Scenes From A Warzone

scenes from a warzone.

1.

It was raining somewhere in London. The gutters were full, stopped up with the leaves and refuse that had washed along the streets, and it kept pouring down until the backwash spilt over the pavement. A nearby park was flooded with water, little more than a muddy expanse, the tips of green grass poking through the brown swirl as the rain continued to fall. Along the street, the streetlamps flicked fitfully on and off, offering little real illumination in the dark autumn night, and visibility was almost zero at any rate due to the rain.

One figure made his way through the rain; another approached from the opposite direction. From what could be seen, it was unlikely that either could actually see the other as little more than a blur, and probably dismissed it with all the rain. Despite the rain they didn't seem to be getting wet, the water dripping down hair and clothes and skin as if both flesh and fabric were impervious to such things. Both of them looked quite young, if haggard, which was hardly surprising. They would have been in school, the both of them, if war hadn't come along and so rudely interrupted their sixth year.

Finally, they began to make each other out in the dark, in the wet. Circling as they approached, neither was willing to call out in case it turned out to be an enemy rather than a friend, and, in giving them warning, he lost any advantage for surprise. They faced each other in the end, standing a few paces away, both of them wearing a near identical expression of disgust. Fingers curled inside their everyday robes to find wands...

Draco was quick - one had to have good reflexes in order to survive as a Death Eater, let along prosper, but Harry was quicker.

"Expelliarmus!" Draco's wand - ash, eight inches, ivory core - sailed out of his hand and ended up stuck in the mud, quivering slightly with the force at which it was driven from him.

"So. The Golden Boy triumphs again." Even in defeat, Draco couldn't refuse sneering. "I suppose you're going to kill me?" he drawled with false confidence, leaning back slightly as Harry moved closer, wand still trained on him without a word in response.

Harry stood barely half a foot distant, looking at Draco with a calm, cold expression that made shivers run up and down Draco's back. "No."

"No?" Draco asked, shakily. "But surely you'd be glad to get rid of me-"

"That suggests I actually give a fuck," Harry said simply. "And I don't. No, I think it's far better to let you live and run home to Daddy with the knowledge of what happened here."

Draco's nostrils flared as he grit his teeth, working out if he could make a dive for his wand before Potter killed him. He decided not to chance it, preferring to keep his skin intact, at least for the moment. "I'll get you for this."

"I've heard that threat before," Harry murmured, having the gall to sound amused. "Besides, you don't want to take me on, Malfoy."

"You think I'm scared of you? Ha!"

"I'm the one with the wand here, aren't I?" Harry replied smoothly. "But I was thinking of other things."

"Oh yes? Do tell, I'm all ears." Draco was shaking, snarling, almost ready to tear him apart with his bare hands if need be.

"I've finally worked you out, Malfoy, and you know what? You're really fucked up. You wanted to be my friend back in first year - on your terms only, and you've hated me ever since because I didn't take you up on that offer. Not only that, you've been obsessing about me ever since, doing everything you could to get me to look at you." Harry twirled the wand slowly, a grin breaking out on his face. "You want me to notice you, accept you, find you worthy. Probably jerked off over me a couple of times, that right?"

Draco surged forward, every line in his body taut and Harry flicked the wand in his face again. Draco stopped, furious, fingers curled into claws. "I'm not a filthy pervert," Draco spat, almost heedless of the rain and his own precarious situation.

"Oh, Daddy doesn't like people to be that way, does he? You really are doomed, then, aren't you?" Harry stepped closer, so close that Draco could feel Harry's breath against his skin and he almost forgot to breathe himself. "I'm going to let you live, Draco. Safe in the knowledge that you are nothing to me, and I'd rather cut off my right hand than touch you."

Shuddering and gasping for breath, Draco had no reply. Harry raised his wand to his face, as if in a mock salute, green eyes twinkling, and apparated away. Muttering curses to himself, Draco jogged over and retrieved his wand, wiping the pale wood on his robes, before he too dissolved into nothingness and the park was left empty but for the rain.

