Becoming

Author's Note: Many thanks to my beta Robert and to my dear friend Laurel for requesting it!

January 3rd, 1999

There I sat, shackled and caged like I was some kind of wild beast. I didn't have my wand and I was surrounded by Aurors and the Wizengamot, what in Merlin's name did they think I would do?

But it mattered very little to them how humiliated I was. I'm sure they all felt it was the least I deserved, son of notorious Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, and all around terror to one Harry James Potter. Though, truth be told, I'd seen neither hide nor hair of him since I gave him the ring to summon me by.

The truth of it was that everyone with even a minor association with the Dark Lord was being hauled off to Azkaban, and it could be said that my association with him was rivaled only by his closest Death Eaters. He lived in my house, he threatened my mother, he marked my father, he murdered several people right before my eyes, all with a twisted cackling smile that I couldn't stop having nightmares about.

I hated the Dark Lord more than any of these people could claim because I had known him more intimately. Just as Potter was their hero for killing the wretched creature, he was mine as well. Not that I'd ever admit that to him, mind you.

At any rate, it didn't seem like I'd ever get the chance, as it seemed my fate as the recipient of the Dementor's Kiss was only moments away. I looked around the room at all the unfriendly faces staring down at me and I wondered what it would feel like to have my soul stolen from my body.

My father had been sentenced the day before. He was to receive the kiss at week's end and I wondered if I would be there with him, or if I would be in an Azkaban cell awaiting my own demise. The older man had made plenty of mistakes in his life, but he had been a decent father, particularly at the end of things, and I would always love him. A Malfoy is owed better than a limp and soulless existence, but such is the way of things after a war when you support the wrong side. I was only lucky that my family wasn't further up the list of those brought before the Wizengamot. Pansy's parents had been sentenced weeks before I was even summoned to the Ministry for my first hearing.

My mother would be at the prison ceremony at least, so that father didn't die alone. She had been tried the day before and released based upon a testimony that they refused to release to the public. I wept for them both, angry and sorrowful tears for my father and tears of relief for my mother. I don't think I could have borne having them both ripped away from me at once.

Though I might still have no choice.

The only thing I had been hoping might work to my favor was that most of the tragic deeds I performed for Voldemort were done before I was of age, but that argument had been thrown out the window at once when someone noted that Potter was only eleven when he first stood against the Dark Lord. No one seemed to note the fact that not everyone was Harry Potter: not everyone was abnormally brave and valiant and foolhardy. Some of us just wanted to live to see another day and not to have their own mother tortured and killed right before their very eyes. But there was no use getting bitter about it.

I learned a long time ago that the world could stand for a change, but that I couldn't be the one to facilitate it. Not that I thought Voldemort had the right answers by any means, but there was something to his general message that we with the magic should not have to cower to those without.

But then, at the moment, I was without.

The silence of the room wasn't lost on me, and every moment I sat there - trembling like an idiot despite my inner lectures on how a Malfoy should never show weakness or emotion to someone who wishes you harm, which, for a Malfoy, is everyone - I could see the gaping black maw of death opening in the darkness above the heads of the Wizengamot, and it just kept opening up wider and wider.

It wasn't until I looked around at the faces of the jury who would seal my fate that I began to truly panic. There were only three that I recognized among the seething horde, and they were all associates of my fathers, not even my own. If they couldn't get my father released from his sentence then what chance did I stand?

None.

Then the doors burst open and two figures strode into the room, one looking as though he had a great and noble purpose, and the other clinging to his hand as she tried to pull him back out of the courtroom.

Potter, for it was unmistakably the raven-haired wizard that saved us all from that madman, Voldemort, marched up to the center of the gathering and ignored the girl prying at his arm.

The girl was the youngest Weasley child, a brazen young woman who looked furious with Potter for being there, which made me curious as to what his purpose was in interrupting my hearing.

"Harry," she hissed viciously. "Just leave it; he deserves what they give him."

His vibrant green eyes flicked to mine then, holding so much wisdom to contrast with the age of his skin. You would scarcely believe he was barely a man if you only caught a glimpse of those emerald pools. They made him seem bolder, more confident and in charge, especially if you ignored the simpering girl that clung to him.

Potter was determined, I could see that easily enough by his stance, his legs slightly parted and his right hand wrapped tightly around a wand I had never recalled seeing. His dark eyebrows were lowered so that he appeared almost angry, but I knew from the years I had spent studying the boy that he was merely annoyed and uncomfortable so he tried to ward people away with his expression. Though I never knew if it was intentional or not.

