yura_slash (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} yura_slash) wrote in ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} hp_tarot,@ 2008-08-06 09:04:00 |
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The Arrows of Love Strike Without Warning (Fic, H/D, PG)
Title: The Arrows of Love Strike Without Warning
Author:yura_slash
Type: Fiction
Length: 4,158
Main Pairing: Harry/Draco
Cards: The Fool, the Page of Wands, the Eight of Wands, the Ten of Swords and the World.
Card Interpretation: See the addendum here
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Warnings: DH spoilers
Summary: The Fool and the Page of Wands advance through the Eight of Wands, the Ten of Swords, and, finally, the World.
Author Notes: Oddly enough, smut just didn’t find its way into this one. Hope you enjoy it!
The Arrows of Love Strike Without Warning
Draco stared out at the courtroom, overwhelmed by the large crowd that had gathered for his trial. Flashes went off, people pointed and murmured, and the cacophony of them echoing off the room’s red, stone walls was so overwhelming that Draco had to close his eyes for a moment, lest he be completely overcome.
His lawyer, a short, white-haired man with a booming voice, touched his shoulder lightly and whispered hoarsely in the direction of his ear. “Don’t close your eyes. It implies an admission of guilt.”
So he stared at the ceiling and moved his arms and legs restlessly, causing the metal chains that bound him to his chair to rattle and clang.
His lawyer leaned over to speak in his ear again. “I’m sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I tried to argue that the chains were unnecessary—in my mind, they’re highly prejudicial—but the members of the Wizengamot insisted that you be restrained.”
Draco ignored him wilfully and tried to straighten his fine robes, the black velvet of which was being crushed by the manacles around his wrists. At least the gold and yellow pattern across its length still shone brightly, like sunbursts against the expanse of a dark, endless night.
Suddenly, a gavel banged and Draco—along with at least half the inhabitants of the courtroom—jumped. The proceedings had begun. Draco made a point not to listen too closely as, when prompted by the Chief Warlock, his lawyer made a speech on his behalf. He walked around his chair and made extravagant hand gestures, occasionally drawing a gasp from the crowd. Draco couldn’t help but liken him to a small dog, barking and yipping around his feet, so he stared at the ceiling some more and rubbed the velvet of his robes in an attempt to soothe his frayed nerves.
The robes had been delivered to him by his mother just that morning, as a show of good faith that the verdict he received would be more favourable than his father’s was bound to be. Draco was not as sure as she, and yet he was strangely serene.
The chatter from the audience suddenly increased, and the Chief Warlock—was it Tiberius Ogden?—banged his gavel in an attempt to quiet the onlookers. It was clear that something odd was happening, but Draco continued to do his best not to take notice.
. . . perhaps he would get the death penalty. Now that the Dementors were gone, there was no need to fear the consumption of one’s eternal soul . . .
People were standing now and beginning to clap. A few of the members of the Wizengamot stood as well and joined in the applause. What was going on?
Draco finally snapped to attention, and when he did, his eyes landed on a lone figure approaching himself and the bench.
“If it please the Wizengamot, I call Harry Potter to the stand,” his lawyer announced with a flourish, and Draco watched with wide eyes as Potter continued towards him and took a seat at the witness stand. What was Potter doing here? Why would his lawyer have called him to testify on his behalf? Was he mad?! He was doomed! Perhaps they’d be able to dig up at least one Dementor and suck out his soul on Potter’s request. Dear, sweet Merlin . . .
A curtain of apathy fell across Draco once more as Potter was sworn in. He would not let this get to him, either. He wouldn’t listen to him, and when his punishment was handed down he would take it like a man.
But he could not help but look at him. Potter was resplendent in robes of orange and yellow, the pattern on them moving slowly. When Draco looked closer, he could see that the pattern was made up of small salamanders, simple black outlines that crawled across Potter’s chest and shoulders. His hair was a dark mop on the top of all that colour, just as wild as it had always been in school, and there was a red feather behind his ear that Draco was certain came from a phoenix. A tribute to Dumbledore?
