No Home for the Holidays - Part 11
Mar. 26th, 2009 08:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sesheta66Title: No Home for the Holidays – part 11
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sesheta_66
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~ 2800
Pairing/Characters: Harry/Draco
Challenge:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
awdt's prompt – "I'm not here".
Summary: Draco faces the woman who previously welcomed him into her home, but now stands accused of Narcissa's murder. But he's not alone.
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are not mine. They belong to JK Rowling and her publishers. No money is being made from this fiction, which is presented for entertainment purposes only.
Click here to start at the beginning.
No Home for the Holidays – Part 11
Draco faced the wall, his feelings jumbled. He was glad to be here, glad that he would finally get some answers. But the fact that it was a family friend accused – and he was quite sure she was guilty – was what hurt the most.
Really, he should have expected it, given the friends his parents had over the years, but this was different. This wasn’t a business associate or fellow Death Eater crony. This was a woman who had treated him like a son. Sure, there had always been a pecking order, and Crabbe Senior had always been lower than Lucius, and Vince lower than Draco as a result – but that hadn’t affected anything when they were at home. Their families were just that: regular families.
Vince’s mum hadn’t been an overly affectionate woman most of the time, but she had certainly patched him up and given him a fair few hugs over his lifetime. Only when he’d needed them, it was true, but still, not that many people had ever hugged Draco and his heart was aching at the memory.
Draco thought back to the last day of his friend’s life and how Vince had turned on him. But had he really, or had he simply exercised his new-found status in an exaggerated way because he’d never before had the opportunity to do so? And really, what did it matter now anyway?
“You okay?” Harry asked softly from beside him. Draco nodded but didn’t take his gaze off the wall. He was a little afraid to look at Harry, for fear that his pain was written all over his face. If anyone could see through Draco's mask – not very strong right now, he imagined – it would be Harry. And how strange was that?
Draco stared into the room, silently willing the person they brought in to be someone else. Anyone else. The fleeting notion that she’d been someone else Polyjuiced vanished almost the moment he’d thought of it. Of course it would have worn off long before the Aurors finished questioning her.
Draco jumped as the door opened and two Aurors escorted Mrs Crabbe into the interrogation room, followed by the Minister himself. Damn. This was really happening. Draco was vaguely aware of Harry pulling his chair closer to his own and resting his knee against Draco’s. The warmth he felt at the contact helped Draco's heartbeat slow. Which was rather odd, since physical contact with Harry generally had the opposite effect.
Draco pried his eyes from the scene in front of him and turned to smile at Harry. The look of genuine concern on Harry’s face was both comforting and frightening. He smiled and gave Draco’s arm a reassuring squeeze. Draco turned back to face his mother’s killer.
Mrs Crabbe looked much as Draco had remembered her, only paler, almost lifeless. A shell of her former self, Draco thought. Not a big surprise there. She had, after all, lost her husband and her only son. Life had certainly not been good to her. But the emptiness seemed more pronounced than Draco remembered the last time he and Mother had seen her. She had looked frail then, and Draco recalled her words to Narcissa: "I'm not here." Now she looked less absent than hard. Killing someone has a way of doing that to a person, a voice inside Draco reasoned.
“We’ll get through this.” Harry's voice penetrated his mind.
We? That should have annoyed Draco, should have made him bristle at Harry's arrogance, but he knew better. He knew Harry better now. He knew that Harry couldn’t help but take on the weight of the world. Harry hurt right along with his friends, and that’s what Draco was now, wasn’t he? Harry's friend. After all these years, Draco found he rather liked the idea of that. Rather liked the thought of being more than just friends too.
His hand somehow found Harry's and squeezed. Draco couldn’t look at Harry right now, but he hoped to convey his gratitude all the same. Harry's hand returned the pressure. Then Harry twined their fingers together. There they sat, at the Ministry, holding hands, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Had his mind not been otherwise preoccupied, Draco might have taken the time to process that.
The interview began. The Aurors asked standard questions: State your name. Where do you live? That sort of thing. She answered in a deadpan manner, right until they started talking about Voldemort.