Under his plain black robes peeked out a well tailored suit of gray pinstripes and a black shirt and tie. It was odd to imagine this man, who I felt like I knew so well at one time, standing before me like a stranger. His hair was cut and fell haphazardly around his features, covering his scar, but not looking disheveled and only half groomed as it had when we were in school. He wore no glasses, which I was partially glad for because it allowed me to see his eyes more clearly and partially angry about, because Potter was a mess of symbols, to the people and to myself, and one of those symbols were the round spectacles he wore every day, which never seemed to fit him right.

He gave me the weight of his gaze, as if measuring me for something that I could never understand, but as soon as he bit into his bottom lip, I smiled. I knew then that he was there for me, and sure enough he rounded on Ginevra and shook her off of his arm, sending her to the other end of the room to stand next to the Aurors in a huff.

Afterward he turned to the Judges' balcony and addressed the new Chief Warlock Percy Weasley, and the Minister himself; Kingsley Shacklebolt.

The Minister eyed Potter warily, and didn't look keen on his being there at all, while Percy nodded in polite greeting and sat back in his chair as if he knew exactly what it was Potter was about to say.

"I've come to address the court directly as it seems my testimony has done little good toward Malfoy's release," Potter announced, his shoulders set and his eyes narrowed.

"We took your testimony into consideration, Mr. Potter, and it has already garnered one of the Malfoy family their freedom," Kingsley told him firmly. "I wouldn't be too pushy when it comes to this matter. We've already allotted the Malfoy family with fringe benefits that most Death Eater's and their families would kill for.

I could see Harry's jaw clench and he brushed a hand through his hair, pushing it back in a gesture that seemed casual, but the fact that it revealed the lightning bolt scar in stark contrast on his otherwise unmarred face, made me wonder if it was a purposeful move.

Kingsley seemed to wonder the same, but there was no denying it had achieved its effect, as the courtroom began to stir and whispers began to float as to why Harry Potter, savior of us all, would be there to try and free none other than Draco Malfoy.

"Do I need to remind you of our terms, Minister?" Potter asked, as he spat the man's title like it was something foul and poisonous.

The Minister huffed and closed his eyes briefly, but when he opened them again his jaw was set and his eyes sparkled with defiance. "I think that letting Narcissa Malfoy go, free of any and all charges, as well as delaying their sentence for over six months should be sufficient to call our bargain fair, Harry."

So it was him.

It was Potter that freed my mother, and Potter that had bought us these extra days. What didn't the imbecile understand about debts? I already owed him my life, now I would have to owe him my freedom? As far as debtors are concerned I couldn't have ended up owing a more honest bloke, but I didn't want to owe anything to anyone. Period.

I couldn't believe that I just had to sit back and watch as Potter unwittingly merged his fate ever closer to my own.

"Our terms were for the release of both Narcissa and Draco and a fair trial for Lucius, Kingsley," Harry replied with a smug grin that was not unbecoming on his handsome face. I thought it was additionally clever how Potter snuck in that he was not below the Minister by refusing his title. Not many would have the gall to do such a thing in the middle of the Wizengamot.

"Harry," the Minister warned, but his tone fell short and even I could tell that he was afraid. It was almost humorous to think of the Minister for Magic was afraid of a boy, but this boy was to be feared no doubt.

"Should I enlighten the Wizengamot, as well as the reporters of our exact arrangement?" he asked, with challenging eyes, nodding to the small group of enthralled journalists with their quills hovering close by and scribbling furiously. "Or will you honor our agreement and let Draco go?"

He bartered something with the Minister on my behalf? It was impossible to imagine him doing such a thing, and completely unprovoked nonetheless. But then I suppose that was Potter's way. I never understood his unyielding kindness toward others, even people like me, who he stood nothing to benefit from with this stunt.

"I'm calling a recess," Kingsley announced. "I'll see you in my office, Mr. Potter and you as well, Mr. Weasley," he said, gesturing to Percy who followed him at once.

As Harry passed, I struck out through the bars of my cage and snagged the back of his robes. With a startled look he turned toward me, and though his face remained firmly set in a confidently determined demeanor, his eyes softened as they looked upon me.

With an annoyed looking wave, Harry disbanded the other Aurors that had gathered around us, most likely ready to stun him or worse if I tried anything unseemly.

"Are you okay?" he asked, before I could say a word.

"Are you daft?" I answered with my own question. "Why are you doing this?"

His face fell momentarily before resetting into his confident mask once more. "I'm getting you out of here," he told me. "You may be a prat but you don't belong in Azkaban."

I rolled my eyes and let go of his robes, fairly sure that he would stay until I shooed him away. "There are hundreds in the wizarding community who would disagree."

