The Debt

Notes: Goes AU just before the epilogue of Deathly Hallows and continues from there. This is an experimental piece I started to get into H/D again, which sort of got a dash of Skele-Gro and grew itself a plot. Or something. :P

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The Debt

There are four things every person has more of than they know: sins, debt, years, and foes.

- Persian proverb

When Harry walked back into the Great Hall, the sense of jubilation in the cavernous room was still overwhelming, celebrations spilling into the hallways outside; the high, enchanted ceiling shone down upon them, and happy, tear-streaked faces beamed with more than the light of a new day.

Ron waved him towards the table where the Weasley family was gathered; Harry nodded to say he'd be right there, and Ron and Hermione went ahead to join the Weasleys. Percy turned around, saw Ron and immediately reached out and pulled his younger brother into a fierce hug. Harry gazed at Percy, so much older and more worn that he remembered him when he was Head Boy; the Weasleys had lost one son, but at least they had found another.

Harry gazed across the Hall, and his eyes seemed to slide over the blur of people to single out on the three Malfoys, huddled together at the end of a table at the far corner of the Hall. They seemed oblivious to the joy and celebration bursting forth around them. They also didn't appear to be speaking to each other - they just sat there, and it was easy for Harry to slip through the throngs of people to get to where they were.

Lucius Malfoy was the first to raise his eyes when Harry halted, standing right in front of them.

Harry reached into his pocket - and when he withdrew his hand it was not the Elder Wand or his own newly healed wand he held, but the one of hawthorn and unicorn hair. As his fingers closed around the piece of wood, green light and golden flames flashed in Harry's mind; then they were gone and Harry was looking into the grey of Draco's eyes, staring up at him.

Harry raised his hand, pointing the wand directly in Draco's face.

He saw the flicker of fear in Draco's eyes; next to her son, Narcissa let out a little gasp.

Draco stared from the tip of the wand to Harry's face; he blinked rapidly, and Harry saw Draco's right hand clench in a useless fist. Harry knew that the Malfoys were wandless - Lucius's wand had been destroyed, Narcissa's lost in the cursed fire in the Room of Requirement, and Draco's was now steadily held in its former owner's face.

"Potter," Lucius began; the humbled tone in his voice was oddly satisfying. "Please - it is over - there's no need -"

"Stand up," Harry said, his eyes not leaving Draco's, and Lucius Malfoy fell silent.

Draco bit down on his lower lip as he got to his feet. Harry tilted his wrist a little upwards so the wand was still pointing squarely at Draco. He stared at the pale, pointed face that had sent so many emotions through him before: anger and loathing and dark satisfaction, and more recently, pity, even sympathy.

He thought about how Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle had ambushed them in the Room of Requirement, still defiant, how they'd nearly burned them all alive; then Draco blinked once and Harry remembered how Draco had stared at the floor and refused to positively identify them when they were hauled into Malfoy Manor as Greyback's captives; he recalled the look on Draco's face in the mirror in the girls' bathroom, streaked with tears and disbelief, and the vision of fear in Draco's eyes as he stared up at the lifeless, revolving body above the vast table; then, inexplicably, the warmth of Draco's body pressed against his back as the broom raced through the air, Draco's hands clawing his sides as if he would never, could never let go -

Harry took a step forward, bringing the tip of the wand within inches of Draco's face, pointing dead centre between his startled eyes. He felt Draco twitch and suck in a sharp breath; Narcissa let out a whimper.

"Your wand," Harry said, looking straight into Draco's terrified eyes.

Draco stared at him; he didn't move, his expression frozen as if someone had put a full body-bind curse on him and the force of Harry's eyes on him was the only thing that prevented him from simply keeling over.

Away in the periphery Harry sensed a hush fall over the circle of people just around them; on either side of Draco, Lucius and Narcissa were staring up at him with identical expressions of helplessness and fear.

