Nothing could’ve prepared Harry for the sight: Draco Malfoy- fresh out of Azkaban- twiddling his thumbs behind a secretary’s desk. It had been three years since the auror had seen that pale, pointy face- the Slytherin sent away for his family’s crimes shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts.
“No bloody way,” Ron exclaimed from Harry’s side.
Harry had no response, choosing, instead, to gawk at the man in front of them. He soon regretted this decision, however, as sharp grey eyes rose to pierce his own, one blonde brow quirked and a mouth in a scowl. Face red, Harry took ahold of his friend’s arm and scurried away.
“What is he doing here,” Harry questioned after the pair turned a corner.
“How am I supposed to know, mate? I thought they had him locked up.” Ron ran a hand through his hair, ginger strands slipping through his boxy fingers.
“Me too.”
Roughly two months after the war had ended, Harry had put on a collared shirt and his best pair of trousers and had made his way down to one of the Ministry’s menacing courtrooms. Sitting on a dark wooden bench, he was one of the handful of wizards who had come to speak on behalf of Draco Malfoy. The blonde sat in the center of the room, trembling as he looked up at the scarlet and charcoal council. Harry thought back to his fifth year when he had been the one with clammy hands and a racing mind as he had awaited his own fate.
The sound of a gavel resonated throughout the room. “We gather here today to call into question the criminal offenses committed by Draco Lucius Malfoy. Let the hearing commence.”
One by one, the witnesses stood to address the Wizengamot, pleading for Malfoy to be spared. Occasionally, the head of the panel would interrupt to question the teenager who would then answer in shaky yet eloquent phrases. Harry wondered if the blonde had prepared by observing the trials of his parents, both of whom had been convicted earlier that month.
Eventually, it came time for Harry to speak. He made his way to the court’s yellow marble floor slowly, suddenly feeling very out of place.
“Mr. Harry Potter, what an honor it is to have you here today,” the judge proclaimed, “Though, given your history with the defendant, I must say; I was shocked to see your name on the list of voluntary witnesses.”
Harry said nothing. Draco scoffed.
Looking down at the Slytherin, the wizard smiled awkwardly- but also reassuringly, Harry hoped- and attempted to make eye contact. Draco, however, averted his gaze, his cheeks slightly rosy. Harry noted that he wasn’t sporting his typical all-black suit, and, instead, adorned an equally fitting velvety green- likely to separate himself from his appearance at the time of his crimes.
“Now, Mr. Potter, tell me, why should the Wizengamot turn a blind eye to this man’s heinous actions?”
Harry swallowed thickly. It was clear that the council wasn’t without bias. However, he was confident that he could change that. Though Harry didn’t enjoy throwing around his supposed fame, there was no denying the influence he had in his arsenal. Taking a deep breath, Harry began, “Sir, there’s no denying that what Malfoy did was wrong, but he had no other choice. I was there when he was meant to assassinate Professor Dumbledore. He clearly didn’t want to do it, and he didn’t! Voldemort had been using the threat of harming him and his family to compel him to act against his better judgment.” Off to the side, an enchanted quill scribbled furiously against a comically long roll of parchment, recording each of Harry’s words. “I know it may be hard for some of you to believe, but Draco Malfoy is good. He protected my identity after I was captured. He threw me his bloody wand in the midst of battle!” Harry looked down at Draco for the first time since he had begun speaking. The blonde was already staring back up at him, stormy eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. The Gryffindor lifted his hand and rested it on Draco’s left shoulder. “Draco is a good man when he is free to be. Don’t take that away from him.” The room was deathly silent. Harry squeezed Draco’s shoulder before turning away to reclaim his seat.
Despite his support, the council ruled against Malfoy.
Harry sat motionless, stunned. Never in his life would he forget the sound of Draco crying out upon hearing the sentence: five years in Azkaban. Chains fastened themselves around bony wrists as his whole body shook with pained sobs. He seemed so small then, like a rabbit caught in a bear trap- left to die. In Azkaban, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t.
