I Just Saved Harry Potter

Harry Potter blinks.

He’s not wearing his glasses, yes, but Draco Malfoy’s face is too close for comfort and for him to miss his expression. He knows Malfoy is aware of his identity. He knows this is the moment Malfoy has probably been waiting his whole life for – to one up Harry in any way possible. In fact, that has been their entire relationship since they were two eleven years old on the opposite sides of the moral spectrum.

Malfoy stares long and hard, his grey eyes filled with fear and panic and defeat. Harry almost apologises, he doesn’t know why, but he has the strange feeling that he has somehow failed Malfoy by being caught. And being caught is definitely his fault – if only he had remembered the stupid taboo, they wouldn’t be in this mess.

This is not the reaction he would have expected from Malfoy, though.

Malfoy should be laughing, pointing at him, calling him Scarhead or something. He should be excited to have the opportunity to present Harry Potter to his Dark Lord. He should be saying I told you so and going in explicit details to drive his point home – as though, if he doesn’t explain exactly how he was right, then it’s not right at all.

But Malfoy is doing none of it.

In fact, when prodded by his father, Malfoy refuses to identity him. Granted, he doesn’t say he’s not Harry Potter because that would be stupid, but goes with I’m not sure – which, Harry reckons are his Slytherin traits coming in full force. Self-preservation and resourcefulness and all that.

Why isn’t he fucking dancing right now?

And when they’re put in the cellar anyway, Harry feels the hopelessness and helplessness come crashing back in. In desperation, he pulls out the mirror, pleading with all the gods in the world that the Blue Eyed Not-Dumbledore would be there on the other side.

The next twenty minutes of his life are one of the most harrowing. After witnessing Peter Pettigrew’s hand murder its owner, standing across Bellatrix Lestrange threatening to slice Hermione’s throat, and then time itself slows down to a crawl as Draco Malfoy approaches him to snatch his wand away as per instructions.

Harry watches him stalking forward, dressed in rich black robes, hair slicked back like Lucius, with an increasing apprehension. If they take away his wand, there is nothing more he can do. He is next to useless in wandless magic when he needs it, and wonders if he gets enough riled up – maybe he can blow up Bellatrix Lestrange and see her bobbing along the Malfoy Manor ceilings.

Harry tries to think endless possibilities about getting out of this – alive, with everyone – and is coming to an increasing blank as Malfoy eats up the distance between them. By the time Malfoy reaches him, he is already slumping his shoulders, ready to handover his wand.

But Malfoy is near him now, and time is still crawling. Which is why Harry does not miss the way Malfoy’s eyes flick towards something behind Harry’s back for one-two-three seconds, eyes narrowing slightly at whatever he sees, then his grey eyes latch onto Harry’s and –

He winks.

And so Harry Potter blinks.

Before he can fathom what just happened, time speeds up, everything fast-forwards, and Draco Malfoy is grabbing his elbow painfully, ducking them both down behind the couch just as something crashes loudly and Hermione screams. Harry’s heart dies in his throat.

He tries to get to his feet, to make sure she’s alright, that she’s alive, but he can’t. Malfoy pulls him down again, and instead, Harry catches Ron letting out a deranged roar before flinging himself into whatever chaos is happening that Harry can’t see from this position.

He tries to shake off Malfoy yet again, and then Malfoy hisses near his face, nearly spitting at him. “Stay the fuck down, Potter, unless you want to be killed before you win the fucking war.”

Harry growls. “Hermione and Ron –”

“–are fine!” Malfoy’s fingers dig painfully in his arms. “Dobby has them. He’ll get them out of here.”

And Harry remembers, his mind clearing, that Dobby was supposed to come back.

He lets out a huge relieved sigh as spells are being fired over their heads, and Malfoy just rolls his eyes, as though this is nothing new, and it makes Harry remember who the fuck this person is.

His eyes widen. “Malfoy–! What in the world are you doing! They’ll fucking kill you for saving me! Have you gone completely mental?”

Malfoy stares back, his mouth falling open. “Potter, why the fuck do you care if they kill me?”

“Why the fuck did you care about rescuing me?” Harry fires back.

Neither of them answer and immediately look away.

After a few awkward moments, when the spells above their heads abruptly stop with a loud popping sound of apparition, Malfoy squares his shoulders.

“Where did Dobby take them?” he asks urgently.

Harry grabs his elbow instead, and feels the blank pressure around him, thinking of the destination determinedly, hoping that Dobby got his friends out safely.

The sound of ocean waves materialise around Harry. He quickly lets go of Malfoy’s arm as though burned, spinning around to check upon the others.

Luna is the only person standing a few feet away.