With a quick flick of his fingers Harry flipped the wand over so that the handle was now facing Draco, the tip pointed at himself - a familiar direction, Harry thought wryly. Draco flinched away from the sudden movement, as if the wand would now spew curses at him from its other end.

"Take it," Harry said.

After a long moment Draco finally moved; he raised a trembling hand to grasp the stick in front of him. Harry released his hold on the wand the moment Draco's fingers closed around it. He took a step back, and then turned and started to walk away.

As he did, Harry allowed himself to wonder, for a wild, perverse moment, what might've happened if he had Crucio'd Draco with his own wand, right there in front of his parents' eyes. A dark part of Harry flickered to life as he recalled the satisfaction of watching Alecto Carrow twist and writhe under the curse; would Lucius and Narcissa have tried to stop him from hurting their son, even though they were wandless and surrounded by people who would dearly love to see them locked up in Azkaban for the rest of their lives?

Narcissa might have, Harry decided; she loved Draco, perhaps as Lily had loved Harry. And Lucius - he must have loved his son as well, if the Dark Lord had deemed it most painful, most effective to use Draco to punish Lucius's failings.

The truth was, Harry realised, he and Draco had something in common: parents who cared about them. The only difference was that Harry's were dead.

"Potter," came Draco's voice from behind him.

Harry stopped and looked around - to his surprise, he saw that he had barely taken a few steps from where he'd stood in front the Malfoys. His thoughts seemed to have taken greater strides; time and memories were strange this way, eternity happening within moments.

Draco moved forward; he drew level with Harry, and he was only slightly taller than Harry was. Harry saw the hawthorn wand, still clasped in Draco's right hand.

"Why?" came the quiet word, and they were so close Harry was sure nobody else heard Draco speak but him.

Harry looked at Draco, met his eyes.

"I don't know," he answered.

He was about to turn away again when Draco's hand darted out, catching him by the wrist and holding him back. From the side of his eye Harry saw Draco raise his hand - he tensed at first, and then he realised the wand was held, not poised, but at rest between thumb and palm. Draco's fingers reached out, as if to touch his cheek -

BANG! and suddenly Draco was flung away from him - Harry blinked and watched him fly through the air before crashing solidly into a bench about twenty feet away. Narcissa let out a scream, and she and Lucius rushed over to their son.

Harry turned to find Ron sprinting towards him, his face flushed, wand held out in front of him.

"Harry!" he panted. "Malfoy raised his wand - was about to attack you -"

"No!" Harry was torn between calming Ron and going to see if Draco, now obscured on the floor by the figures of his parents, was all right. "It's fine, Ron - we were just talking!"

"Talking!" Ron repeated, aghast, as if that were a completely alien concept. "But - he's not supposed to have a wand, how did he -"

"I gave it back to him," Harry cut in.

"What!" Ron grabbed Harry by the shoulders and shook his viciously. "Are you out of your mind - gave Malfoy back his - did he Imperius you, Harry?"

"No!" said Harry again, more loudly this time. "I just thought he should have his wand back. That's all!"

He turned away from Ron; but the spot where Draco had landed was now empty, and Harry looked up just in time to see Lucius and Narcissa hurrying toward the great doors of the Hall, supporting Draco between them.

"Everyone already thinks you're a hero, mate," came Ron's voice beside him. "You don't have to play nice with Malfoy - and just because you've suddenly got a bunch of extra wands doesn't mean you need to -"

Before Harry could take a step forward, there was a last glimpse of blond and the Malfoys were gone.

Next to him Ron was shaking his head and rolling his eyes to the sky, which was now bright, cloudless blue through the enchanted ceiling. Harry remained where he was for a moment; then he looked away from the entrance of the Hall and did not follow.

*

Several months later

Eve of Christmas Eve

The snow drifted down from the sky in white tufts to join the fluffy heaps already carpeting the wet ground. There was a definite air of lightness all around, a white gleam that seemed to shine from everywhere and make everything gleam with moonshine paleness.