2.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He'd cautioned the other members of the Order time and time again not to do things like this, because they usually got them dead and Harry didn't expect things would be any different just because he was the Boy Who Typically Got Out Of Tight Scrapes. The others might see him as a hero, but Harry knew that even in the stories, every hero fucked up once. After all, the greatest heroes were all dead ones.

He almost felt the spell being hurled at him before it was actually cast and ducked as he turned round a tight corner in the backstreets of Southwark. Bricks shattered behind him and Harry kept on running down the pavement. There was nothing more he could do, really, except run and hope to evade his pursuer. This section of London - like most of London these days - was deserted, ever since Voldemort had opened the war out onto the Muggle front and the Muggles had responded in kind, not especially worrying which wizards they killed as long as they killed someone. Harry needn't worry about collateral damage or civilian casualties, at least.

The raid, on Voldemort's research and development headquarters had gone brilliantly at first. It was located in a block of flats just near the old Elephant and Castle tube station. They'd managed to get inside without a hitch and rifle through all sorts of information before (of course), a group of Death Eaters had apparated out of nowhere and it'd been revealed as an obvious trap. Harry had managed to get out of the building quick smart, as he was on the ground floor, but apparating took steady nerves and concentration, and having Lucius Malfoy casting all sorts of nasty incantations at your back didn't help, so Harry just ran and kept running.

Taking a flying leap over some dustbins he skidded, diving into a small laneway, palms scraping against the concrete as he pushed himself up, ready to keep running, and - fuck. Harry swore under his breath. It was a cul de sac.

"Now, Mister Potter, language. What did they teach you in that school of yours?"

Harry turned, a sinking feeling in his gut, one hand reaching to grip his wand stuck in the front of his jeans, but Lucius Malfoy shook his head slightly and Harry let go, raising both hands and backing away slowly. It wouldn't have done much good; Lucius already had his wand trained on Harry and seemed in no mood to be distracted.

"You got me put me in prison, Mister Potter, if only for a brief while. I think it's high time you were shown my full gratitude for that act." Lucius advanced, his eyes narrowing slightly. Harry could see someone moving around the corner to stand behind Lucius, but before he could see them properly, the older man flicked his wand at Harry's chest. "Crucio."

Wave after wave of pain engulfed Harry and before he knew it he was on his knees, but even that jarring contact was nothing to the agony in his body, muscles spasming, jaw clenched. It faded after what seemed like an eternity, only to return in full force when Lucius mentioned that one little word over and over again.

Harry lost all track of time, but when he finally came back to himself, the sun was lower in the sky than it had been. His body still ached, and there were scrapes on his arms and hands and face even from where his thrashing body had ground itself against the pavement.

"I think it's time we put a stop to this, don't you? Such a nice little game you've led my Lord, Potter. But all good things come to an end." He trained his wand on Harry, and Harry steeled himself, closing his eyes. He didn't know if the Prophecy was true or not, if he could be killed by someone other than Voldemort, but even if he survived, he expected it wouldn't be pleasant. "Avada-"

"-Kedavra." That wasn't Lucius' voice, for all the drawl was the same. There was a sound of something falling hard onto the ground, and Harry opened his eyes, blinking to find Lucius Malfoy's lifeless body next to him. Involuntarily he shuddered at the waxen complexion of the corpse, the unblinking, sightless eyes and shuffled back on his hands and feet, squinting up to see the person who now stood over them both.

It was Draco Malfoy, tucking his wand inside his robes. He'd been the person who was standing there before. Harry felt as though he'd been put through the wringer and wasn't even about to try standing. If Malfoy wanted to kill him, he'd be easy pickings. But why kill him now if he'd just stopped his father from doing so? Why watch Harry be put through Cruciatus for hours if he meant to save him in the end? Why kill his father, for God's sake?

"Don't worry about it, Potter," Draco told him, and kicked the corpse. "He had it coming a long time ago."

