Come on, Harry. You can’t just stand here. Draco and Katie are in danger.
He flicked his wand and watched as the gate opened, silent. As he began to walk forwards, a flash of green light caught his eye. It came from a large window at the front of the house. And, just like that, Harry was running. He did not care that it was here where Hermione had nearly died from Bellatrix’s torture; he did not care that it was here where Dobby received the fatal wound which saved Harry’s life. He ran and ran and ran…
Draco…Draco…Do it, Draco…
Or feel my wrath yourself!
My wrath…
Do it…
Draco did not remember Harry entering the room. He did not remember Apparating to St Mungo’s. He did not remember the cool hands of Healers poking and prodding him, tipping foul potions down his throat.
Draco awoke in a far-too-bright room with a far-too-bright face smiling down at him.
“Who are you?” he croaked.
“Dennis Creevey,” the young man answered, grinning down at his patient. “Trainee Healer. Wait here, Mr Malfoy. There’s someone who wished to talk to you as soon as you awakened.”
Draco did not have time to reply. Creevey had already swept from the room, leaving even more light from where his head had once been. Draco groaned.
As if I would be going anywhere in this state, anyway.
He tried to remember why he was here, but it felt as if his head was stuffed full of cotton-wool. He could only comprehend the here and now; it was as if the past few days were completely erased; he was in a void of inaccessible knowledge.
But then, there was something. A flash of purple light lit up within Draco’s mind, and he remembered Katie falling to the ground, unmoving.
Katie.
Draco struggled to sit upright, but found himself too weak. A strangled cry of frustration filled the room.
“Katie!” he called. “I want to see Katie!”
Draco did not notice the door to his room open. He did not hear the quiet footsteps across the vinyl floor. But, suddenly, Potter’s face was staring down at him with concerned eyes. Draco did not like that face. It was not the face he wanted to see.
Saved yet again by that bloody hero, Potter. He wanted to spit the name from his mouth, wanted to feel the anger the hatred he knew he should, wanted to jeer and mock as if he were no longer an adult but a cruel, self-centered eleven year old boy…
Yet he was not eleven. He was a man and now he felt an incomprehensible yearning for someone else, someone who was worth more than life itself.
“Malfoy, calm down. Katie is…Katie is fine; she’ll be here shortly.” Harry pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed. His hands curled into tight fists. Draco watched as the skin puckered and whitened, nails pressed sharp against flesh.
“What happened? Where is Thicknesse?” asked Draco, annoyed at Potter’s agitated demeanor.
Harry grimaced.
“You don’t remember, then?”
“Evidently not,” Draco sneered. “Cut the crap, Potter, and just tell me. I can handle the truth.”
“You cursed him, Malfoy. You used Sectumsempra.”
Draco exhaled slowly, trying to remember. How could he forget that? No wonder Potter was uncomfortable.
“Is he dead?”
“No.”
“Where is he?”
Silence.
“Potter, where is he?”
“I’m not authorised to say at this present time, actually.”
Draco glared at Harry, his eyes burning black with loathing. But Draco did not have the strength to argue; he did not have the energy to start another fight. He ached all over, and only one person consumed his thoughts.
“I want to see my wife now, Potter.”
Harry nodded and stood up, brushing down the front of his robes absent-mindedly, trying to work out how to tell Malfoy.
“Malfoy-” he began, and faltered. Draco stared at the window, his eyes now adjusted to the harsh yellow light. Harry sighed again. “Draco,” he said softly, ignoring the flinch of annoyance at the first-name term. “Don’t blame yourself, please.”
And then he was gone. Draco stared after the dark cloak as it flashed round the corner of the door.
Potter’s just being his irritating, enigmatic self yet again, he thought.
He lay there, eyes closed waiting for Katie. How could he apologise to her? How could he make up for everything he had done? Everything he had not done? The past few months, he and Katie had grown apart so much, seen so little of each other that it seemed like some invisible canyon had wrenched apart the love between them. Draco took a deep breath. The coarse woollen blanket on his bed prickled against the bare skin of his arms.
How he longed for her touch once more; how he waited to hear her voice whispering in his ear each night, as they lay sweaty and entangled in each other; how he missed her scent, the feel of her hot against him, the soft, lilting flavour of her tongue...
Was it all gone?
His breaths became shallow and quick in anticipation.
Are we over? Is that what Potter had meant? Don’t blame yourself, Draco. You and Katie were never going to work anyway. I’m surprised it lasted this long.
He shuddered.
Then, the muted sound of slippers padding across the hard floor reached Draco’s ears.
What am I going to say?
He opened his eyes as the familiar scent of his wife pricked at his nose. Draco turned his head to the side and struggled to sit more upright. He looked up into Katie’s face and gasped.
She smiled as his hands reached for her cheek, as his fingers gently stroked the long scar which split her face in two. She closed her eyes. She waited.
“Katie, I’m so sorry,” he began, the words gushing out, unstoppable.
“Draco, wait, it’s not your-”
“But it is! It is my fault, Katie! If only I’d told you in the first place. If only I had not kept you in the dark, alone and without any explanation. If only I had trusted you. No,” he paused. “That’s not what I mean. If only I had trusted myself, my new self. And now look what I’ve done to you…”
Katie’s tears dripped onto his face, onto his lips.