Harry walked along the curving hedges until he finally drew to a halt in front of the wide wrought-iron gates of Malfoy Manor. He raised his eyes and gazed at the distant building that rose at the end of the long driveway - there was a certain air of old magnificence about the manor, a sense of past glory, and it gleamed like a tarnished black jewel against the white snow and slightly overgrown hedges that ran all around its perimeter.

That the Malfoys were allowed to keep their home, Harry knew, was no small feat, and probably more than they had ever hoped for. No one saw much of Lucius or Narcissa Malfoy these days, except when Narcissa sometimes appeared in the nearby town to buy food - no house-elves remained to do the job.

He reached out and pushed the iron gate open; it remained silent and opened with a creak. One of the Ministry's conditions of the Malfoys keeping the property had been that no enchantments were permitted to block entry to the premises. Ministry officials also had the right to make unannounced visits whenever they wanted, and they were to have full access to the house to make sure the Malfoys were staying reformed, as they had promised.

Harry trudged up the snowy driveway until he reached the front doorstep. The serpent knocker was still there, and he reached out and rapped it twice. Several moments later the door opened and Narcissa Malfoy stood in the doorway.

Narcissa looked the same; but there was something different about her since the last time Harry had seen her. Her sharp, delicate features had a certain tiredness to them, and she made Harry think a little of the Grey Lady, the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw - there, but not really.

Narcissa gazed at Harry with undisguised surprise.

"H - Harry Potter." She blinked a few times, and then seemed at a loss for words.

Arrogance and haughtiness were gone from her tone and her eyes, and now Harry realized why she and Lucius had begged so desperately to keep possession of and live in the Manor - it was the last stay of the glory they once had, all they had left.

Harry looked at Narcissa.

"I'm here to see Draco," he said. "Is he in?"

Harry saw a brief expression of uncertainty and panic in her eyes - but perhaps remembering the Ministry rule regarding unfettered access to the Manor, she seemed to think better of any objections. Harry had been at the Wizengamot during the Malfoys' trial; it was only on his testimony of how Narcissa had risked herself and lied to the Death Eaters on his behalf that the Malfoys had escaped imprisonment for their crimes.

"Yes, Draco is here." Narcissa stepped back and held the door open. "Come inside and wait, I'll get him for you."

Harry walked into the hallway as Narcissa closed the door, led him into the drawing room and then hurried up the marble stairs and disappeared from sight.

Harry looked around him, soaking in the distant familiarity of the room: Bellatrix had tortured Hermione on the rug not from where Harry was standing now, and his gaze settled on the spot where he had leapt over an armchair to wrest the wands from Draco. He raised his eyes and saw the restored chandelier hanging from the ceiling, a blunt edge to its gleam now; as Harry looked away from the jagged points of light he thought he saw the swiftly spinning glint of a silver knife flying through the air.

He shut his eyes. It was always the hardest, remembering those who had died for him, died to protect him. Voldemort had been right about one thing: too many people had willingly laid down their lives for him, and Harry still felt a pang of guilt to think of each one, their faces etched in his mind like names on a smooth headstone.

Footsteps coming down the stairs made Harry turn, and he saw Draco descending the steps. Draco looked thinner than before, which gave his pale cheeks a sunken appearance; his blond hair was slightly tousled and he was dressed in black robes over a plain white T-shirt and dark pants.

Draco walked across the foyer and came to stand in front of Harry. His eyes were hooded.

"What do you want?" he said.

The usual sneer of superiority was gone, along with the coldness and defiance that Harry had come to associate with those eyes of clear grey. Draco ran a hand through his hair, now longer and less sleek, and Harry noticed how bony and thin his wrist was.

Harry didn't need Mad-Eye's magical eyeball to tell that Narcissa and Lucius were lurking somewhere around, out of sight but watching them and, if they had anything like Extendable Ears, listening to the conversation.

Harry spoke.