"You killed your father." Harry spat, almost incredulous, and Draco gave him a toothy grin.

"And I'm going to blame you for it. It's rather a neat little package, really."

"Voldemort will believe you?"

"Not necessarily. It doesn't matter; he likes us picking off the weak like this. It's his way of cleansing the Death Eaters. Only the strong survive." Draco started to pat down the body, taking some papers from inside Lucius' robes and slipping them into his own. As Harry watched, he divested his deceased father of a money purse, some loose change and his wand, which he broke in two and flung into a nearby pile of rubbish. "Oh, and we're even now."

"You killed your father." Harry repeated, beginning to wonder if he was in shock.

"Not everyone gets to be happy families, Potter," Draco told him sharply. "My father only bothered with me when he had a use for me. I suppose he thought inducting me into the fold after fourth year would make me forget the fact I barely existed to him for most of my life. He was wrong."

Harry chuckled hollowly, unable to stop himself. "You really know how to bear a grudge."

"Might want to think about that," Draco murmured almost under his breath, before turning and walking away, leaving Harry alone in the back end of a Southwark laneway, the rapidly cooling corpse of a Death Eater on its back next to him.

3.

It was raining again. Harry could hear it, every single bloody raindrop splattering on the thick canvas of the tent he'd been stuck in. There was also a steady dripping from that same canvas where the weight of the rain caused it to bulge downwards in the middle. It could have been stopped with a simple spell, but Harry figured such considerations were hardly going to be wasted on the tent the Death Eaters used to house their prisoners, since typically the prisoners didn't have to worry about being kept there for long, on account of them ending up dead soon, and all.

There were no sounds coming from outside, apart from the constant patter of the rain. Voldemort was apparently supervising things in the north country, but Harry had been assured by Terence Higgs, who was apparently in charge of this district of DE-controlled Manchester that he would be arriving in the morning to take personal care of Harry himself. Harry didn't really like the sound of that, but he didn't seem to have much choice. There were wards on the tent itself preventing anyone from apparating, he'd been bound with rope around his wrists and ankles, wrists tied behind his back, and bundled up in the corner on a leash so he couldn't even wriggle far. Dementors patrolled the grounds, and the most annoying thing of all was that Higgs had left Harry's wand next to the lamp that was the sole source of illumination in the tent, just to taunt him.

He'd fucked up in allowing himself to be caught that afternoon. He'd really fucked up by being unable to save Ginny or Cho, who'd been considered not important enough to keep alive for further use, so their bodies had just been dumped in the Mersey, and Harry had been carted off, half-dead from the number of Stunning Spells they'd used to bring him and his rage to heel.

There was a rustle from the canvas flap that was the makeshift doorway and Harry raised his head to see what it was. Of course, being on his side, lying on dirt, his glasses smudged, didn't make for the best view. He fully expected Higgs to have returned to gloat, or one of many Death Eaters who'd been stationed in the area to have a little fun with him before Voldemort arrived. Higgs had already paraded him about a bit before marching him into the tent and tying him up, crowing about how his patrol had managed to capture the infamous Harry Potter, scourge of Voldemort and the one who'd gotten Lucius Malfoy, amongst others.

Harry could barely make out anything little more than a pale blur through his dirty glasses, but he recognised the voice immediately. "Slumming it, Potter? This doesn't really look like your style of décor."

Harry laughed, loud and somewhat broken. Malfoy was nothing if not constantly predictable. "Oh, well, you'll have to excuse me. Sadly, Higgs didn't let me redecorate."

The blur moved closer and slipped off his glasses, tapping them with a wand and murmuring a cleaning charm before slipping them back on his face a bit roughly. Harry blinked, finally able to see Malfoy, his pointed face all too close. He looked older; older than he should considering they were both seventeen now, but then Harry figured he probably did too, and it was a daft thing to quibble about when he was going to die in the morning. "Come to gloat, Malfoy? That would be your style."