“Where is–?” Harry’s throat closes.

Luna smiles serenely. “Ron took Hermione inside. She seems quite unsteady. I assume the unbearable torture takes a toll on you, doesn’t it?”

Harry’s panic subsides slightly. “And the–?”

“They’re all inside,” Luna tells him. “Dobby returned to Hogwarts. I was waiting for you.” Her pale eyes flick towards Malfoy. “Two. Also, Bill gave me the password so that I can escort you to the house.”

Malfoy, in the meanwhile, has been having his own panic attack, muttering I just saved Harry Potter, I just SAVED Harry Potter, I just saved Harry bloody Potter –

What the fuck is Harry going to do about him?

“Malfoy.”

“Sweet Circe, I just saved Harry Potter–”

“Malfoy.”

“Motherfucking Merlin, I just saved Harry Potter–”

“MALFOY!”

Malfoy swirls in a tornado of black robes, grey eyes flashing, face contorted mid-anxiety attack, white blonde hair dishevelled. Harry is painfully reminded of last year, when he had come across Malfoy crying in Moaning Mrytle’s bathroom. This is somehow worse than that. “What?”

Harry tries to think of something helpful. Not helpful for Malfoy, but for himself. “You can’t go back.”

“Wow,” Malfoy starts to slow clap, a sneer forming on the anxious face. The result is pitiable. “Hundred points to Pot Head! What keen observational skills you have! Such a scientific deduction would put Snape to shame. Really, I’m genuinely stunned that the Dark Lord is still waving his dick around and shooting Avada Kedavaras–”

“Shut it,” Harry hisses, stalking forward and bunching the front of Malfoy’s robes in his fists. Up close, Malfoy’s grey eyes seem to have blue flecks in them. For one bizarre moment, Harry thinks his eyes belong on this ocean shore, reflecting the skies and the rocky formations surrounding them.

“Shut it?” Malfoy growls. “Shut it? Do you have any fucking idea of what I’ve done? I just went against the Dark fucking Lord, Potter! Forget that snakeface, I went against my parents! If the snakeface can punish me for my father’s failures – don’t you think he will punish them for my rebel? I just killed my own goddamn parents trying to save your stupid, stinky skin!”

“My skin is not stinky!” Harry says, highly offended, feeling self-conscious of his lack of proper hygiene during months of being homeless.

“So is,” Malfoy says petulantly. “In fact, I knew it was you because of your stupid stink. It’s somehow worse than your ugly face.”

Harry has the strongest urge to throw him in the ocean. He wonders if Malfoy knows how to swim. Probably not. He might be commanding four house-elves to move his hands and feet for him.

Instead, he shoves him forcefully. Malfoy stumbles back a few steps. He straightens his robes, hands grabbing his hair in frustration. “What the fuck am I going to do now?”

Harry shuts his eyes. He can feel that strong emotion rising inside him, the one Hermione calls hero-complex. He honestly tries to fight it as much as he can, but Malfoy is making it difficult for him by having his panic attack and young-adult-life crisis.

And well – he did just sort of save Harry.

Harry swallows, resigning to his own ill fate. “Come inside.”

Malfoy’s eyes snap towards him. “Excuse me?”

“Well, are you going to live the rest of your life on this shore?” Harry says in frustration.

It appears as though Malfoy honestly considers doing just that. But he might have realised in his big head – the one that grew up in a mansion – that living on the shore will not fetch him luxurious meals.

Harry turns to follow, realises Luna is still standing there watching them with a blank stare, and stops. His friend has been a literal prisoner in Malfoy’s house and Harry just invited him inside to – to what? Join the Order? Ron will kill him with bare hands before Malfoy so much as opens his mouth and Harry won’t have a good enough excuse to stop him, either. He wonders how many times he can use he saved my life before it runs its course. Maybe once. Tops.

Harry wants to apologise to Luna, ask her if she is okay with Malfoy joining them inside. If she says no, Harry will have to stay out with him. He can borrow Hermione’s tent, maybe.

Before he can truly solidify any plan of action and contingencies in his head, though, Luna, to his utter shock and horror, smiles at Malfoy, beckoning him forward with one hand.

“Come, Draco. It’s alright.”

Malfoy swallows, wide-eyed, terrified – Harry frowns and looks closer. Malfoy doesn’t seem terrified of Luna but the idea of going inside. Does Luna really forgive him? Granted, it wasn’t as though Malfoy personally kidnapped her, as far as Harry assumes – still. Luna must have a bigger heart than the rest of the world put together. Bigger than Harry’s, in any case.

“I’ll protect you,” Luna says nicely, tilting her head to one side.