Harry smiled then, and it was bashful despite the smug words that followed. "I suppose it's lucky for you then that I'm the one they'll all be listening to."

I sighed and grabbed his shoulder once more, pulling him close to the bars so that I could better see his expression when I asked my next question. It would determine everything. "Why are you doing this?" I asked again, putting in my own gaze how serious I was that he be honest with me.

He grimaced.

More than that though, his face twisted slightly in several different directions all at once and I could see how conflicted he was."I have to," he said finally. "I don't know why, but it's important. I know it is and I know that you're not a killer."

I let out a breath I hadn't even known I was holding and nodded. "So, not because it's the right thing to do?" I asked, trying to remind him of his words from our last talk, and he shook his head vigorously.

"No... that's just it, I'm not sure it is the right thing to do, but I have to do it," he told me honestly, and it was then that I realized how honest Potter really was. He would never lie, not even to me. Not even to make someone feel better or to break bad news softly, and certainly not to protect himself... But maybe he would lie to protect someone else.

I was pleased with my new knowledge, and I smiled at him before shaking my head in mock dismay. "Off with you then," I told him. "Get back to work saving my arse. You're becoming quite the professional at it I might add," I told him teasingly.

He shot me a crooked grin and gripped the hand that still held his shoulder; it wasn't lost on me that my ring still adorned his finger. "I'll get this fixed. Don't worry," he whispered before striding off toward the door and ignoring the reporters all begging for a piece of him.

Hours ticked by and still no sign of Harry, but soon the Minister emerged with the Chief Warlock in tow and he called for everyone's attention. Afterward he remained silent, his lips pressed into a sour expression as Percy stood and addressed the Wizengamot.

"After hearing Mr. Potter's testimony and a retelling of the events of and leading up to the war, the Minister and I have renounced the charges against Draco Malfoy. He is to be released at once into Auror custody so that he may be safely returned to his home."

In the commotion that ensued after such a heated proposition I searched out the green eyes of my saving grace but found them nowhere. I wondered if he had felt his good deed done and vanished into the night like some Muggle comic book hero, though I couldn't imagine Potter as the spandex-wearing sort.

It was only moments afterward that the iron shackles were unlocked from my sore wrists and I was led from the cage in the center of the court into a small holding room down the hall and closer to the lift.

A wheezy old wizard with long silver hair met me inside the room and locked the door behind us. I rubbed at the torn skin of my wrists as I paced the room. The Auror never spoke and neither did I. It was only when I heard the door open again that I turned around to stare straight into those piercing green orbs once more.

"So you didn't disappear on me then?" I asked, shielding the happiness that I knew was all too evident on my face by bowing it slightly.

"Not yet," he answered; his voice tentative and strained.

I looked up then and saw Harry's eyes again, a new weight settled upon them and for some reason that struck me sharply to my core. "What is it?" I asked, not even sure why I cared, or why his wellbeing was suddenly important to me.

He merely shook his head and laced his arm through mine. "We've been given a temporary Apparition point to take us directly to your grounds," he said, gesturing to our linked arms. "Are you ready?"

All I could do was nod as he Apparated with me back to my own home, back to the Manor, my rooms, the beautiful gardens, and my mother. She met us at the gate: a towering structure made of old stone columns and wrought iron, and though she went first to me, pulling me in a tight embrace, her eyes were all for Harry. I had no idea what silent exchange they had between one another behind my back, and no doubt they would both deny it had even occurred, but I knew it did, because my mother was crying when I pulled back to look at her and Harry was walking away.

"Won't you stay for dinner, Potter?" I asked, calling to him across the rocky path. He shot me that crooked smile again, but shook his head.

"I should get back. Gin will worry," he replied. "See you around, Malfoy," he called back before apparating away with a sharp 'pop', and leaving me alone with my mother.

"I think you've made a very powerful friend," she told me as I walked beside her toward the looming marble doors that graced the entrance of our home. "Your father would be proud."

I laughed. It was a harsh nasally sound and I shook my head. "Potter and I will never be friends," I promised. "But for now I am content to have him as my ally."

A smile that I didn't recognize graced my mother's lips and she nodded. "If you say so, dear," she offered and refused to elaborate any further. I had no idea what was running through her cunning mind but I had an idea I wouldn't like it.

Though I suppose the important part was that I was free, and not some soulless prisoner in Azkaban, and I could appreciate the fact that I wouldn't like whatever it was my mother had planned for me.

I relished in that fact for some time, and tried to ignore the truth that my father would die in five days time. After that, it would just be me and my mother from that point on.

Author's Note: yes this story is going to skip forward a lot, though not such a drastic jump each time.