"I've actually come to set you free, Potter, but if you'd prefer, I could gloat."

Harry didn't trust him for a minute, but then he didn't have a choice. "Really."

"Really." Draco replied, nodding, and his hands slid down Harry's shoulders and arms, lingering oh so slowly. He was close enough that Harry could see the amused sparkle in his eyes. "Don't worry," Draco assured him, leaning into Harry's ear as his fingers began to pick at the knots, "I won't sully your body or anything."

"I see you've got over your worries about being a pervert," Harry murmured, and waited till Draco untied his ankles before he punched him in the face.

While Draco was busy clutching at his nose, his eyes spitting daggers at Harry, and his voice distinctly glottal and nasal as a result - "You fahk, Pottah. Wot did you do thet fir?" - Harry was already hobbling over on one wonky ankle to grab his wand, and trained it firmly on Draco.

"Well, you know, there's that little thing about you being evil and all," Harry told him, voice surprisingly smooth.

Draco lowered his hands from his face, ignoring the blood that was still streaming from his nose. He sniffed a bit, and bent over to grab his own wand, which he'd dropped into the dirt after the punch. His voice was becoming easier to understand with each word. "Yes, and you're so good, aren't you? I heard what you did to Bellatrix Lestrange, that was no act of kindness-"

"I didn't kill her, did I?"

"No, you just let your friends put what was left of her in St. Mungo's. I hear she screams whenever she's not sedated, just screams and screams and screams and claws at herself." Draco's voice was cutting, filling Harry's head, and Harry raised his hands to his ears as if he could block out the truth of Draco's words. "I don't think anyone's even worked out exactly what you did to her, and if you wanted any sort of proper treatment for her, you would have told them-"

"She deserved everything she got!" Harry almost screamed, lowering his hands again, wand shaking as he trained it back on Draco. "It's because of her Sirius is-"

"Oh, go tell someone who cares, Potter. The little suffering martyr act won't cut it with me. You had a chance to redeem what you did to her, but you let her suffer because you want her to suffer, plain and simple."

Harry changed the subject. "Why did you bother saving me?"

"I don't really like Terence Higgs, Potter. I never especially did. He's in charge of this district, and following my father's...unfortunate passing, I got placed under his command. I don't fancy obeying his orders, either. Now, if you manage to scurry along like a good little hero and escape, he gets blamed. And killed as painfully as our Lord can devise, unless he's too busy." Draco smiled. "He usually isn't though. Voldemort will always clear his schedule for a bit of torture."

"You're using me to pick off the Death Eaters you don't like!" Harry was incredulous. "I'm your scapegoat as you climb up the ranks."

"You do have a brain. Fascinating. Now scarper, before we get discovered. I've managed to take care of the Dementors, but your window of opportunity is fast closing."

Harry shook his head, and decided to at least make a break for it. If Malfoy was lying to him, he'd die just as surely as if he stayed here. He made his way to the tent flap, hearing footsteps behind him.

"Potter?"

Harry turned, finding Draco barely a foot away. Startled he began to fall back, only to be easily caught when one of Draco's arms curled around his waist, bringing him tightly against Draco's body, and all the air was knocked out of him. Harry swallowed, suddenly nervous. He hadn't really been this close to anyone since Cho.

"I never answered your question," Draco pointed out.

"My what?"

"Your question. About me getting over the fact I thought certain things were perverted. I was, in the end, just trying to please my father. That proved impossible, so I killed him instead."

Harry was in the process of responding when Draco kissed him, pulling on his lower lip with his teeth. Harry was so shocked it took him several moments to remember he should be pushing Draco away, and he did, hand flat against Draco's chest.

"You should probably be going now, Harry," Draco told him calmly, and Harry was so enraged by Draco's calm that he decked him one more time before fleeing into the wet night.

4.