Malfoy doesn’t move an inch.

“We don’t have all day,” Harry says impatiently. “Look – you did just save us all. I’ll speak for you, okay? They’ll listen to me.”

Finally, any sign of comprehension of the surroundings appear on Malfoy’s face. He looks irritated again.

“Yes, my Queen. I’m sure the entire world is just soaking up every holy word that comes out of their Chosen One’s crooked mouth.”

“My mouth is not crooked,” Harry snaps.

He doesn’t understand why Malfoy has made it a point in all these years to degrade Harry’s looks. It’s not as though Harry thinks he is handsome, but he is alright. He’s definitely not as ugly or stinky or crooked Malfoy makes him out to be. And, well, if Ginny thinks he’s attractive, he believes her.

Merlin only knows what Malfoy’s beauty standards are. Probably someone like Blaise Zabini, the most handsome boy in Hogwarts as far as Harry is concerned. Besides, it’s not as though Harry goes around ranking everyone by their looks. He just happens to notice them like any normal person.

“What about my parents?” Malfoy sighs morosely, kicking up sand with his toes, hands fisted behind his back. “They’ll probably be dead by now, I guess.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that. The first thought that comes to his mind is Lucius probably deserves it. He doesn’t know Narcissa’s involvement well enough to really have an opinion on her life. Still, the words are lodged in Harry’s throat. This is the perfect time to pay back for all the bullshit Malfoy put Harry through in the last six years – and yet, he doesn’t. Harry wants to believe that he’s better than Malfoy.

Luna comes to his rescue. She walks up to the blonde calmly. “They might have escaped, too. Don’t lose hope, Draco.”

Harry stares. Malfoy might not have personally kidnapped Luna, but surely, she can’t ignore that his parents hosted the bloody Dark Lord in their house. And are Death Eaters. Malfoy is one, too, for that matter. Harry had completely forgotten that for a moment.

Fuck.

They can’t have a Death Eater in the Order. They just can’t. No matter how much Harry tries to convince them he’s had visions of Malfoy being forced to torture others as form of punishment, or that he refused to identify him in front of his entire Death Eater family, the Order will never take him with open arms – for good reasons, too.

Oh my god, Harry thinks with dawning horror. If Malfoy can’t go back and the Order won’t take him in, does Harry have to take him?

That’s just – not possible. At all. Even if Harry somehow decides to tolerate the git for the next few months that it would take for them to hunt Horcruxes, the problem lies in the fact that they are hunting Horcruxes. They can’t simply trust Malfoy with – with – everything.

Harry feels a demented laughter bubbling up in his throat.

By now, Luna has somehow convinced Malfoy to move his hands and feet across the distance. She walks by his side, saying soothing words in quiet voices, and Harry follows the blonde pair, knowing for a fact that he’s missing something here. The pair is as bizarre as Hagrid and Snape being drinking buddies.

The Shell Cottage is moderate-sized from the outside. Harry hopes that it’s bigger on the inside. Being in close proximity with Malfoy under the same roof is unsettling. Maybe he can borrow Hermione’s tent any which way.

When they’re almost at the door, Harry remembers that they don’t have the tent anymore; and when Bill opens the door, Harry also deduces that the house is not bigger on the inside. Damn it.

Expectedly, Bill’s first instinct is to draw out his wand and point at Malfoy, right between his eyes. Malfoy stiffens.

“What the hell, Harry?” he hisses. The scars on one side of his face, courtesy of Fenrir Greyback, Malfoy’s accomplice, shit, seem to pop up and make Bill more of a person from Knockturn Alley than someone who grew up in The Burrow, eating Molly Weasley’s delicious home-cooked meals.

Harry sighs. “Long story.”

Bill doesn’t lower his wand. “I want an explanation. I’m not about to let a Death Eater inside my house. What were you thinking bringing him here?”

“He kept me alive,” Luna supplies helpfully. “All of us. He brought us food secretly and never tortured us, even though he was sent down to do that.”

Harry hears the words but they don’t make any sense to him.

“You can ask Mr. Ollivandar,” Luna suggests. “Or Dean. They’ll tell you the same.”

Bill’s eyes flicker between the three of them. His wand lowers slightly but not completely.

“He saved my life,” Harry tells him.

That does it. Bill narrows his eyes, stuffing his wand back in frustration. “If someone murders him in his sleep, it’s not on me.”

The effect of Malfoy entering through the front door has an immediate effect on everyone inside. Fleur Delacour, still as ethereally beautiful, looks murderous. Her wand is pointing at Malfoy and so is Ron’s. On the other hand, Dean, who has been sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, shoots up to his feet, as though intending to step between Malfoy and the world.