Draco saw her nervousness immediately. To others – those not used to masking their feelings – it might not have been discernable, but to him it was obvious. Mrs Crabbe never spoke with her hands, but now they were constantly moving; her eyes were scanning the room as though searching for someone unseen in the non-existent shadows.
“We would like to discuss Narcissa Malfoy’s murder with you now,” Kingsley said, his deep voice echoing in the small room.
It was in her eyes. Draco saw it. Life. She may have been nervous before this, but now she had a spark of life to her. Draco felt ill.
“I have nothing to say,” her carefully controlled voice responded.
Draco watched as they asked question after question of her, and she responded the same way each time.
“I have nothing to say,” he heard her repeat; he’d lost count of the questions by this point.
“Your son went to Hogwarts, correct?”
Her face flamed with colour, and she answered with clenched teeth.
“You know very well he did. Why are you asking me all these questions? Why are you making me relive the horror? Haven’t I been through enough?”
“And your son was friends with Draco Malfoy, was he not?”
The look of loathing in her eyes – cold, calculating eyes – shook Draco to his core. But she did not answer the question.
Draco pressed the button. “Vince was a loyal friend,” he said.
One of the Aurors glanced briefly towards the charmed wall and nodded. It was imperceptible to Mrs Crabbe, but Draco understood that he was the one listening in.
“Vincent was a loyal friend, was he not?”
Mrs Crabbe’s eyes narrowed and her mouth opened as if she were going to reply. But it closed again and she just glared.
“Vince and Greg watched out for me,” Draco said.
“Gregory Goyle was friends with him too, wasn’t he?” No answer.
“We were rarely ever apart.”
“From what I hear, the three of them were inseparable.”
Her eyes were a mixture of pain and anger, but still she said nothing.
“We spent summers together. We went to each other’s houses.”
“You even had the Malfoys as guests in your home, didn’t you?”
She straightened in her chair and took a deep breath. “These questions are pointless. You know very well that we were in the same social circles. All the more reason that your accusations are preposterous. Why would I kill my son’s friend’s mother?”
“Why indeed,” Kingsley said.
“I’m coming in,” Draco said. Harry tightened his grip on Draco’s hand. “I have to,” he pleaded with Harry, but kept the communication device open so they could also hear. “She’s about as agitated as I’ve ever seen her. Now would be the best time. Just keep asking her about Vince, so she stays on the defensive.”
He watched as the listening Auror leaned in to say something to the Minister. Then the Minister nodded – to Draco or the Auror, Draco couldn’t be sure – and Harry loosened his hold.
Draco heard questions directed at Mrs Crabbe while he made his way to the door. Kingsley met him and brought him in.
“I believe you two have met before,” Kingsley said. He then stepped aside, revealing Draco to Vince’s mother.
“You!” she spat at him. Her eyes were as cold as Voldemort’s ever were, and Draco wouldn’t have been surprised to see them glowing red. His stomach churned at the sight.
“Hello Mrs Crabbe.”
“I’m not speaking to this … this … him. Return me to my holding cell or let me go. I am finished here.”
“Why did you do it?” Draco asked. There was no question in his mind now. Why else would she look at him that way?
“Minister, I wish to leave,” she said, ignoring Draco completely.
“But we’re not finished,” the Minister replied. “Mr Malfoy here is curious, as are we. Why did you kill Narcissa Malfoy?”
“I was at your house,” Draco said. “Mother and I were there for the funerals. Greg didn’t come; his family wasn’t there, but we were. Why?”
Draco watched her calm demeanour crumble. It was like watching her façade melt away, to reveal a core he had never known. That same coldness that was deep in her eyes was now nearly palpable, surrounding her. Draco would have shuddered if he weren’t so angry himself.
“Why?” he demanded, much more forcefully this time. He stood before her, staring down into this stranger’s face. “Answer me, damn it!”