Yet here Draco was- two years before his release date no less- sitting in the Ministry of Magic’s auror department. Hermione was not nearly as surprised as the two men upon receiving this news.
“Honestly! Do you two even read the newsletter?”
“There’s a newsletter?” Ron questioned, genuinely confused, earning a dramatic sigh and a dirty look from his wife.
“He’s here as a part of the Ministry’s new rehabilitation program. Prisoners who continuously exhibit good behavior will now be invited to go on probation while holding a job here. Most of the positions are administrative or janitorial.”
“That would be something, wouldn’t it, Harry: Malfoy with a mop?” Ron quipped. Harry laughed. Hermione did not.
“This is serious, you idiots,” Hermione stressed, her heel tapping against the tile floor in annoyance, “There’s no telling what conditions he’s had to endure these past few years. Try to be cordial.”
And try Harry did.
The next morning, Harry arrived at the office early with a cup of coffee in each hand and made his way to the secretary's desk where Malfoy already sat, stacking forms into neat piles. Harry cleared his throat, and Malfoy looked up from his work.
“Uh, good morning, Malfoy,” Harry said as he offered a familiarly uncomfortable smile.
Malfoy blinked slowly and replied with as little enthusiasm as possible, “How can I assist you, Auror Potter?”
“Oh- uh- no- that’s not,” Harry stuttered then quickly extended one of the cups of freshly brewed coffee to Malfoy. “I brought you this.”
The blonde appeared a bit taken aback, eyeing the offering suspiciously before responding, “No thank you. I don’t like coffee.”
“Oh,” was all that Harry said before walking away feeling, admittedly, a little embarrassed. Ron, however, was very pleased to have a warm drink waiting for him at his desk.
The following day, Harry made a second attempt, this time carrying a cup of black tea. When he got to the desk of the intended recipient, however, he found Malfoy occupied, a phone-like contraption in one hand and a quill in the other.
“Yes ma’am, I will relay your message to him as soon as he gets in,” Draco spoke quite politely to the woman on the other end of the line. Harry simply placed the cup on the desk and walked away, not wanting to distract him.
That afternoon, however, Harry returned from lunch to find a thank you note placed on his own much less organized desk.
Pleased with his previous success, Harry continued to bring a cup of tea to Malfoy each morning. The blonde then, in return, would humor Harry with small talk if he had the time for it. Initially, Harry was surprised by how busy Malfoy was. It had never occurred to him just how much a secretary had to do. Often, Malfoy was multitasking, the wizarding world equivalent of a rotary phone to his ear as he filed paperwork or took notes in his dramatically elegant- as most things were with Malfoy- script.
After a few weeks of this routine, Harry finally noticed it: Malfoy could write with both hands. No matter how he chose to juggle his work on a particular morning, the Slytherin’s notes were always legible- beautiful even.
“Malfoy, you’re ambidextrous,” Harry had stated, not questioned, during one of his deliveries. The skill seemed like a typical Malfoy overachievement.
“Yes, I suppose I am,” Malfoy replied, taking a small sip only to flinch at the liquid’s heat.
“Is that common in wizards?” Harry continued, leaning against the desk, much to the other man’s displeasure.
“I haven’t a clue,” Malfoy grumbled, his Potter-tolerance clearly wearing thin. Then, quietly, like an afterthought he added, “in purebloods maybe.”
Before Harry could ask what this meant, however, there was a shrill ringing, and the blonde dove back into his duties, shooing the auror away with his hand.
--✦–-
Hermione had always told Harry that he was curious to a fault, and there was surely no denying it now as he sat at his desk, jittery with questions.
“Morning, mate,” Ron yawned as he sauntered into their shared cubicle, fashionably late as always.