Harry’s head is spinning from this turn of events.

“Harry?” Ron seeks him out. His voice is low, menacing, confused. “What’s going on?”

Bill goes to Fleur, whispers something in her ear, and she lowers her hand.

Ron doesn’t miss the interaction. His wand doesn’t budge, though.

Malfoy is quiet, stiff as a board, not helping his matters whatsoever. Harry feels a flare of irritation. The least he can do is save his own skin. Does he expect Harry to do everything for him now?

“He’s alright,” Harry eventually declares. Dean relaxes. “Ron – you know he helped.”

Ron frowns. “So? That doesn’t mean we let him inside. The most he can do is escape to Muggle London to live his life as a homeless dick.”

Not a terrible idea, Harry thinks. Malfoy can just escape and survive on his own. He can learn the Muggle ways, live with them, get a decent job, earn in pounds – maybe that will teach him what a racist arse he’s been all his life. Is it racist? Elitist? Blood-ist?Magic-ist?

Malfoy finally twitches. “Are you mental?” he demands from Weasley. “They’ll find me and kill me within a day!”

“I’ll kill you within the hour.”

There’s a headache building in Harry’s temple by the second. He knows what’s coming. He catches Ron’s eye with a meaningful look and storms outside the house for some privacy. There’s a clatter of noise as multiple footsteps begin to follow but Ron’s voice is firm, give us a minute.

The outside air is cool and crisp. Harry inhales as much of it possible before the world around him swims and he’s no longer Harry but, as Malfoy so eloquently put, Dark fucking Lord.

The rage is like never before. He’s barely restraining himself from flicking his wand in the general direction. There’s disappointment, too. At Bellatrix. At the Malfoys. At the youngest dragon. He had so many plans for the boy. Never mind, though. There will be many boys to mould, to torture, to play with. At this moment, the owners of the house need to addressed. He foolishness of the youngest can be overlooked, surely – the foolishness of the parents? Absolutely not.

At least he will now have the wand. And Harry Potter will finally perish.

Bellatrix is kneeling obediently for her punishment. The least he can do for his most loyal servant is grant the torture as soon as possible, to not make her wait. So he points his wand almost lazily at her, relishing in her screams that echo around the room …

Harry gulps in the cool air of the ocean once more. Ron’s expectant face swims before him. With a massive effort, he tries to stand up – when had he fallen? – with the help of the wall behind him.

“What did you see?” Ron asks, helping him up by holding his other arm.

“He’s torturing Bellatrix.”

Ron’s face darkens. “Good. The only time I will ever agree with the crazy bastard.”

“How’s Hermione?”

Ron gulps. “Sleeping. Resting. I think we need to stay here for a few days, Harry.”

Harry nods. “Yeah. Ron – listen. If you both want to–”

Ron holds up a hand. “Stop it. Hermione knew what she was getting into. We both do.” Then he inhales shakily and says, “Could have been worse.”

Harry doesn’t want to think of the worse. Instead, he tells Ron about his plan. He wants to speak with Ollivander and Griphook.

“It might be in her vault,” Harry says. “She had gone completely mental when she thought we’d been there. I bet you anything one of them must in it.”

Ron has his thinking face on. “And why Ollivander?”

Harry takes a deep breath in. “The wand. You-Know-Who was torturing Ollivander to ask about the wand. But he’s figured it out, Ron. He plans to visit Dumbledore’s grave to steal it.”

“What?” Ron asks, scandalised. “Harry – we have to stop him! Once he has the Elder Wand, we’re done for–”

“The Elder Wand?”

Both Harry and Ron spin around, hands reflexively pulling out their wands. Malfoy is standing around the corner, skin as white as the shelled walls, grey eyes horrified.

“The Dark Lord has the Elder Wand?” he repeats, his voice going up a notch in hysteria. “I just saved your arse, ensured my parents death, just so the Dark Lord can kill you on the next day with the fucking Elder Wand? Are you shitting me? Fuck my life. No wait, actually, fuck you, Potter! Fuck this whole goddamn war, in fact–”

“Shut it,” Harry snaps, his head reeling. Malfoy probably heard about Bellatrix’s vault, too. Granted, Harry and Ron never actually used the word horcrux, it’s still not ideal that Malfoy knows they are talking about breaking into his aunt’s vault.

“No, I will not shut it,” Malfoy squeaks in terror. “I thought you had a plan, Potter! I thought you were somehow going to win! I thought you knew what you were doing!”

Harry’s mind echoes and a feeling of déjà vu rushes through his blood. Resolutely not looking at Ron, he steps towards Malfoy.