Something broke. She launched herself at him, wrapped her hands around his neck and squeezed. Taken by surprise, Draco fell back, her body on top of his, and still she held firm, pressing with all her strength. He felt his throat compressed, his breathing constricted as the Aurors pulled her off him.
Unsurprisingly, Harry came flying into the room. “Are you okay?” he asked, placing a soothing hand on Draco’s back.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” He wasn’t, not really, but he’d face that later. For now he wasn't in any physical danger.
Incarcerous, he heard.
“Why did you do it?” he asked her again. Harry’s presence, wand in hand, did nothing to deter her from lashing out, trying to pull free. The Aurors secured her to the chair and she pinned Draco with a murderous glare.
"You were always just like your father," she finally said. "My husband looked up to him, idolised him, followed him, just like Vincent followed you. If it weren't for you, I would still have a family."
"If it weren't for Voldemort, you'd still have a family," Harry corrected her, his wand held close to his body. "No one made your husband and son follow along."
"What do you know?" she spat. "You have no idea what it's like … what he was like."
"I'm not sure I know which he you're referring to," Harry responded. "If by he you mean Voldemort, I assure you I know what he was like. He tortured me and tried to kill me numerous times. And to make things even better, he liked to get inside my head, so I got a front row view of what he was like.
"If you mean Lucius Malfoy, I had a few altercations with him as well. He too tried to kill me on more than one occasion.
"If you mean Draco here, I've had my fair share of time seeing what he's like too. And you know what? He may look like his father, but he's a far better man. And do you know why? Because he has compassion. Something, I'm afraid to say, neither your husband nor your son had."
"Why you –"
"Oh, yes. I knew them too. Your husband enjoyed the show while Voldemort tortured me, he along with the other Death Eaters. I was fourteen years old, and they all thought it was great sport to watch him taunt me, torment me, and Crucio me."
Draco put a hand on Harry's arm to stop him. Harry shook off his touch, never breaking eye contact.
"And your son? Did anyone tell you how he died?"
She pointed at Draco. "He led him to his death in that room during the Battle."
Harry barked out a mirthless laugh. "Is that what you've been told?"
"It's what I know. He always followed Draco, just like my husband followed Lucius."
"Well I hate to break the news to you, but your son caused his own death, while trying to kill me."
Her eyes narrowed. "You're lying."
"Am I?" Harry asked. "Tell you what. Some other time I'll come for a visit, when you're rotting in Azkaban, longing for some company. You can watch me replay the last moments of your son's life as he set Fiendfyre on me and my friends, and then couldn't control it."
"You're a filthy, half-blood liar!" she screamed.
Harry laughed again. "You do know that Voldemort was a half-blood, right? Just like me. No? Ah, well. You learn something new every day. As for Draco leading your son to his death, you've got that all wrong. Vince took great pride in taunting Draco that day, telling him how Lucius had fallen from grace, and how the Malfoys were nothing. Your son fancied himself the leader in the end, and nearly killed his two best friends in the process. Draco even tried to stop him, but Vince wouldn't hear of it."
"I don't believe you," she said.
"Believe what you wish. The Malfoys had nothing to do with your husband's and son's deaths, but you alone are responsible for Narcissa's."
"She deserved what she got." Draco recoiled at her words. "Prancing about town, as if she were some innocent. Well, I disabused her of that notion, didn't I? She even had the nerve to look surprised when I did it. Didn't think I had it in me. I can still see her face as I whispered the words and the green light hit her in the chest. She still had that look on her face when she fell."
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than her hand clasped over it.
"I think that's all we need," Kingsley said.
"You tricked me!" she spat at Harry.
"Really?" He smirked. "A filthy half-blood like me? Imagine that."
The Aurors released her from the chair, but this time she didn't lunge for Draco.
"You'll pay for this," she said to Harry. Then she turned to Draco. "Both of you."
"Right," Harry said, "because you're so much more frightening than Voldemort."
"She trusted you," Draco said, still a bit unsteady.
"Yes, she did." Her smile made Draco's stomach churn. "Just like Vincent trusted you."
"But I didn't kill Vince. I wouldn't have."
