Chapter 3
Draco Abraxas Malfoy, Heir of the Most Nobel Black and Malfoy families. Slytherin Prince. Son of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. Godson of the youngest potion master. Titles. So many titles. Only what are the titles when they are all dead.
Restrained as he is, there is no comfort. There is an ache that seems to spread from his chest to the tips of his hair; each like someone is casting a crucio at him. Only he didn't hear anyone cast it. He wants his mother. He wants to follow her. Wherever his Maman is, must be better than here. There are people smiling and moving about as if the world has not stopped twisting on it's axis. He sees red cloaks heading toward him. He knows in the back of his head that he should be more afraid of what they represent; of the uncertainty of what is to come. Draco cares not because they are only a deterrent to following his father... his mother.
"Leave him be. You are not needed here and you will not take him anywhere" the gravely menacing voice of the boy who lived calls out.
He is being turned so that he is once more in a protective embrace. He thinks it's a bit useless now. He doesn't attempt to leave it because he can't seem to remember this type of situation coming up in his etiquette lessons. So lays his head down on the pounding heart beneath the filthy grey jumper. He should really be disgusted. He should stand up straight. He should raise his head with decorum. He should... He should ... He should ... He should.... and then it's hard to breathe in and everything fades to darkness.
~~
Harry stands in the midst of a torn Great Hall. Shattered walls, skin, hearts. In his arms lies one Draco Malfoy. The only reason he hasn't panicked more is having his hand curled around the pale neck and the thump of a still beating heart that reassures him of life. Harry isn't sure what he expected to happen when Tom Riddle was defeated.
Lie. He didn't expect to live.
If he looks back at what has just happened he wishes he could tell Albus Dumbledore to go fuck himself, his prophecy , and his fake benevolent all knowing attitude. The only thing he can say is right, is that a mother's love is something to behold. Stroking through dirty mangled strands, he takes a closer stock of the unconscious blonde. What a waste he thinks.
Memories flash of all he has seen since his sixth year.
Flashback
"He'll kill her" Malfoy cries in front of a broken mirror.
"You don't understand I have to do this" Malfoy cries atop the astronomy tower.
"I couldn't tell if it was Potter" Malfoy wheezes out as he is tortured in his childhood home
End flashback
Moments. Each and every moment since the end of the fifth year. All just moments where Draco was pushed to far, expected to be cruel, conniving, heartless, but instead were moments of humanity doing everything he could to keep his family intact. Though he admits he doesn't understand that last one. He remembers cloudy grey eyes looking at him.
Kneeling at Draco's feet in Malfoy Manor should have felt humiliating, should have been the end of the chosen one. He saw recognition. It’s another moment in time. Just two boys facing off. Two blinks and Draco Malfoy was stepping away denying Harry Potter was at his feet. He remembers the feeling of falling. Draco Malfoy then pushed him only instead of pain he felt as if someone had infused him with a really strong pepper up. The cellars and Dobby's death were a mix of loss and adrenaline after but he hasn't forgotten the simple touch of the boy in his arms. No he won't forget. He won't allow anyone to touch him with mal intent. He sends any well meaning auror away. Fuck the Ministry, the bloody hypocrites.
He waits until he sees Kingsley step towards him.
" You should let a healer get a look at you Harry" the brisk man says.
Harry merely raises a brow. "No thanks. Think I'll wait for Madam Pomfrey to take a look at Draco"
" Very well. They are clearing out the towers, maybe we can find somewhere for you to rest." Kingsly replies.
Thinking on it, Harry decides he should probably get something of rest. He will need more energy if expects to be of any use.
Nodding " I think the dungeons were left more or less intact. Mind asking Pomfrey to come find me there."
Receiving a tilt of his head Harry maneuvers Draco so he can carry him away from the hall.
The walk to the Slytherin dorms isn't easy with no clear path way. Still Harry refuses to stay in the Great Hall. He hopes if anything, maybe being in a familiar place when the blonde wakes might help. As he walks, more thoughts come and go. The main being of just taking Draco away. Of leaving the destruction two men wrought on not just one generation of students, but two. He thinks of Draco being annoyed if he woke somewhere cold or too hot. Maybe he would like France, he is almost positive that Draco speaks the language. The picture of asking him if he is correct makes Harry snort.
" Of course I can Pottah! I speak a great many languages unlike a plebeian such as yourself. "
The idea while nice is absurd when he has had exactly zero civil conversations with him.
Reaching the entrance to the Slytherin common room. He hisses out an "open" in parselmouth and the entrance opens. Guess the Potter luck seems to hold because he didn't have any other idea for how to get in.
Finally reaching the 7th year dorm he enters and immediately knows where Draco Malfoy's bed is.
It's the spartan one.
The one that is beyond reproach.