“Good morning,” Harry replied as he tried to focus on the case file that lay spread out in front of him. Somewhere in the mountains, there hid a camp full of alleged ex-Death Eaters. The Ministry had been planning a carefully calculated raid for months and he and Ron were meant to be on the front lines. However, even the importance of this upcoming task could not silence his nosey nature. “Ron, Malfoy is ambidextrous.”
The redhead looked up from his own file and stared expectantly at Harry, waiting for more context but receiving none. “Is there a reason I should care?” He finally asked, breaking the silence.
“Well, not exactly…” Harry began awkwardly, “I was just wondering if that was common among purebloods.” His fingers picked at the peeling varnish of his desk chair, his cheeks hot and his eyes avoiding Ron’s confused expression.
“Mate, I have no idea. Why do you even care?”
Opening his mouth before fully composing a response in his head, Harry was saved by a tiny purple messenger airplane soaring into view. It landed clumsily in Ron’s lap, who then began to unfold its paper wings.
“Scrimgeour’s called for a meeting,” he revealed before standing to stretch his back.
Harry followed suit, rising from his desk and locking away his important papers with a flick of his wand. “Again? Did they say what it’s about?”
“More details about the raid,” Ron shrugged, “Though, if it’s anything like last week, it’ll be nothing more than a waste of time.”
Harry chuckled as he brushed past Ron. “We won’t know until we get there, I suppose. Now, let’s hurry before all the good seats are taken,” he joked.
Ron rolled his eyes then followed him down the hall.
Once they were inside the meeting room, the pair took a seat in the middle of the crowd, close enough to appear to care but far enough to goof off respectfully- or at least out of their boss’ line of vision.
“Good morning, everyone,” Auror Rufus Scrimgeour called out from the back of the room, receiving a ripple of polite replies as he made his way down the center aisle. After positioning himself in front of the audience, he raised his wand to his throat, amplifying his voice, before speaking once more, “The date of our next raid draws nearer and nearer, and, as you all know, this won’t be a typical mission. We have received reports of a mountain range that commonly hides poachers now housing a considerable group of Death Eaters evading law enforcement. To handle this situation as safely as possible, we have devised a plan involving a spy of sorts.” Scrimegeour waved his wand, and, suddenly, a storm of flyers rained down onto the crowd, one landing on each auror's lap. Harry picked up his paper, his mouth growing dry as he took in its contents.
“Recently,” the head auror’s voice boomed across the room, “the Ministry greenlit a program that aids in the rehabilitation of former criminals by offering them employment here during a probationary period. The first batch of wizards- the guinea pigs, I suppose- includes the infamous Draco Malfoy, sent to Azkaban for his crimes against the wizarding world in 1998.” Ron was now looking at Harry, but Harry could not tear his eyes away from the flier. “By some small miracle, we’ve managed to keep the press out of our business for once. As far as the Death Eaters know, Mr. Malfoy is still locked away in Azkaban. It is the Ministry’s belief that by utilizing Mr. Malfoy as a plant, under the guise that he is an escapee seeking refuge, we will be able to infiltrate the camp more efficiently whilst gathering critical information about this possible new rebellion.”
Immediately, Harry rose to his feet, his chair skidding across the floor. All eyes were on him. “Did Draco agree to this?” He inquired, feeling alarmingly defensive about the other man. The flier which included Malfoy’s mugshot followed by a bullet point list now sat crumbled in a ball in Harry’s trembling fist.
“Mr. Potter, a pleasure as always,” Scrimgeour said slowly with a strained smile on his face, obviously irked by the outburst. “May I remind you that Draco Malfoy is only here because we allow him to be. If he wishes to remain a part of the ministry, it would only be appropriate for him to abide by its wishes.”
“So, basically, if he isn’t willing to risk his life doing your bloody job, you’ll have him shipped back off to a prison he never deserved to be in in the first place? Is that correct, sir?”
Ron grasped firmly onto Harry’s elbow and tugged, attempting to coerce him back down into his seat. “Mate, you need to calm the hell down,” he whispered harshly. Harry did not budge.