"You might just as well have. But not to worry, you'll pay some day."
She glared at Draco and Harry stepped in front of him. "You touch a hair on his head, or arrange for anyone else to do the job, and I'll make sure you see your husband and son very soon."
"Is that a threat?" she asked. She looked at Kingsley. "He threatened me!"
Kingsley laughed. "I'm sure you're mistaken. I recall him saying something about memories. I'm sure that's all he meant."
She flailed her arms, opening and closing her mouth. Under any other circumstances, Draco might find her behaviour rather comical.
"Take her back to the holding cell," Kingsley told the Aurors.
The Minister of Magic put his hand on Draco's shoulder once the three of them were alone. "I'm sorry you had to go through this, son."
Draco swallowed, suddenly in need of a drink. "Thank you."
"You're going to make an excellent Auror some day, Harry," Kingsley said.
"Thanks, but it was all Draco's idea."
Draco looked at him, perplexed. "What are you talking about?"
"You said you'd never seen her so agitated before, so once I came in here, I figured the damage of seeing me was done, so I thought I'd keep pushing her." He bit his lip, looking troubled.
"You feel guilty," Draco said incredulously.
"A little," Harry conceded. "I would never show her those memories, you know."
Draco smiled. "I know."
"I really shouldn't have said all that. But she tried to kill you, and I couldn’t think straight."
Draco smiled, a feeling of warmth spreading through him as he thought of Harry losing control over someone trying to hurt him.
"You're not angry that I came barging in?"
"Considering her hands were around my throat at the time, no. You are the hero, after all." Harry rolled his eyes. "Not to mention a Gryffindor who runs in without thinking."
"Yeah, yeah. I know."
"Are we done here, Minister?" Draco asked.
"Yes, Mr Malfoy. Thank you for coming in, and again, I'm very sorry for what you had to go through today."
Harry reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers again. Right there in front of Kingsley Shacklebolt. If the Minister noticed, he didn't say anything.
"You're welcome to use the Floo in my office to return to school."
Draco nodded. "That would be appreciated."
Part 12
Author:
sesheta_66 Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~ 2800
Pairing/Characters: Harry/Draco
Challenge:
awdt's prompt – "I'm not here". Summary: Draco faces the woman who previously welcomed him into her home, but now stands accused of Narcissa's murder. But he's not alone.
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are not mine. They belong to JK Rowling and her publishers. No money is being made from this fiction, which is presented for entertainment purposes only.
Click here to start at the beginning.
Draco faced the wall, his feelings jumbled. He was glad to be here, glad that he would finally get some answers. But the fact that it was a family friend accused – and he was quite sure she was guilty – was what hurt the most.
Really, he should have expected it, given the friends his parents had over the years, but this was different. This wasn’t a business associate or fellow Death Eater crony. This was a woman who had treated him like a son. Sure, there had always been a pecking order, and Crabbe Senior had always been lower than Lucius, and Vince lower than Draco as a result – but that hadn’t affected anything when they were at home. Their families were just that: regular families.
Vince’s mum hadn’t been an overly affectionate woman most of the time, but she had certainly patched him up and given him a fair few hugs over his lifetime. Only when he’d needed them, it was true, but still, not that many people had ever hugged Draco and his heart was aching at the memory.
Draco thought back to the last day of his friend’s life and how Vince had turned on him. But had he really, or had he simply exercised his new-found status in an exaggerated way because he’d never before had the opportunity to do so? And really, what did it matter now anyway?
“You okay?” Harry asked softly from beside him. Draco nodded but didn’t take his gaze off the wall. He was a little afraid to look at Harry, for fear that his pain was written all over his face. If anyone could see through Draco's mask – not very strong right now, he imagined – it would be Harry. And how strange was that?
Draco stared into the room, silently willing the person they brought in to be someone else. Anyone else. The fleeting notion that she’d been someone else Polyjuiced vanished almost the moment he’d thought of it. Of course it would have worn off long before the Aurors finished questioning her.