"Why don't we go up to your room and we'll talk there," he said.

He was sure he caught a flicker in Draco's eyes - of what, he wasn't sure. Then Draco turned without a word and started for the stairs, which Harry took as his cue to follow. He trailed Draco up the marble steps onto the second floor, and they walked down a carpeted corridor that brought them to a grand-looking door carved with vines that looked like decorative runes.

Draco opened the door and Harry stepped inside. The bedroom was dim, a fragile snow light coming in through a single bay window on the far side. He gazed around the room, taking in the richly coloured, now slightly dulled woven tapestries on the wall, the dark green hangings framing an ornate four-poster bed; the ceiling above them was pale white, the colour of bone.

Draco had closed the door, although he was standing against it with his hand pressed behind him. He said nothing, just gazed at Harry like he was an intruder in his room. Harry didn't really feel that way, though; there was something darkly calm about being here alone with Draco, something in him that seemed to revel in this intrusion of privacy.

Harry looked around and his eyes fell on the nightstand, where a familiar wand lay. He walked towards it, and when he picked it up and stroked a finger along its length he could sense Draco tensing. The hawthorn wand felt comfortable in his palm, under his fingers; his hand closed around it and he remembered the very last time he had cast a spell with it.

He looked up at Draco, who was eyeing him holding his wand with a guarded expression.

"Serving you well?" Harry asked.

Harry caught a wary look dart across Draco's face. "It's - been all right."

Harry set down the wand, and he thought he felt Draco exhale and relax slightly.

"So," Harry said. "Are you coming back to Hogwarts? Slytherin is still one of the houses, in case you were wondering."

The restored school, now with McGonagall as Headmistress, had recently reopened in September, the start of the new term. All students were strongly encouraged to come back to resume their studies and take their examinations; children of Death Eaters, unless they were overage and themselves standing trial, would also be accepted back into the school.

It had been strange to go back to school again after all that had happened, but if there was one thing Harry wanted to be proud of, it was properly graduating from Hogwarts. All the teachers had returned to the positions they had held when Dumbledore was Headmaster - McGonagall, Transfiguration; Flitwick, Charms; Slughorn, Potions; Trelawney and Firenze, Divination; Sprout, Herbology; Hagrid, Care of Magical Creatures.

All of them had come back, except one. He would never return.

"What's the point?" Draco's tone was edged with contempt. "Herbology? Potting nasty plants that only want to eat people's hands off? And who needs Defence Against the Dark Arts classes anymore?"

"Voldemort wasn't the first Dark wizard in history," Harry replied steadily, looking at Draco. "And he certainly won't be the last."

Draco met Harry's gaze.

"I suppose you're asking me now - as a teacher."

Harry opened his mouth, and then halted. Before the start of term, when they'd asked him to hold the fort for the time being so classes could officially resume, Harry had hesitated only briefly before agreeing; even though he was himself also a seventh year student, completing his final exams.

"I'm just filling in until they can find someone who fits the job," Harry answered. "And since Severus Snape was the last Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher I had, it's an honour to take his place even just for a while."

Draco looked away at the mention of Snape's name.

"Well," he said. "I can't think of a single reason I would want to go back to Hogwarts."

"To take your exams and finish your education, if not anything else?"

"Right." Draco let out a sharp laugh. "Because qualifications are going to do me a lot of good with all the wizarding companies lined up to hire a Malfoy."

Harry had forgotten about that. The Malfoys, once an old, prestigious wizarding family that had inspired awe and fear in many, was now nothing more than a disgraced name. Draco was right; it would be nearly impossible to find work, not as the son of a formerly prominent Death Eater.

"Not everyone loves that place like you do, you know," Draco said; he was gazing pointedly past Harry's head at the window at the other end of the room.

Harry looked sharply at him.

"They cared about you," he shot back, a dangerous edge in his tone; he knew Malfoy knew who he was talking about. "They watched over you all the time you were there, so don't you dare talk about Hogwarts like - like being there never meant anything."

