Issues

The nurse on call took one final look at his ankle and pressed around his rib cage, which tickled more than causing him any pain, before telling him to dress.

"You're as good as new, Mr. Potter. You can leave whenever you are ready."

"Thanks. But, please, call me Harry. I'm just plain Harry." He smiled at her as he pulled down his t-shirt. The nurse blushed and looked away, making a point of pretending to straighten the sheets, even though Harry was going to get out of the bed.

"Oh...uh...alright then. Harry."

"Would you mind passing my shoes, they're just behind you under the chair?" Harry asked, just wanting to go now, not oblivious to the plucking of her fingers at the sheets, and uncomfortable with the attention.

"Of course," she replied immediately, and bent to retrieve them.

Harry took the opportunity to toss back the sheets and swing his legs over the side of the bed. Quickly, he grabbed his jeans and jumped off the bed, pulling them on. He had just about got them done up, but was at least decent, when she turned and passed his trainers to him.

"Thank you," he said, taking them from her and sitting on the chair beside the bed to put them on.

As he was tying the last lace, there was a commotion at the door. He looked up and frowned as he saw Minister Scrimgeour backing through the door, holding up his hands and smiling. There were loud voices calling questions and the clicking of cameras and Harry groaned. He just wanted to get out of here, go and see Dean and then be on his way to the Ministry to get this thing with Malfoy done. Maybe then he'd have some closure and be able to have a normal life.

He and the Ministry had rarely seen eye to eye. He didn't trust them after Fudge had not believed Voldemort had returned, and nothing had changed since Scrimgeour had taken over. Harry grudgingly admitted that this new Minister had done a better job than Fudge, however the lack of support for the Order when Harry and his friends were researching and searching for the Horcruxes was disappointing. It did not dispose Harry towards feeling that he owed the Ministry anything at this point. He held his tongue though for the moment; they held Malfoy.

The doors closed and the room quieted without the ruckus of what Harry assumed were reporters camped outside his room, or following the Minister around. He hoped they were following the Minister, anyway. The last thing he wanted was to be hounded by reporters. He had done his job, they could all leave him alone now thank you very much.

"Harry, Harry, my boy, wonderful to see you up and about." Scrimgeour advanced towards him with his arms out, ready to shake Harry's hand, and pat him on the shoulder at the same time.

Tentatively, Harry took the hand and suffered the thumping on his back. "Minister."

"Congratulations, Harry, I knew you could do it!" continued Scrimgeour, still pumping Harry's hand and pounding him on the back. Harry coughed and tried to let go of the hand.

"What are you doing here, Minister?" Politicians and their bluff and bluster, Harry huffed.

"Came to congratulate you, didn't I? Heard you were being released today and I thought I'd give our hero a fitting discharge." Harry snorted. More like Scrimgeour wanted Harry to be the poster boy for the Ministry just like he had done two years ago. That was just not on as far as Harry was concerned. The Ministry could take as much of the credit as they wanted, he didn't care, but he was not going to confirm or imply that he had worked with them. Not bloody likely.

"Why?'

"People want to see you, Harry. You defeated Voldemort."

"Yes, but why do you have to be here?"

"I'm the Minister for Magic, my boy, and we have to show a united front."

"I don't think so. When did the Ministry ever stand behind me when I needed it?"

Scrimgeour frowned. "The Ministry was very lenient with you on a number of occasions, Mr. Potter, and may I remind you that at your request the Ministry is at this moment housing a traitorous Death Eater?"

"But that..."

"Who should be in Azkaban getting what he deserves," Scrimgeour continued, looking down his nose at Harry, who could feel the same old useless frustration rise in him. He honestly despised having to deal with people who treated him like a child. He had lost his childhood the moment Cedric had died beside him in the graveyard, cast as 'the spare' by Voldemort as if he were nothing. Well, he wasn't a child and he refused to be treated like one any more. His eyes narrowed and he thought for a moment.

"Yes, I agree with you, but who knows what might fall from my lips when talking to those reporters. They push and push and worry and never let things die. It would be such a shame should something 'inappropriate' slip." Harry caught the Minister's horrified look and decided to press his advantage, aware that no one came into power without some skeletons in the closet. He would have to take the time to discover just what those skeletons were...just in case. "If you don't like Malfoy being in the Ministry cells then release him into my custody. I think I can handle him. Besides, I only want him for a short time and then Azkaban can have him until his trial."

"I don't think that will be necessary." Scrimgeour looked in disbelief at Harry. "How would that look? A notorious Death Eater released into your custody? No..."

Harry held up his hand to stop him. "I'm not serious, Minister. What would I do with a Death Eater? I was merely highlighting the seriousness of this and how important it is for me to have some answers. I'll be seeing Malfoy this afternoon and then I will leave him in your capable hands."

"Quite."

The Minister looked obviously relieved and Harry wondered how much power he actually had. If he had pushed for Malfoy to be released into his custody, would the Minister have given in? He'd never abused the fact that he was apparently the only one who could defeat Voldemort, because he honestly didn't think he was. Nothing he had done in the last year had been a solitary effort and he knew definitely that he would not have been able to achieve anything were it not for the support and love and hard work of his friends, his family.

He turned to the Minister once more. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to leave unobtrusively and without all that rubbish that waits outside my door."