The scuttlebutt made its way through the offices of the Order of the Phoenix. Hermione always used to say that the one thing that could travel faster than light was gossip, and Harry never found a reason to question her. But as it had come to the Order by three independent sources - Snape amongst them - Harry didn't dare doubt its veracity. Draco Malfoy had been imprisoned by the DEs for treason and he was due to be executed in the morning.

Harry didn't know why Draco had been charged, or exactly how he'd slipped up, but from the moment he heard the news he realised suddenly, shockingly, he didn't want Malfoy to end up dead. For all that Malfoy was a self-centred manipulative arrogant fucker, he'd saved Harry's life at least once, and there was a part of Harry which believed he owed him for that. Of course, the rest of the Order's inner council never would have approved a rescue mission on Draco's behalf - too risky, and a completely inefficient use of manpower, as Hermione would have told him in great detail if he'd bothered to raise the subject with her.

So, of course, he didn't, and under the pretence of going to check on the border wards on the passages leading from upside - the Order had moved into the old Ministry area underground - Harry managed to bypass all the usual security that would have stopped him from doing something as stupid as attempt a rescue mission deep in Death Eater territory solo. He knew where they were holding Draco, of course, and clutching only his wand and his old invisibility cloak bundled under one arm he crept along back alleys, climbing up iron fire escapes and made his way cautiously over the rooftops of East London in the hours after midnight.

It took him two, perhaps three hours, or so he figured, beginning to rain steadily about half way there. Harry swore under his breath and quickly muttered the charms that made him, his clothing, and his glasses resistant to the rain, although by the time he managed to do it his glasses had already fogged up and he was damp in places. Finding a dry bit of robe, he clumsily wiped them before realising he had other means to utilise and cleaned them with a spell before continuing.

The Death Eater complex was a largely abandoned office building, all modern steel and glass. Harry supposed it appealed to Voldemort's sense of vanity, or progress. It wasn't higher than the surrounding buildings, and the whole district was closely packed together, so Harry was able to leap over the six story drop and land on the top of the complex, coming out of a roll in the process. A quick survey over the rooftop, and Harry was thanking God for Muggle architecture and rooftop access. Donning the cloak, he opened the door with alohamora, and charmed it shut again before peeling open the access to an air vent and shimmying inside, closing it behind him. If they were anything resembling intelligent, there would be wards on all the external doors; Harry had just sent them down the garden path, as it were, and while they were roaming about, distracted looking for someone who wasn't quite there - or at least not where they expected him to be - it should give him time to find Draco. Harry could hear people racing around the building, steps echoing throughout the ventilation system as he continued to slowly make his way forward, glancing into room after room.

It took much searching, and Harry saw a lot of things he really didn't want to see in the process. By the time he finally glanced into what looked like a tiny storeroom, almost a closet, really, and saw a familiar pointed, pale shape, he was tired and aching, bruises and bumps and scrapes making him very aware of his humanity, prophecies be damned. Harry took the cloak off his shoulders, bunching it up under an arm again, and kicked the vent cover out with his feet, taking a grim pleasure from Draco's resulting squawk of surprise as he pushed himself out of the constricted space, landing shakily on his feet.

"We really have to stop meeting like this."

"Potter!"

"You recognised me, Malfoy, I'm impressed. Was it the scar? Tends to be a bit noticeable."

"What the fuck are you doing?" Draco hissed at him in the dusky illumination of what was rapidly looking more and more like a storage cupboard.

"Saving you, stupid. Don't know why I bother, really, if you're going to be ungrateful." Harry took the time to glance around the cupboard. "Ah. Now I'm getting reminded of home, how sweet." He moved over to the door, placing his finger across his lips to shush Malfoy, and tapped it open with a quiet incantation, taking a peek outside before closing the door.

"Right, the coast's clear. Get behind me and put your hands on my hips."

"What?"

Harry glared, and shook the cloak out. "Invisibility cloak. If you spoon close enough up behind me, we can both wear it and get out of here."

