco had just spoken a foreign language. His lips parted slightly, but for once, no retort came.
Draco turned back to Hermione, his demeanor shifting again, now almost desperate.
“Hermione, love, talk to me. What’s happening? We were just working on our Potions project—what’s all this?”
Hermione took an instinctive step back, her hands trembling. “I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Draco’s face fell, confusion deepening.
“Why are you backing away? Did someone say something? Hurt you? Just tell me who it was, and I’ll fix it.” He reached toward her, but Ron immediately pushed him back.
“Back off, Malfoy!” Ron snapped, his wand half-raised.
Draco stumbled but quickly regained his footing. He glared at Ron, his tone venomous.
“Mind your own business, Weasley. You’re as useless as ever.”
Before Draco could take another step toward Hermione, the Aurors moved in, grabbing him firmly.
“That’s enough,” one of them growled.
Draco thrashed against their hold, his pale face twisting with fury.
“Unhand me at once!” he shouted, his voice shaking with outrage. “I am Lord Malfoy, and I will not be treated this way! I’ll see every one of you in front of the Wizengamot!”
Narcissa and Lucius both stepped forward, their attempts to calm their son drowned out by his tirade.
“Draco, stop!” Narcissa pleaded, but her voice barely reached him.
Kingsley finally intervened, his patience clearly at an end. “That’s enough!” he barked, grabbing Draco’s arm himself.
Draco’s response was immediate and violent.
He slammed his head back against Kingsley’s chest, causing the Auror to stumble briefly.
“Let me go!” Draco shouted again, his voice echoing through the hall. His eyes locked on Hermione one last time, full of desperation.
“Hermione! Tell them to let me go!”
The Aurors tightened their grip and began dragging Draco and his parents toward the doors. Narcissa was calling out to her son, her voice breaking with emotion, while Lucius looked both furious and humiliated.
Draco’s cries of “Hermione!” echoed long after the doors slammed shut behind them, leaving an eerie silence in the Great Hall.
Ron broke the quiet, muttering, “He’s completely mad.”
Harry and Hermione didn’t respond immediately, their eyes still fixed on the doors. Finally, Ron turned to Hermione, concern etched across his face. “You okay?”
Hermione hesitated before nodding slowly. “I’m… fine,” she said, though her voice was unsteady. “Just… spooked.”
The trio exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of the moment settling over them. Ron frowned, looking at Harry. “What do you reckon that was about?”
Harry shook his head, his expression grim. “I don’t know.”
And with that, the three friends stared at the doors, the confusion and tension lingering in the air.