The Minister looked surprised. "But they're all waiting for you my boy!"

"They are?" Damn, he thought. Where were the twins when you needed them? Some dungbombs would work to clear the room pretty quickly.

"Most certainly. They all want a story from you."

"Well, they're out of luck. I'd rather be surrounded by a pack of blast-ended skrewts than face that lot!" Harry retorted, looking round the room for a stairwell.

"They deserve something, Mr. Potter. "

"Tell them what you like; they'll make up what they want anyway."

"I don't think..." he started, but Harry cut him off.

"I'd appreciate it if you would stay here for a few minutes and allow me to leave by the stairs. I'll be in contact with you after I have seen Malfoy." He had decided it might be best to make a complete escape from the hospital and come back to see Dean once all the reporters had left. Dean didn't need a horde of flashing cameras and twittering reporters around while he was trying to recover and come to terms with what had happened to him.

Taking the Minister's answering bluster as agreement, Harry slipped out the side door and down the stairs to the main lobby where he could Floo to the Ministry. The lobby was quite busy as family and friends of patients came and went. Harry supposed that there were quite a few more visitors than usual as many wizards had been injured in the final battle. Hopefully, he could get past them all and through the Floo before he was recognised.

He ducked his head in an attempt at hiding who he was, and made for the first clear fireplace, grabbed a handful of Floo powder and said loudly, "The Ministry of Magic." The familiar swirling took him away and before he knew it he was stumbling from the fireplace, sooty and slightly disoriented. There really ought to be a better way to travel when Apparating was out of the question, he thought irritably, brushing himself down and straightening his clothes. He'd never liked Floo travel, not since his first attempt had landed him in Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley.

As he headed past the wizard at the desk and checked in his wand, he couldn't help but notice the smiles on people's faces, and the relaxed atmosphere. It was so much different from the last time he had been here, when the security had been much tighter and most had the worried, harried look of those with important things on their mind. Many stopped to congratulate him, now, and shook his hand so much that he wondered how politicians managed to shake hands with people all day and still retain feeling in their hands.

He just smiled at them, shook their hands and extricated himself as fast as he could, finally making it into a lift and pressing the button to take him down to the lowest level of the building where the holding cells were located.

There were two Aurors guarding the entrance to the cells. Arnold Hoxley, a young wizard of perhaps twenty-five, dark haired and eager. Built with a body that Harry imagined was much like that which Goyle would have grown into, but quite a bit more intelligent. A good man to have backing you up. The other Auror, Patrick Coghill, was much older, a hard looking man with sandy greying hair and a face that crinkled when he smiled. Harry had met both of them before and he gave them a grin.

"Harry." Hoxley smiled, extending his hand to Harry who took it and shook firmly, grimacing only slightly at the warning creaking of his fingers.

"Hoxley, Coghill, how are you two today?" he asked, moving to shake Coghill's hand as well.

"Good, good, Harry," Coghill replied, smiling his face into crinkles. "Well done, congratulations and all that. Knew you could do it all along."

"Thanks," Harry nodded. "I'm here to see Malfoy. I hope you still have him here."

"Oh yeah, he's still here," Hoxley sniggered, giving Coghill a sideways glance which puzzled Harry. Coghill frowned at the other Auror, then turned to Harry.

"Yes, he's here. Filthy scum that he is." Coghill spat. "He should be in Azkaban with the rest of them." Harry just looked at him, privately agreeing but amazed that the sentiments seemed to be universally expressed.

"Right. Well, I'll just question him and then have him removed and out of your hair."

Hoxley handed him a clipboard and a quill. "You'll have to sign in." Harry took the quill and signed where indicated. He noticed that no one else had been in to see Malfoy.

"I'm the only one that's seen him then? He's not been interrogated by anyone?"

"No, Minister Scrimgeour gave explicit instructions that only you were to be allowed to question him."

"Okay. I hope he hasn't been too much trouble for you."

"Oh, no," sneered Coghill. "He's been very quiet, hasn't he, Arnold?"

Arnold Hoxley sniggered again. "Quiet as a mouse, Pat."

Harry nodded. "Right. Well, lead the way," he requested, and followed them down the corridor, standing back whilst they cast the unlocking charm on the door.

"We'll leave you here, Harry. Call if you need anything." Hoxley chuckled to himself and the two walked back to the main desk, leaving Harry at the door to Malfoy's cell. He took a deep breath, and opened the door, nervous now about facing his old school rival.

Harry stood in the open doorway and looked round the room. The cell was just the bare four walls, with a toilet and basin in one corner, a bed in another corner, and a small table and two chairs in the centre of the room. The only light was from two everburning candles; both set high in the wall, close to the ceiling.

As he looked towards the bed, he gasped in horror. Malfoy was lying on the bed, his face a mess of bruises. There was a large deep gash over one eye, which had bled into his hair and dried, streaking the blond a brownish colour. He could also see there was blood dribbling from one ear. His clothes had been stripped away and he was left only in thin prison pants that were filthy and covered in dried blood from cuts across the blond's chest. One arm was dangled over the side of the bed, hanging limply and there was a huge livid bruise on his side.

He moved quickly to the bed thinking as he did so, that he couldn't see that Malfoy was breathing.