Draco grumbled further, but he settled his hands on Harry's hips, surprisingly warm, and curled up against him as Harry lifted the cloak up and over the both of them, looking down to check if the cloak covered the both of them down to their toes. It did, and Harry was grateful for whatever reason it didn't rustle against the floor as they tiptoed out of the door and down the corridor, ever so slowly.

The escape from DE headquarters was possibly the most nerve-wracking experience of Harry's young life, and that was saying something, considering his tendency to go toe to toe with the Dark Lord on a semi-regular basis. Once they finally managed to get out of the fire escape and onto the marbled expanse of the lobby, Draco sighed in relief, and Harry poked him with an elbow to let him know it wasn't over yet. He could almost feel Draco's scowling fury as he held in the slight grunt of pain rather than give them away, and Harry grinned to himself. This did have some advantages, after all.

Inching across the lobby floor seemed to take an eternity, but finally they made it out into the early hours of the morning, dawn about to break judging from the pale glow in the sky. They moved as one, still cautious, making their way past the surly Death Eaters who'd been placed on patrol - from what Harry had heard, the Dementors had started turning against Voldemort himself, all too eager to suck the soul out of humans no matter what their allegiance, and so the Dark Lord was using them less and less. The explanation didn't especially matter considering the result was the same - and a few blocks away two figures emerged out from a veil of nothingness, finally able to breathe deep and normally again.

Barely stopping for a beat, Harry took out his wand and scouted round the corner. "Follow me," he hissed back, and amazingly enough, Draco complied.

It took them perhaps another hour to get them where Harry wanted to go, the battered expanse of Number 12, Grimmauld Place shuddering out from between the houses on either side. Once the Order had been officially sanctioned by the Ministry and moved to their current locale, Harry had been given Sirius' old house, now clean and restored, at least on the inside, for his own private base of operations. After the Dursleys had been killed by a squad of Death Eaters, even Dumbledore agreed it was the safest place for him to be, now.

"What is this place?" Draco asked, sounding put out as usual.

"My home," Harry replied dryly, opening up the front door with a key that was charmed to only work for him, and stepped inside. "Breakfast?"

The only sound was of Draco's stomach grumbling loudly, and Harry chuckled, moving down the passageway and into the kitchen. "I'll take that as a yes then. My bedroom's up on the first floor; feel free to change into something of mine if you want, it should fit."

There was the typical whinging grumble in response, but sure enough, when Harry called out that breakfast was on the table, and heard trooping steps in response, Draco Malfoy stepped into the kitchen wearing an old green turtleneck of Harry's and a pair of black jeans. His eyes widened slightly at the spread Harry had prepared for them both: plates of toast, rashers of bacon glistening with fat, eggs sunny side up and pancakes drizzled with honey and jam. It was probably enough for three people, but Harry liked to lose himself in the act of cooking and so he hadn't really cared.

Polishing it off took some time, but in the end all the plates were scraped clean and stacked in the sink, leaving two rather bloated looking young men idly staring at each other across the kitchen table. Harry was the first to move, raising himself from his seat with a slight grunt, thumbs curled over the table edge. "I should probably get going; the others will be wondering where I am. You can let yourself out."

Draco regarded him coolly, and didn't move. "That's placing a lot of trust in me, Potter, letting me roam about in your inner sanctum unguarded."

Harry shrugged. "Seems pretty stupid to go to the effort of rescuing me that one time if you're going to stab me in the back now."

"Maybe it's all a part of my secret plan."

Harry laughed. "Don't insult my intelligence. You might be fucked up, but you're not that fucked up." Turning, he made his way towards the doorway, arrested by the sound of Draco's voice.

"Potter?"

Harry turned, slowly, and resisted the impulse to hit him. "Yes?"

"Why did you rescue me?"

"Out of the goodness of my heart," Harry deadpanned.

It was Draco's turn to laugh. "Really, now."

"Because if you died, well. Who else would I manage to bicker and have unresolved sexual tension with?" Harry quickly walked out and down towards the front door before Draco could reply, grabbed his wand and let the door bang behind him.