“It’s not your fault, Draco. It never was. It was Thicknesse, and Voldemort, and every dark witch and wizard that ever existed; it was all their fault,” she murmured wetly against his cheek.
“Katie-” Draco tried to begin, but Katie was too busy kissing him to care.
Harry Potter sat behind an expansive mahogany desk, looking up at Ginny. She smiled down at him and waved, oblivious to whom he was about to speak with. He wondered whether he should tell her about it later, when he arrived home. Harry hadn’t returned to the cottage last night, choosing to remain at St. Mungo’s while the Healer’s worked on Katie and Draco. Then, Minister Shacklebolt had approached him with a more immediate problem.
So, now, here he was. Sitting behind the same desk over which he had spoken to Katie fewer than sixteen hours before. He was waiting; waiting to question the now healed Pius Thicknesse.
Will I tell Ginny? Harry pondered. Yes, I will; I’m not going to make the same mistake as Draco.
There was a sharp rap on the door and Susan Bones peeked round the door.
“Harry, I think they’re ready for you now. I’m to be present for legal advice.”
Harry nodded his head.
“I’ll be there shortly.”
The holding cells at the Ministry were rather bleak and depressing. Harry could not help but shiver at how much worse they must have been when there were all those blasted Dementors floating about the place.
“Through here, Mr Potter,” said a man, his voice dripping with boredom. He motioned Harry into a room even more bleak and dull than the corridor.
”Harry Potter,” hissed a voice. Harry grimaced at the serpentine tone and turned to look at the man trussed up within a black metal cage. Red hot flames wound themselves around the cage, further enhancing the prison.
“Thicknesse,” replied Harry, firmly. “Let’s not have any games, now. I want the truth, and that is all.”
“And why should I give you that pleasure?”
Harry bit down hard on his tongue, trying to remain calm in front of the abomination sitting mere feet away. This man, this man who was a trusted citizen, a respected member of the Ministry before the war, had turned into an evil, power-hungry murderer. It scared Harry. How many more like Thicknesse were out there? Waiting, biding their time…
“Because,” Harry began. “Because you want to tell me. You need to tell me. Isn’t that what you wanted all along? The glory? The power?”
Thicknesse let out an amused huff, his lips curling upwards into a sneer. He clicked his tongue.
“Well, Potter. You are perceptive, I’ll give you that. Or is it because you yourself have desired these things? You think that you’re a better man than I, just because you did not act upon these feelings? Do you? We are the same, Potter. You just cannot admit it.”
Harry balled his fists together but his voice was even and calm. “We are not the same.”
Thicknesse sniffed loudly. “Oh, I know. You are much weaker than I.”
Here we go, thought Harry. This is it.
“Why am I weaker than you?”
“Because I chose to act. I did not deny my will, my chance that I was given. No one knew I was alive. I had been forgotten. A sea-urchin, left discarded in the ruins of Hogwarts.” He relished the taste of truth.
Harry smiled inwardly. It was working.
“I missed the power I had as Minister for Magic. People thought I was dead; they thought I had perished within the walls of Hogwarts. I could not just walk into the Ministry a few years later and resume my position as head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, could I?”
Susan turned to Harry, her mouth open, but he held up his hand to stop her. He did not want Thicknesse interrupted. It was all or nothing from now on.
“I wanted my power back, all of it, and I knew that, under the Death Eaters, under the cause of the Dark Lord,, I could have that power again. But there were others, others who might take the power from me if they could. The Malfoys, Rookwood and Macnair,” he paused. “And, of course, Barty Crouch Junior.”
“Why Crouch?” asked Harry. The others made sense. They had been proper Death Eaters, whereas Thicknesse was merely a pawn.
“Don’t you see, Potter? Don’t you see?” the sibilant voice hissed. “Crouch has no soul. Don’t you see how much more dangerous he is? How much more powerful he would have been compared to me? Really, I thought it was rather obvious.” Thicknesse gave an odd giggle, rather as if he were a young boy caught stealing some sweets from the corner shop.
“And the Dark Mark? How did you come to get one?”
The giggle continued to bubble out of Thicknesse, rising to a crescendo of loud barks. His face cracked with jubilation, the sound erupting from his mouth, billowing out into the room. Susan opened her mouth again, but Harry shook his head.
“The Dark Lord somehow knew I was no longer under the Imperius Curse, but that I was willing to do his bidding all the same. He brought me to see him, just days before the Battle, and branded me. No one else knew. Now, Potter, I think that is enough.” He closed his mouth, and he closed his eyes, and he refused to say another word.
“You have all you need, then?” Susan asked Harry.
“I certainly do,” he replied with a sigh. I certainly do.
Katie gripped the familiar broom tightly and pushed up from the ground. She looked down at the ground below.
“Come on, Draco! What’s taking you so long?” She watched as he smirked up at her, mounted his broom and flew up into the air. He came to bob silently beside her; leaning over, he reached forwards and slowly traced the scar on her face. His fingers were warm, his touch soft. She smiled.
“Draco,” she whispered.
“Katie,” he replied.
His fingers came to stop at the corner of her lips. She closed her eyes.
“Katie,” he repeated; it barely a whisper; it could have the wind.
But it wasn’t; she knew that. It was Draco. And he was here, with her, and they were finally happy.