The outburst resulted in nothing more than a chuckle from the head auror, “What a character you are, Mr. Potter!” Scrimgeour brushed a hand through his thinning hair and continued, “I’ll tell you what, since you seem to be so concerned for Mr. Malfoy’s wellbeing, you’ll act as his backup- watching from afar of course. Now, that’s all. Back to work.”
Murmuring filled the room as witches and wizards began the trek back to their offices. Harry made a brief attempt to head in Scrimgeour’s direction, but Ron practically scooped him off of his feet, rushing him out the door.
--✦–-
When Harry went to talk to Malfoy the following morning, he could tell from his demeanor that someone had already broken the news to him. He sat at his desk silent and still, eyes looking at nothing in particular. There was no ringing, no rustling of paper.
“Malfoy,” he began, snapping the blonde out of his trance, “I take it you’ve heard?”
“That I’m being thrown to the wolves? Yes, I’ve been informed.”
“I think it’s wrong that they're doing this. I want you to know that.”
“Well, in that case everything is fine.” Malfoy rolled his eyes. Harry returned the gesture.
“I’ll be there too. If things go south, I’ll be there to help you fight.”
“‘Help me fight?’” Malfoy sniggered, “While I am flattered that you think I’m strong enough, I must say, I’m a bit insulted that you think that I’m foolish enough to take on a pack of Death Eaters unarmed.”
Harry’s eyes grew wide with horror. “You mean they’re sending you there without a wand?”
“Well, aren’t you an optimist? For your information, my precious hawthorn is still sleeping soundly somewhere in the depths of Azkaban. I haven’t seen it since you used it to kill the Dark Lord. Honestly, I’m a bit surprised that it hasn't been placed in a museum yet. I would expect royalties of course.”
“This is completely mad! This isn’t right. This shouldn’t be allowed.”
“All is fair in love and government,” Draco shrugged, yet to drop his nonchalant act.
“You should refuse.”
“I’d rather die in those mountains than spend another second on that island,” he stated grimly.
None of the possible replies that swarmed Harry’s mind felt appropriate. Setting down Draco’s tea, he silently walked towards his office.
--✦–-
The next time Harry saw Draco was beneath a canopy of trees. His desk chair had been filled by a shy raven-haired witch as the ministry had bestowed the small mercy of basic survival training on Draco the week before the raid.
“Are you ready?” Harry asked as he toyed with his wand. His ever-active brain was already filtering through which spells he’d use if Draco needed help.
Draco shrugged in response. The man was so nervous that simply opening his mouth felt like an invitation for his breakfast to climb back up his throat.
“That’s what I thought,” Harry sighed, and with that, the two men began their trek to the camp. Once they were about 10 kilometers from their destination, the two men parted ways. As planned, Harry followed a less direct but far more covered path from which he could discretely watch Draco under his invisibility cloak- all whilst silently pleading that everything goes as planned.
Roughly two hours later, Harry heard a roar of voices. Peaking out from the bushes he saw a short line of tents in the distance. A group of wizards stood a few yards away, laughing loudly while cooking something on a campfire.
Not long after, a striking blonde, undeniably Draco, entered the scene. Immediately, the Death Eaters pounced, a brunette with a crooked smile stupefy-ing him. Harry winced as Draco fell to the ground with a thud. The dark wizards poked and prodded the incapacitated man, checking for anything suspicious.
Harry moved in slowly, just close enough to hear them more clearly.
“Well, Well, if it isn’t baby Malfoy!” one man chuckled.
“Isn’t he meant to be locked away?” questioned another.
Feeling returned to Draco’s limbs and he raised his wobbly body off of the forest floor. Harry chewed the inside of his cheek raw as he watched Draco recite the script the ministry had given him. The Death Eaters, thankfully, appeared to buy his act. Soon, the young man sat sandwiched between the others in front of the fire, eating whatever slop they offered him.
Harry watched intently, wand gripped hard.