Harry returned that night to a darkened, lonely house, after giving Hermione some bullshit excuse that she didn't believe, and even worse, sticking to it in the face of her increasingly hostile inquisition. He was both tired and wired at the same time, the anger curling through his veins. There was a note on the kitchen table, and someone had washed the dishes and put them away.

Potter. I'm going to live out the War in some place where people don't want me dead. D.

P.S. You're actually not that bad a cook. I'm impressed.

Harry scrunched up the note and threw it in the bin, idly wondering if he should start searching in Antarctica, considering that all Draco had to piss off there were the seals, and perhaps the occasional homicidal penguin.

5.

The War ended, as everyone knew it would eventually. Harry defeated Voldemort, and made sure he died properly this time. The Death Eaters broke up, and most of them surrendered, apart from a few who continued to launch isolated attacks on the Ministry and those who had fought against the Dark Lord, but even that nuisance was dealt with in time.

Six months after the War was finally declared over, Draco Malfoy came out of hiding, and was predictably arrested by Aurors for crimes against humanity perpetrated during the War. He was placed on trial, and everyone expected him to be sentenced like every other former Death Eater and shoved in a cell for the rest of his natural life where he couldn't embarrass the civilised wizarding world with the folly of his former allegiances. When the date came for testimony to be heard in his defence, Harry Potter sat in the stalls for the audience and watched as Severus Snape, former Potions Teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, gave testimony in Draco's favour. Certainly, as a member of the Death Eaters, Draco had been ordered to carry out a number of horrible acts, and he had carried each one out to the best of his abilities. However, Snape revealed that Draco had discovered Severus passing on information to the Order not three months into the War, and hadn't said a thing. The intelligence that Snape continued to gather under Voldemort's very nose had proved to be invaluable in the Dark Lord's downfall, not to mention Snape's own gratitude regarding his continued existence. The next witness for the defense was called to approach the stand: to everyone's surprise, it was Harry Potter.

Harry swore solemnly to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, taking the required dose of Veritaserum that was common place in war trials now, and told the court how Draco had saved his life not once, but twice to the general consternation of the members of the public present. The presiding judge banged her gavel and called for order once Harry's testimony was over, and now excused, Harry moved back to his seat in the stalls.

After an hour's deliberation, the panel of judges called the court back into session, and decided that Draco Malfoy was to be held in custody for a further three months and then set free, as he had already spent nine months in prison awaiting trial, and taking into consideration the acts he had committed in the Order's favour, last but not least of which was actually leaving the War when he did and not betraying the trust that Harry Potter had placed in him. In addition, he would be expected to pay a set bond from the Malfoy family trust to the Ministry rebuilding fund in reparation for his crimes, and have a free citizen vouch for his behaviour with their own word.

Harry volunteered. When he looked at the dock, Draco grinned wolfishly back at him.

Three months later, and Harry was still living in Number 12, Grimmauld Place. He'd managed to get a job with the Aurors hunting down what remnants of Voldemort's forces were still making trouble, and the hours and job description suited him, allowing him to live a solitary, quiet life in the old house. Hermione didn't visit much, and Ron even less. About the only people who paid him any regular attention now were Snape and Remus, although Harry sometimes thought Remus only visited to pay his respects to the ghosts of his own past.

Venturing out onto the cold London streets, Harry made his way quickly to the new Ministry building in the Docklands. It was raining again, but Harry had an umbrella. Finding the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he signed the requisite papers releasing one Draco Malfoy into his custody. Two Aurors portkeyed Draco over between them, and he looked even thinner after the stint in prison, gaunt and somewhat haggard, his skin waxen and hair limp, although his grey eyes were just as hungry as ever.

They didn't say a word to each other on the way back, preferring a silence that was surprisingly comfortable between them. Harry slid the key into the front door, pushing it open with a grunt, and winked at Draco over his shoulder. "You saw me sign the papers, Malfoy. You're mine now."