Draco jumped as the door opened and two Aurors escorted Mrs Crabbe into the interrogation room, followed by the Minister himself. Damn. This was really happening. Draco was vaguely aware of Harry pulling his chair closer to his own and resting his knee against Draco’s. The warmth he felt at the contact helped Draco's heartbeat slow. Which was rather odd, since physical contact with Harry generally had the opposite effect.
Draco pried his eyes from the scene in front of him and turned to smile at Harry. The look of genuine concern on Harry’s face was both comforting and frightening. He smiled and gave Draco’s arm a reassuring squeeze. Draco turned back to face his mother’s killer.
Mrs Crabbe looked much as Draco had remembered her, only paler, almost lifeless. A shell of her former self, Draco thought. Not a big surprise there. She had, after all, lost her husband and her only son. Life had certainly not been good to her. But the emptiness seemed more pronounced than Draco remembered the last time he and Mother had seen her. She had looked frail then, and Draco recalled her words to Narcissa: "I'm not here." Now she looked less absent than hard. Killing someone has a way of doing that to a person, a voice inside Draco reasoned.
“We’ll get through this.” Harry's voice penetrated his mind.
We? That should have annoyed Draco, should have made him bristle at Harry's arrogance, but he knew better. He knew Harry better now. He knew that Harry couldn’t help but take on the weight of the world. Harry hurt right along with his friends, and that’s what Draco was now, wasn’t he? Harry's friend. After all these years, Draco found he rather liked the idea of that. Rather liked the thought of being more than just friends too.
His hand somehow found Harry's and squeezed. Draco couldn’t look at Harry right now, but he hoped to convey his gratitude all the same. Harry's hand returned the pressure. Then Harry twined their fingers together. There they sat, at the Ministry, holding hands, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Had his mind not been otherwise preoccupied, Draco might have taken the time to process that.
The interview began. The Aurors asked standard questions: State your name. Where do you live? That sort of thing. She answered in a deadpan manner, right until they started talking about Voldemort.
Draco saw her nervousness immediately. To others – those not used to masking their feelings – it might not have been discernable, but to him it was obvious. Mrs Crabbe never spoke with her hands, but now they were constantly moving; her eyes were scanning the room as though searching for someone unseen in the non-existent shadows.
“We would like to discuss Narcissa Malfoy’s murder with you now,” Kingsley said, his deep voice echoing in the small room.
It was in her eyes. Draco saw it. Life. She may have been nervous before this, but now she had a spark of life to her. Draco felt ill.
“I have nothing to say,” her carefully controlled voice responded.
Draco watched as they asked question after question of her, and she responded the same way each time.
“I have nothing to say,” he heard her repeat; he’d lost count of the questions by this point.
“Your son went to Hogwarts, correct?”
Her face flamed with colour, and she answered with clenched teeth.
“You know very well he did. Why are you asking me all these questions? Why are you making me relive the horror? Haven’t I been through enough?”
“And your son was friends with Draco Malfoy, was he not?”
The look of loathing in her eyes – cold, calculating eyes – shook Draco to his core. But she did not answer the question.
Draco pressed the button. “Vince was a loyal friend,” he said.
One of the Aurors glanced briefly towards the charmed wall and nodded. It was imperceptible to Mrs Crabbe, but Draco understood that he was the one listening in.
“Vincent was a loyal friend, was he not?”
Mrs Crabbe’s eyes narrowed and her mouth opened as if she were going to reply. But it closed again and she just glared.
“Vince and Greg watched out for me,” Draco said.
“Gregory Goyle was friends with him too, wasn’t he?” No answer.
“We were rarely ever apart.”
“From what I hear, the three of them were inseparable.”
Her eyes were a mixture of pain and anger, but still she said nothing.
“We spent summers together. We went to each other’s houses.”
“You even had the Malfoys as guests in your home, didn’t you?”
She straightened in her chair and took a deep breath. “These questions are pointless. You know very well that we were in the same social circles. All the more reason that your accusations are preposterous. Why would I kill my son’s friend’s mother?”
“Why indeed,” Kingsley said.