Draco didn't answer. In the silence that followed, it occurred to Harry that memories of Hogwarts might have been quite different for Draco. During the good times he had his gang of sycophants around him; but when he was practically living in the Room of Requirement, desperately wrestling with a task that seemed impossible, which he had to carry out on pain of his and his family's death, he did so alone.

"Do you like it?"

Draco's eyes now met his, and there was a new, dark-bright gleam in them.

Harry looked at him. "What?"

"Do you like it," Draco repeated; there was a suppressed tone in his voice now, making it more forceful. "That my family is in your debt because you convinced the Ministry to keep us out of Azkaban? Do you like walking through this house, knowing that it was only because of you they let us keep it and live here? Is this why you came here, to make sure we knew exactly how much we owed you - or is it - did you - do you want some sort of payment?"

Harry stared at Draco, who had blurted out the last sentence like he had been fighting it back all along.

"Payment?" Harry echoed, gazing at the blond boy pressed up against the dark wooden door. "What kind of payment could you possibly give me, Malfoy?"

"It depends. What kind of payment could you possibly want?"

Draco's words ran through him like a sword; Harry felt coldness flood through him, swiftly chased by a burst of heat. He felt like he was rooted to the spot, and he couldn't move as he watch Draco peel himself off the door and move closer, finally coming to a halt right in front of him.

Harry stared into eyes of slate and that was when he knew it was true, what he had known for some time now.

Something had changed: it was, quite literally, as if he had died and awakened as a new person who was the same, mostly - but not completely. It was like the way he had felt, walking toward the Forest to what he had been sure would be his death - in those last, precious moments it wasn't the big, obvious things that he clung to but the little things, the scent of the wind and the feel of the earth, the rustle of the leaves and the taste of rain.

And ever since he came back he'd felt the perceptible shift in focus - the big things faded to the periphery and it was little things he noticed and recalled, like the way his eyes had always searched for the head of blond sleek hair at the Slytherin table, and how his heart had skipped a beat in the Great Hall that day when Draco had raised his hand as if to touch his face, just before Ron had blasted him away.

Now Harry reached out and put his hands on Draco's face - he saw a glint in Draco's eyes but the other boy didn't move away. Harry's fingers pressed into Draco's skin, which felt cold to the touch, or maybe his hands were too hot.

Draco's voice was barely a murmur as he spoke again.

"Anything you want, Potter."

Potter. There was something mockingly familiar in the shape of his name and the way Draco spoke it, his features flickering in the slant of light falling across his face. And that little dark part of his mind suddenly reared up again: wanting, wanting to take, to possess, and Harry dazedly wondered if there was still some fragment of Voldemort inside him that hadn't been exorcised. He had looked at Draco through Voldemort's eyes, the way he was looking at Draco now, and it felt like there wasn't any difference at all.

Harry leaned in and pressed his mouth to Draco's.

He felt tension but there was no resistance and Draco was just there, standing completely still, his lips cold and inert, letting Harry kiss him - but it still felt wrong, like forcing a piece of a puzzle to fit, or pushing the like poles of two magnets together.

When Harry pulled back he found himself staring into Draco's eyes, blank grey stones on a pale face. Then Draco's hands reached for the fly of Harry's jeans, and Harry saw that Draco's fingers were trembling as he clasped the zipper and pulled it downward.

It took every ounce of willpower for Harry to shove Draco away.

Draco stumbled backwards and looked at him, stung; Harry stared at him and felt the hiss of arousal in his stomach like an uncoiling snake, and he felt the sudden urge to seize Draco and push him up against the wall and kiss him senseless, taste his mouth and hear the soft, gasped breath as Harry pushed his hips forward -

Harry raised his eyes to meet Draco's.

"I don't want you to sleep with me because you have to," he said.

He saw Draco's eyes widen with surprise, and then Harry turned on the spot and Disapparated.

*