Harry

He’s been told that he has a bit of a saving people thing.

It wasn’t an issue, really, other than the fact that Voldemort sometimes used it to his advantage, and Harry never thought it was something he needed to fix. After the war ended, he didn’t really think he would ever be in a position where he needed to save someone again —there would be no bad guy to kidnap the people he loves, no evil monster lurking in the shadows to drag away innocent bystanders.

It would just…be. Still and peaceful and as ordinary as Harry could force his life into bing, and he wouldn’t have to save anyone until he was ready.

He really, really meant that.

“This is horrible,” Ginny whispered beside him. They’re sitting at the very back of the court room, watching the proceedings happening in the front. “This isn’t even a fair trial.”

“What did you expect?” Harry didn’t like it either, knowing what he does about the man on trial. The Draco in school was proud, and he would have never stayed silent under the scrutiny of the hundreds of faces staring down at him. Post-war Draco hadn’t even spoken, just slumped in the chair, his long fingers picking at the rusted chains that were spilling from the sides of the chair. (The chains had not bound him to the chair, just clinked a bit. Ginny had said this was a good sign.) “They want someone to blame.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” They’d broken up over two months ago, after two weeks of heated love that felt stilted and wrong, until the night where she had cried and explained how she loves him, but the things they went through must have shaped them so they don’t fit together anymore. About how the year apart meant that maybe they shouldn’t have tried to pick up where they left off. And also the being in love with Luna thing. “They’re blaming everyone but themselves.”

He still loves her just as much as he did before, but now it’s in a different way. He loves her but beyond that he knows her, so he knows that the way she bites down on her lip means that she’s angry and stopping herself from showing it. “It’s going to work out. Draco will pull through.”

He covered his hand with hers, and they watched together, waiting as round after round of witnesses and statements rolled through the courtroom. It would have been easy to knock them all apart, after all the people speaking in his favor—Harry had said how he was a massive git but not a criminal, Hermione gave some argument based in the muggle justice system how he shouldn’t be tried based on the sins of the father, and Luna, Dean, and Ollivander had all gotten on the stand to speak about how he risked his life to bring extra food to them down into the dungeons. But Draco didn’t show up to fight.

He didn’t bring a lawyer. He didn’t speak up in his own defense. He just sat there, pale skin turned sickly under the shine of the lights, waiting as his sentence got handed down to him. It always hurts to see what the war turned them all into, but this was by far the worst.

“Do you have any lastments, Mr. Malfoy?” Kingsley was presiding over this as a special favor to Harry. Ron thinks he’s crazy, but he hadn’t seen what Harry had seen—the guilt that builds in the shadows under Draco’s eyes, a hand shaking as he was forced to torture or be tortured, a boy that wanted his father’s love but only got pain. “Nothing to add to the court?”

Speak up, Harry wanted to shout down at him. Beside him, Ginny leaned forward, clearly waiting to see what woulde next.e on, Malfoy, show them what a harmless guilt you are.

“Then we proceed with the sentencing.” Kingsley stood, his voice magically magnified to project across the court, and dozens of cameras flashed at the same time. The images would find their way to the front page of the Daily Prophet tomorrow. (Which Dean had taken over as editor, so it actually reports the facts independent of the ministry.) “I’m sentencing you to probation, on the condition that you can stay with someone who is in good standing with the wizardingmunity. Could you give the court the name of some such person?”

A pause, long and silent, and then Draco’s voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. “No.” One syllable, but it was damnation. “There’s no one.”

There was another silence, and then Kingsley sat down again. “Then you leave me no choice but to sentence you to Azkaban for the full sentencing period.”

At least there are no dementors there anymore, Harry was thinking, resigned to a lost cause, but then he looks down one last time and sees Draco, this pitiful, broken thingpared against the shadow of what he used to be, and he found himself standing, his hand slipping out of Ginny’s fingers.

“He can name me, Minister.” There’s a surprised bark of laughter from his right, and he knew that Ginny was grinning, the smile she always had on her face when one of them did something stupid. Those same reporters are now taking pictures of him, and et Malfoy, et Kingsley, this was going to be the headlining news for the entire week. “I’ll take responsibility for him.”

Maybe I do have a bit of a saving people thing.

Draco

Things were bad.

They were bad, but at least Draco was prepared for them. He had cleaned his house, boxed up all his belongings, put all his heirlooms in his Gringotts safe. He’d written letters, and set up a trust fund for Teddy, and arranged for someone to care for his mother, when it came to that. It would be okay.