Draco shivered at the thought of Him. In his mind’s eye he would always see him as he was on that tower, weak and trying to talk Draco out of killing him . . .
Draco knew that he deserved whatever punishment he got here today. He would not balk. He would . . .
“And you don’t think that Mr. Malfoy is a threat to the general public?”
“No,” Harry answered, voice strong and confident. “I do not think that Draco is a threat to anybody, be they a member of the Wizarding society or not. In fact, I believe him to be more of a threat to himself than to others. And I do not think that he should be sent to Azkaban.”
Draco kept his mouth closed with an effort. What was happening? Surely Potter couldn’t be serious?
Tiberius looked down his nose at Potter, expression dark. “Surely you don’t mean that, Mr. Potter. We have eyewitness accounts and testimony that proves Mr. Malfoy was instrumental in the Death Eater attack that took place at Hogwarts in 1997. And that he personally tortured, using the Cruciatus Curse, many prisoners that were held at Malfoy Manor. To suggest that he be set free is –”
Harry interrupted him before he could finish. “Draco was a minor when the most serious of those offenses occurred, and I know that he was acting under extreme duress when he made his ill-conceived attempts on Albus Dumbledore’s life and when he let Voldemort’s Death Eaters into Hogwarts. In fact, Professor Dumbledore was aware of Draco’s plots and did nothing to stop him, as he saw the precipitation of certain events as inevitable.”
“You have testified to that effect in the posthumous trial of Severus Snape, which you insisted upon in order to clear his name and award him the Order of Merlin. You are also scheduled to appear at a trial to expunge the record of one Sirius Black, who you claim was falsely accused and imprisoned by this court. Do you plan to make an appearance at the trial of each Death Eater we have in custody in order to testify to their innocence?”
Harry tilted his head to the side for a moment, and Draco had the impression that he was listening to someone whispering in his ear, although there was no one near him on the stand.
“Mr. Potter, you will answer the question,” Tiberius chided. “Do you, or do you not, plan to testify to the innocence of each Death Eater that we have in custody?” It was clear that the other members of the Wizengamot were becoming restless, and Harry turned his head back so that he was staring at the entire bench directly.
“No, sir,” Harry replied with restraint. “Only those that I know to have been acting against their will, or those that acted parts unknown to yourselves and the general public. I think you can appreciate the position myself and other members of the opposition to Voldemort, also known as Tom Riddle, were in this past year. I would hope that this body would want to know the truth about what occurred these past few years and make it a part of the public record. I would also hope that this body would want to be fair to those who suffered under the tyranny of Tom Riddle, on both sides of the conflict. For instance, Draco’s own mother was forced by her husband to endure Tom Riddle’s presence in her home and in her life. Her loyalty did not necessarily lie with him however, and it was she who saved my life during the Final Conflict by telling Tom Riddle that I was dead so that he would not kill me while I lay alone and unarmed.”
Tiberius had to bang his gavel a number of times to silence the courtroom. “Enough! And what do you suggest we do, then, with this young man, if he is not a threat? Will you take responsibility if he is set free and then proceeds along the path of the dark?”
Harry paused again for a moment, as if listening to someone whispering in his ear yet again. Then, “I suggest he be put on probation. He would have to report to a probations officer periodically, submit to scans for dark magic, and have his regular magic usage closely monitored. I will not presume to tell this court what to do, however.”
Tiberius chuckled. “Really? No need to be coy, Mr. Potter. But this counsel will take your opinions into consideration, given your unique knowledge of the situation and role in the events that have taken place. You are dismissed.”
Draco watched Harry leave the stand, still in complete shock. The rest of the trial passed in a blur of sound and colour.
********************
They were still deliberating. Draco’s lawyer assured him that the verdict would be favourable, but Draco barely heard him.
Why had Potter spoken on his behalf? It made no sense. It wasn’t logical. Was he just so much of a Gryffindor that he had to save Draco from what he considered an unjust end?