Draco shut the door behind them, looking around the landing as if trying to acquaint himself more properly with the house that could very well become his home. "Really, Potter. How enthralling for you."

Harry made them both cups of tea and they settled in the kitchen again. "You've been forbidden to return to Malfoy Manor without an escort, in case there's some kind of family cache of Dark Arts equipment we don't know about," Harry mused, sipping his tea. "And I've got your wand upstairs, but it's been peace bonded, so you can't use it until the Ministry says so. Which they won't until I tell them you've been a good boy long enough for you to be trusted."

Draco set his tea down without tasting it and looked Harry straight in the face. "What do I have to do for that to happen?"

"Be a good boy," Harry told him, looking down at the table as he added more sugar to his tea. "One question, though. Why didn't you stay and help?"

"Because I'm not your bloody lapdog," Draco snorted. "Not yours, not Voldemort's, not my father's. Don't get me wrong, Potter. I think Mudbloods dilute wizarding culture horribly, and ruin centuries of tradition and heritage that we've built up. I don't really see the point in killing them, though, it's not worth the effort. In the end, I wasn't about to take over the world for anyone else but myself." He raised the mug to his lips, blowing cool air over the surface, one eyebrow arched as he waited for Harry's reaction, and took a swig of his tea.

"Right." Harry sighed, and finished off his cuppa. "Anyway. Accomodation. We could find you somewhere to live, and you can certainly afford it what with your holdings and the like, but I'd rather you stay here. With me."

Draco's hand shook almost imperceptibly, and he quickly settled the mug down on the kitchen table. "What about rather cutting your right hand off than touching me?"

Harry grimaced, and pulled his sleeve over his right hand, waggling it at Draco. "Better?"

"Quite."

Once tea was done, they largely avoided one another, Harry making room for Draco in his own bedroom, and Draco pottering about the house to see what it was like. After a few hours' worth of backbreaking effort involved in sorting his stuff out, a time during which Draco only poked his head in once or twice, and smirking, refused to help, Harry took a shower, relaxing under the hot steamy water, and began to clean himself down with the soap.

The shower door rattled open behind him. Harry turned, and there was Draco, just as naked as one would have to be, really, to have a shower. Harry just grunted, and turned back, letting Draco take the soap from his hand and wash down his back, Harry's own hands moving behind to slide across Draco's hips and clutch gently at his arse.

"All clean," Draco drawled after a while, and Harry turned under the jet of hot water, grabbing the soap back and lathered his hands up, one arm wrapping round that thin waist to draw Draco in close against him, soapy fingers sliding between Draco's buttocks to press against his entrance, and Harry found he liked the way Draco moaned against him.

Draco nipped at an earlobe, his own hands moving up Harry's body, one brushing a wet fringe of black hair out of his eyes. "Do you regret what you did to Bellatrix Lestrange?"

Harry considered the question for a moment. "No."

Draco kissed him lightly, on the lips. "Good."

Pressing Draco quickly against the tilted wall, face forward, Harry positioned himself and slid in with a single thrust, shuddering at Draco's tight heat surrounding him. He reached around and stroked Draco, his own breath hissing in Draco's ear as he fucked him deep and steady. Once they'd both been brought to climax, Harry pressed a gentle kiss just under Draco's ear, and pulled out, turning Draco around and bundling him into his arms. Draco had bitten so hard down on his lower lip that it was bleeding, and Harry sucked on it, tongue lapping against the bite marks, tasting the copper flat tang of Draco's blood. They cleaned themselves off under the water, and stepped out, taking turns to help each of them dry, not needing to say a word between them.

Later that night, Harry was sitting on a couch in what he figured used to be a drawing room, Draco curled up with his head in Harry's lap, Harry's fingers idly playing with the blond strands of his hair. Harry stretched a bit, turning his head, and moved his hand from Draco's head to pull back the thin cotton curtain that covered the window.

"I think the rain's stopped." Harry observed.

Draco ran a hand up Harry's left leg to pat his knee. "About time."