“I’m coming in,” Draco said. Harry tightened his grip on Draco’s hand. “I have to,” he pleaded with Harry, but kept the communication device open so they could also hear. “She’s about as agitated as I’ve ever seen her. Now would be the best time. Just keep asking her about Vince, so she stays on the defensive.”
He watched as the listening Auror leaned in to say something to the Minister. Then the Minister nodded – to Draco or the Auror, Draco couldn’t be sure – and Harry loosened his hold.
Draco heard questions directed at Mrs Crabbe while he made his way to the door. Kingsley met him and brought him in.
“I believe you two have met before,” Kingsley said. He then stepped aside, revealing Draco to Vince’s mother.
“You!” she spat at him. Her eyes were as cold as Voldemort’s ever were, and Draco wouldn’t have been surprised to see them glowing red. His stomach churned at the sight.
“Hello Mrs Crabbe.”
“I’m not speaking to this … this … him. Return me to my holding cell or let me go. I am finished here.”
“Why did you do it?” Draco asked. There was no question in his mind now. Why else would she look at him that way?
“Minister, I wish to leave,” she said, ignoring Draco completely.
“But we’re not finished,” the Minister replied. “Mr Malfoy here is curious, as are we. Why did you kill Narcissa Malfoy?”
“I was at your house,” Draco said. “Mother and I were there for the funerals. Greg didn’t come; his family wasn’t there, but we were. Why?”
Draco watched her calm demeanour crumble. It was like watching her façade melt away, to reveal a core he had never known. That same coldness that was deep in her eyes was now nearly palpable, surrounding her. Draco would have shuddered if he weren’t so angry himself.
“Why?” he demanded, much more forcefully this time. He stood before her, staring down into this stranger’s face. “Answer me, damn it!”
Something broke. She launched herself at him, wrapped her hands around his neck and squeezed. Taken by surprise, Draco fell back, her body on top of his, and still she held firm, pressing with all her strength. He felt his throat compressed, his breathing constricted as the Aurors pulled her off him.
Unsurprisingly, Harry came flying into the room. “Are you okay?” he asked, placing a soothing hand on Draco’s back.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” He wasn’t, not really, but he’d face that later. For now he wasn't in any physical danger.
Incarcerous, he heard.
“Why did you do it?” he asked her again. Harry’s presence, wand in hand, did nothing to deter her from lashing out, trying to pull free. The Aurors secured her to the chair and she pinned Draco with a murderous glare.
"You were always just like your father," she finally said. "My husband looked up to him, idolised him, followed him, just like Vincent followed you. If it weren't for you, I would still have a family."
"If it weren't for Voldemort, you'd still have a family," Harry corrected her, his wand held close to his body. "No one made your husband and son follow along."
"What do you know?" she spat. "You have no idea what it's like … what he was like."
"I'm not sure I know which he you're referring to," Harry responded. "If by he you mean Voldemort, I assure you I know what he was like. He tortured me and tried to kill me numerous times. And to make things even better, he liked to get inside my head, so I got a front row view of what he was like.
"If you mean Lucius Malfoy, I had a few altercations with him as well. He too tried to kill me on more than one occasion.
"If you mean Draco here, I've had my fair share of time seeing what he's like too. And you know what? He may look like his father, but he's a far better man. And do you know why? Because he has compassion. Something, I'm afraid to say, neither your husband nor your son had."
"Why you –"
"Oh, yes. I knew them too. Your husband enjoyed the show while Voldemort tortured me, he along with the other Death Eaters. I was fourteen years old, and they all thought it was great sport to watch him taunt me, torment me, and Crucio me."
Draco put a hand on Harry's arm to stop him. Harry shook off his touch, never breaking eye contact.
"And your son? Did anyone tell you how he died?"
She pointed at Draco. "He led him to his death in that room during the Battle."
Harry barked out a mirthless laugh. "Is that what you've been told?"
"It's what I know. He always followed Draco, just like my husband followed Lucius."
"Well I hate to break the news to you, but your son caused his own death, while trying to kill me."