It’s not like there are dementors, He had told himself, sitting down in the middle of that stage when the whole thing started, already giving himself over to the idea that this wasn’t going to have a happy ending. It was no less than he deserved. So he showed up to court when he should have ran instead, and he didn’t speak up even when he had the chance to, and he was okay with how it was going to end.

But then he looked up and caught eyes with Harry freaking Potter of all people, who had given statements about how Draco didn’t deserve to be punished for his parents’ mistakes, and then Harry Potter was standing up and telling the whole world that he would take Draco into his home.

(And like, not that Draco doesn’t appreciate it, but does anyone seem to remember that he was aplete arse to him in school? They aren’t friends. He’s pretty sure he’s described the two of them as archenemies once, like kids even have those.)

(though when he thinks about it, Harry had one of those. Freaking Dark Lord bullshit.)

So here he was, a free man, his wand returned to him and his arms free of chains, walking towards the ministry doors like nothing had happened. There were people staring, so he did the right Malfoy thing and tried to look the way he used to, with his head high and shoulders back and a look on his face like he knows that he’s better than everyone, but it falls flat. He trails behind Harry instead, as he pushes past reporters and shouts hellos at people he must have known from school or auror camp.

They make it to the floo gates. Harry shifts on his feet and looks over at Ginny, who had helped them on their way here but now shrugs at him, like this was your problem, now deal with it. Harry must have agreed, because he grimaced and stuck out his hand to Draco.

e on.” He shakes his arm when Draco doesn’t grab on, like there was a way he hadn’t seen it. “I’m not saying my address out loud when this many people are around, they’ll be at my door in minutes.”

Because he was living with a celebrity. Draco’s first reaction was to be mean, to sneer at him and say that he would rather take the cell, thanks. He also wants to ask him why on earth he was doing this, when they pretty much tortured each other all through school. But that’s not what he says. “I’m not quite sure I trust you.” There’s a flash of hurt across his face, a little shadow of pain that goes as fast as it came. “I’ve heard the stories of you getting stuck up chimneys.”

“Oh, he hasn’t done that since he was twelve.” Ginny breaks in, snapping impatiently at the two of them, and Harry starts laughing the way he does when Ron makes a teasingment at him. “And that was only one grate extra. Just go already, you two, I can’t distract the press forever.”

Harry arches an eyebrow, and refusing would not just be silly, it would also feel like Draco was admitting defeat. Everything between the two of them was still a constantpetition, and he was determined to win at something.

He took his hand.

Harry

When the idea first came to him, he didn’t really think it through at all. He had just seen someone who needed help, and thought of his big empty house stuffed full with Sirius’ shadow, and thought that an extra person would help fill it up with something living. So he had stood, and then it was all happening, the age old saying that it only takes five seconds of courage to change your life.

And now Draco Malfoy was standing in his living room.

The stupid thing was, that as the two of them look around at his house, Harry is actually embarrassed. It’s still the same furniture, so it’s dark and gloomy, and Harry isn’t always the best at housekeeping. He knows that its nothing like what Draco had gotten to go home to every night.

“Well, this is home.” Harry breaks the ice first, because he’s a Gryffindor and bravery is kind of his thing. “My bedroom is on the first floor, but I can show you a couple and you pick where’s best? Kreacher can take you around.”

“You don’t have to do this.” It was really the first thing that Draco had said to him, besides the jibe he made in front of the floo gate, where the smile split his face apart and Harry could see the old Malfoy underneath. “Why are you doing this?”

“I don’t know.”

“I deserved it.” Draco’s hands were shaking. Harry knew the feeling, had been dealing with Ron’s bouts of unexplained anger since the war ended, all the pain and terror and grief bursting out of all of them in unexplainable ways. Harry goes on walks in the middle of the night. Hermione cleans and writes petitions, depending on the mood. “I made my peace with that, okay, and I was ready, I was ready for it, to have some peace for once, and then you came along and did this, so I want to know why.”

This was more like the Draco that Harry knew, the one who thought he deserved things and made his own demands. “Because I didn’t think you deserved it.” Harry would never think that Malfoy deserved a cold cell in Azkaban, not after all the blood that seemed to be coating his own hands. “And I don’t think you should let yourself locked up just because you’ve decided that you feel guilty, alright?”

He was tired, all of a sudden, the bone aching exhaustion thates upon him sometimes. “Just pick a room, okay? I’ll see you in the morning.”

Harry walks away, up the creaking stairs and to his room, and he hopes that Draco really, really doesn’t decide to murder him in his sleep.

It’d be just his luck.

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