A commotion rose again as the Wizengamot filed back into the courtroom from their deliberation chambers. Flashes began going off as Draco was prompted to stand, and when he looked past all the people Draco thought he saw a dark head of hair decorated with a bright red plume in the back of the courtroom, against the wall. He squinted and, sure enough, he saw a bushy head of hair bobbing beside Harry’s own.
He should have known that Granger was behind Potter’s strange burst of verbosity. She was obsessed with unjust suffering, inequality, lost causes and . . .
“After much deliberation, it is the decision of this court that Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, be found guilty of all charges brought against him.”
Draco wanted to cry out in dismay, but his mouth was dry—the breath had gone from him. His face had gone numb. More flashes went off. Is this what it’s like to lose everything? To lose all hope?
His lawyer squeezed his shoulder, and Draco realized that the Chief Warlock had begun speaking again. “As no one has outright refuted the charges laid against Mr. Malfoy, we had no choice but to find him guilty, although we do realize that there were mitigating circumstances that should be taken into consideration for his sentencing.”
More flashes went off, and Draco tried his best not to fall back in his chair.
“In the interest of expediency, we shall sentence him now, and hope that the appeals process can be avoided in return for our leniency.”
A murmur rose through the courtroom and Tiberius banged his gavel. “Enough. This court sentences you, Draco Malfoy, to magical probation for a term of five years. During this time, a trace will be placed upon you and all magical use will be catalogued by the ministry. You shall also be required to enter psychological evaluations and counselling, to last the duration of your probation, that will include monthly scans for evidence of dark magic on your person. If at any time you act in violation of your probation as laid out here today, you will be imprisoned and held without bail until such time that you can be retried by this court.
“Given the backlog we currently have, that could be a long time,” he added sternly over his glasses.
Draco nodded blankly, too overwhelmed to comment.
“Then Mr. Malfoy, you are free to go. Your wand will be surrendered to you on your way out. Court adjourned.”
He banged the gavel one final time and an explosion of noise erupted a second later. The chains also fell off Draco’s arms and legs, and his lawyer hugged him. People began clamouring forward, quills waving and shouted questions falling from their lips. Draco couldn’t move—and then his lawyer was shuffling him along, pushing their way through the crowd and answering questions for him. Saying things like he was happy with the verdict, that it was fair, that he would be a changed person as of this moment . . .
They reached the doors to the courtroom and two people moved to block their way. Instead of pushing his way through as before, his lawyer stopped and stood silently at his side. Draco looked up—Harry and Hermione were there, staring at him. Hermione had a grim, serious expression on her face, but Harry looked happy.
“I knew we’d win,” Harry said, and then he was patting Draco’s shoulder.
Draco thought he’d never seen anyone more attractive than Harry was at that moment, and as he stared at him in a stupor, the expression on Harry’s face morphed from one of happiness to one of concern. “Malfoy? Malfoy, are you okay?”
His lawyer shook his shoulder in an attempt to rouse him, and Draco toppled, unconscious before he even hit the floor.
********************
Draco stared at the wall across from his private, hospital-room bed, trying to process the events of the last few weeks. Voldemort had been killed, and then he’d been thrown in jail, rushed to trial, found innocent after Harry-bloody-Potter had testified on his behalf and promptly fainted after deciding that said Potter was actually quite attractive in a devil-may-care, I’ve just saved your life again sort of way.
The Mediwizards attributed his embarrassing bout of unconsciousness to stress, but Draco thought their diagnosis too simple. A combination of relief and prolonged stress-related insomnia had led to his—not fainting!—but falling asleep instantly, so soundly that only Harry’s arms had kept him from hitting the floor.
Yes, he’d seen the full-page photograph on the cover of the Daily Prophet when he’d woken up three days later. His lawyer, the bastard, had thought it would be funny to spell-o-tape the damn thing to the wall of his hospital room.
He stared at the offending photograph of himself falling into Potter’s arms a bit longer. There was nothing else to do anyways, as he’d been ordered to stay in bed and not exert himself in any way, magical or physical.
Perhaps he’d go insane—break the monotony a bit, in any case . . .
A knock on the door jarred him out of his moment of self-pity. “Mr. Malfoy? You have a visitor, if that’s alright.”