Her eyes narrowed. "You're lying."
"Am I?" Harry asked. "Tell you what. Some other time I'll come for a visit, when you're rotting in Azkaban, longing for some company. You can watch me replay the last moments of your son's life as he set Fiendfyre on me and my friends, and then couldn't control it."
"You're a filthy, half-blood liar!" she screamed.
Harry laughed again. "You do know that Voldemort was a half-blood, right? Just like me. No? Ah, well. You learn something new every day. As for Draco leading your son to his death, you've got that all wrong. Vince took great pride in taunting Draco that day, telling him how Lucius had fallen from grace, and how the Malfoys were nothing. Your son fancied himself the leader in the end, and nearly killed his two best friends in the process. Draco even tried to stop him, but Vince wouldn't hear of it."
"I don't believe you," she said.
"Believe what you wish. The Malfoys had nothing to do with your husband's and son's deaths, but you alone are responsible for Narcissa's."
"She deserved what she got." Draco recoiled at her words. "Prancing about town, as if she were some innocent. Well, I disabused her of that notion, didn't I? She even had the nerve to look surprised when I did it. Didn't think I had it in me. I can still see her face as I whispered the words and the green light hit her in the chest. She still had that look on her face when she fell."
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than her hand clasped over it.
"I think that's all we need," Kingsley said.
"You tricked me!" she spat at Harry.
"Really?" He smirked. "A filthy half-blood like me? Imagine that."
The Aurors released her from the chair, but this time she didn't lunge for Draco.
"You'll pay for this," she said to Harry. Then she turned to Draco. "Both of you."
"Right," Harry said, "because you're so much more frightening than Voldemort."
"She trusted you," Draco said, still a bit unsteady.
"Yes, she did." Her smile made Draco's stomach churn. "Just like Vincent trusted you."
"But I didn't kill Vince. I wouldn't have."
"You might just as well have. But not to worry, you'll pay some day."
She glared at Draco and Harry stepped in front of him. "You touch a hair on his head, or arrange for anyone else to do the job, and I'll make sure you see your husband and son very soon."
"Is that a threat?" she asked. She looked at Kingsley. "He threatened me!"
Kingsley laughed. "I'm sure you're mistaken. I recall him saying something about memories. I'm sure that's all he meant."
She flailed her arms, opening and closing her mouth. Under any other circumstances, Draco might find her behaviour rather comical.
"Take her back to the holding cell," Kingsley told the Aurors.
The Minister of Magic put his hand on Draco's shoulder once the three of them were alone. "I'm sorry you had to go through this, son."
Draco swallowed, suddenly in need of a drink. "Thank you."
"You're going to make an excellent Auror some day, Harry," Kingsley said.
"Thanks, but it was all Draco's idea."
Draco looked at him, perplexed. "What are you talking about?"
"You said you'd never seen her so agitated before, so once I came in here, I figured the damage of seeing me was done, so I thought I'd keep pushing her." He bit his lip, looking troubled.
"You feel guilty," Draco said incredulously.
"A little," Harry conceded. "I would never show her those memories, you know."
Draco smiled. "I know."
"I really shouldn't have said all that. But she tried to kill you, and I couldn’t think straight."
Draco smiled, a feeling of warmth spreading through him as he thought of Harry losing control over someone trying to hurt him.
"You're not angry that I came barging in?"
"Considering her hands were around my throat at the time, no. You are the hero, after all." Harry rolled his eyes. "Not to mention a Gryffindor who runs in without thinking."
"Yeah, yeah. I know."
"Are we done here, Minister?" Draco asked.
"Yes, Mr Malfoy. Thank you for coming in, and again, I'm very sorry for what you had to go through today."
Harry reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers again. Right there in front of Kingsley Shacklebolt. If the Minister noticed, he didn't say anything.
"You're welcome to use the Floo in my office to return to school."
Draco nodded. "That would be appreciated."
Part 12
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Date: 2009-03-27 01:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-01 02:26 am (UTC)He will be fine, yes. Thanks, hon. ♥