“I didn’t ask you to abandon your side,” he says pointedly. “You did that all on your own.”

Even though he’s saying it to Malfoy, Harry wonders if he’s saying it to Ron, as well. He has forgiven Ron, absolutely, and he doesn’t understand why he’s standing up to Malfoy but never did to Ron. Why did he let Ron say those awful things as though it was Harry’s fault for stringing him along, when in fact, Harry had been crystal clear on what he knows, what he doesn’t know; moreover, when all Harry had wanted was to save his friends and their families, to the point of braving this war all on his own, it had stung him to hear those words thrown in his face. As though Harry had tried to cheat them into coming with him.

“Potter,” Malfoy’s cutting voice brings him to the present. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but the Dark Lord with the most powerful wand in history – you might as well dig your own grave and fall into it! I’ll do the honours myself of erecting the headstone. Here lies Harry Potter, Gryffindors’ idiocy at its finest.”

“You’re free to return,” Ron says coldly. “No one is asking you to stay. No one wants you to stay.”

Malfoy’s eyes flash dangerously. “I’m aware, Weasley, that no side wants me right now. And you know what? I don’t give a shit about the war anymore. I’m done with this whole fucking thing.”

“Then why did you save us?” Harry demands. “You could have let us all die!”

Malfoy crosses his arms over his chest, chin jutting up. “First of all, I didn’t save all of you. I saved you. The Light side’s Chosen One. The one Dark Lord wants dead. I can’t give a rat’s arse about Weasley or Granger. Second of all, if I’m going to die either way, being the snakeface’s plaything is hardly a honourable way to die. I might be a Slytherin, Potter, but I’m a Malfoy. Pride is the first thing we are taught. My father,” his voice cracks slightly. He clears his throat roughly and continues, “My father might have forgotten his own preaching, but I haven’t. I have nothing else left but my pride.”

“Hardly a prideful thing to torture others,” Harry counters.

“Better than being tortured,” Malfoy retorts. “You saw Granger, didn’t you? What’s the pride in screaming bloody murder?”

Ron is suddenly in his face, shoving him back against the wall forcefully. “Hermione has more honour than you ever will! Don’t you dare – Malfoy, I swear to Godric, I will murder you in your sleep.”

“Hermione stood up for what she believes in,” Harry states coldly. “That’s what honour means around here. Not the bullshit you just spewed out.”

Malfoy pushes Wealsey back, straightening up his robes. He takes a steady breath in. “It might be bullshit for you. You didn’t stay with him. You didn’t eat with him. You didn’t sleep at night wondering if you’ll wake up in the morning. You didn’t sneak in your own bloody house, begging your parents to escape the madness. Just because you’re fighting on the Light’s side does not make you god. Potter, it is possible to not be on your side and not be a Death Eater, either.”

Sirius’ voice plays in his head. The world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters.

Harry doesn’t want to think about Sirius. In fact, he doesn’t want to think about Malfoy not be a Death Eater, either. When Sirius had said that, Harry had applied it to Umbridge and her kind of evil. If Malfoy is Umbridge’s brand of evil – evil just for the sake of it – Harry’s hand stings with memory. I must not tell lies. If Malfoy is like her, that hardly puts him in Harry’s good books.

“What do you want to do then?” Harry asks in the tense silence that stretches between the three of them. “If you don’t want to be in the war, Malfoy, you can hardly stay here.”

Malfoy gulps. He suddenly appears as lost as he had been in Moaning Mrytle’s bathroom, tears streaming down his face, resigned to his own death.

“I have nowhere else to go.”

His grey eyes are bright – for a moment, Harry thinks he’s close to crying again. They latch onto Harry’s own with a desperation that he has never seen before. Harry doesn’t understand why Malfoy is looking at him, seeking him out for help in this madness, as though hasn’t spent the last six years making Harry’s life as miserable as he possibly could.

But then again, Dudley has shaken his hand what seems a million years ago, mumbled I don’t think you’re a waste of space. Dudley, the Muggle version of Malfoy that Harry had grown up with. He sees Dudley in Malfoy now and Malfoy in Dudley, and it seems obvious what he’s going to do.

He stalks up to the blonde, extending one hand. Malfoy looks at it as though he’s never seen a hand before.

“I’ll state the terms of the Unbreakable Vow,” Harry states firmly.

“Harry–!”

“Ron – you can do the spell for us.”

Malfoy is staring at Harry with an unreadable expression. His eyes narrow slightly and he takes forever to grasp Harry’s hand.

You will not abandon us until the war is over. You will protect us to the best of your capacity in return for protection. You will not return to the Dark Lord’s side.