--✦–-
The group returned to the fire once night fell. The men talked loudly and Draco tried his best to fit in, though, to Harry, his discomfort was evident. The brunette from earlier- who Harry assumed was the leader- soon rose from his place, demanding silence.
“Draco Malfoy,” his grainy voice purred, “though we are quite pleased you have found yourself back within our ranks, there is one last step you must take if you wish to be reinitiated.”
Draco trembled lightly, “What would that be, sir?”
A different Death Eater suddenly sprung towards the terrified man, bringing him to his feet and holding him in place.
Draco let out a small shriek in surprise. Harry dug his fingernails firmly into the dirt beneath him. He couldn’t reveal himself unless absolutely necessary.
“You see,” the brunette began once more, hoisting up the right sleeve of Draco’s charcoal jumper, “you and us- we’re the new age of Death Eaters. Our old rules and traditions don’t mean much when the man who invented them is gone. If I will lead the new rebellion, it’s only fair that I get to mark my followers. You understand, don’t you Draco?”
“Yes, sir,” the blonde rasped, his right hand shaking wildly.
The brunette held his wand high, aimed at Draco with the intent to harm- to brand and to carve.
Draco closed his eyes tightly and awaited pain that never came. His grey orbs opened to see Harry, firing off spells one after the other. The Gryffindor then lunged at his helpless form, grabbing his hand and screaming “RUN!”
The two took off into the darkness of the underbrush, Harry practically sprinting backward as he constantly whipped around, wand aimed with precision.
“Head for that cave,” Harry ordered and released the Slytherin’s hand. Draco, however, found himself unable to move- a deer in headlights as he watched in awe of the sheer force of Harry’s magic. He’d never admit it aloud, but- as envious as he’d been at Hogwarts- he always did admire Harry.
Though, even the Chosen One wasn’t perfect. Draco’s eyes went wide as a disarming spell sent the Gryffindor’s holly wand spiraling into the bushes. There was no time to retrieve it. A misfire from the Death Eaters sent boulders tumbling down the mountainside. Harry shoved Draco into the cave he was supposed to already be in and the two went crashing to the floor as rocks began to seal the entrance.
Chest heaving, Harry crawled off of Draco and rested the back of his head against one of the cave’s walls, waiting for his breath to return.
Once, his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Darco sat down at his right side. “Thank you,” he spoke gently into the stillness their world had fallen into.
“No problem,” Harry replied plainly. He was always so humble. Draco found it insufferable.
The pair exchanged no further words. There was nothing they could do until the ministry located them.
After a long while, Draco broke the silence once more. “I’m left-handed,” he stated, tracing patterns onto the dirt floor with his finger.
“What?” Harry questioned, brows furrowed at the sudden confession.
“Well, I used to be anyway,” the blonde continued, “I was left-handed, but then Father made my mother teach me to write with my other hand before I started at Hogwarts. It’s a common belief among purebloods that being left-handed is something dirty- that the person is evil or weak. That’s why I’m ambidextrous. My father was embarrassed of me.”
Harry was quiet, unsure of what to do with Draco’s newfound vulnerability.
“Though, I suppose he ended up being right.” Draco rolled up his left sleeve, his Dark Mark slivering out from beneath. “You shouldn’t have risked your life for me. Another mark wouldn’t have made much of a difference. This side of my body is already horrible.”
“No, it’s not.” Draco’s gaze rose to meet Harry’s, emeralds encompassing his pools of silver. “It’s not horrible, because it’s you.” Taking the blonde’s left hand into his own, he continued, “I didn’t get it when we were at Hogwarts, but you’re not what people say you are- you never have been.”
For the second time since Harry had known the man- really known him- Draco cried. Raw and painful, he gasped and trembled and sobbed. Harry said nothing. There was nothing that could heal this kind of bottled misery except pouring it out and allowing yourself to drown.
When dawn came, both men were asleep, backs against the stone wall. Draco woke first with tear-stained cheeks and a weight on his shoulder- Potter snoring contently to his left.