Draco perked up instantly. “Yes, and for the love of Merlin send them in quickly – before I go mad from boredom.”
The nurse retreated and Harry’s head poked around the doorframe. “I always thought it was rubbish that Wizarding hospitals didn’t have tellies or something similar –”
“Potter? What are you doing here?” Draco was aware that his voice was getting higher with every word, but could do very little to control it. Just as he couldn’t keep from looking nervously towards the newspaper clipping taped to the wall.
Harry, who’d since moved into the room, followed his gaze – and promptly flushed scarlet when his eyes fell on the newspaper article. “Embarrassing, that,” he commented, then cleared his throat. “All sorts of bizarre speculation, too, on account of my testimony. Erm, sorry . . .”
Draco grimaced. “Don’t apologize. After all, you’ve saved my life—a few times now, I believe.” He glanced at the slim package in Harry’s hand. “What’s that, then? A get-well present?”
Harry laughed nervously and ran a hand up the back of his head, mussing his hair. “No! Well – sort of, I suppose.” He held the package out, realized he was too far from the bed, and then came forward haltingly. “Your wand. I was going to give it back to you once the Wizengamot had given me the okay, but you . . . well, you fainted, and –”
Draco grabbed the package and glared at Harry. “I did not faint, Potter. I fell asleep. Suddenly!”
Harry grinned at him. “You can call me Harry, you know.”
Draco gripped the package in his hand tightly, and imagined he could feel the thrum of magic under his palm. “Fine, Potter – Harry. You can call me by my given name, as well.”
Harry nodded and Draco could tell that he was trying to find a graceful way to leave. Unfortunately, Harry was anything but graceful. He edged away shyly and glanced back at the Daily Prophet photograph of himself catching Draco’s unconscious body. “Well, I better go. I’ve got another trial to speak at –”
Draco settled back against the pillows of his bed, wand box held against his chest. “Yes, duty calls. Bye then, P – Harry.”
Harry was out the door in moments, a muffled “Bye, Draco,” sounding past the door as it swung closed behind him.
********************
It was a few days later and in the comfort of his own, newly purchased home that Draco realized he hadn’t properly thanked Harry for his help. On impulse, he penned a hasty letter of thanks and an invitation—and sent it before he could change his mind.
********************
When Potter’s reply finally found its way back to him, Draco had already regretted the hastily composed letter ten times over. But here was his response now, a full week after he’d stopped expecting it.
What could possibly have possessed him to invite Potter to dinner, anyways? Just because he’d stared at that damned Daily Prophet picture for the rest of his hospital stay, and taken it with him when he was discharged, and folded it carefully and placed a preservation charm on it and put it in his memory chest with all his most cherished possessions . . . well, it didn’t mean that he particularly liked Potter. Or wanted a date – er, a dinner with him. As a thank you for his help in his trial –
Potter’s owl pecked his hand in irritation and Draco cried out in pain. “Ow! What the devil is the matter with you?”
The barn owl, an older bird slightly worse for wear, stuck its leg out under Draco’s nose and chattered impatiently until he had pulled the small scroll lose.
“It’s probably just a rejection letter . . .” Draco murmured to himself. The barn owl turned and winged out of the room, clipping Draco’s head in the process, as he unrolled the message.
It was the same scroll that he’d sent.
The bastard had sent back his message without even bothering to reply?! Draco was ready to cast a (probably probation-breaking) Incendio when he noticed the untidy scrawl added under his own, more elegant, script. The messages read together:
********************
When the paparazzi caught them out together, it was total chaos. Thankfully, dinner had gone well and was over before the vultures descended, quills waving and flash bulbs going off in their faces.
Unfortunately, Draco went into shock—the moment was too reminiscent of his trial—and Harry had to take him by the hand and Apparate them away before he could hyperventilate and – fall unconscious again.
The next morning’s Daily Prophet headline read: “Harry Potter Wooed to Dark Side by Newly Freed Death Eater?” and was accompanied by a picture of Harry grabbing Draco’s hand and pulling him close before Apparating them away. The article not only implied that Draco had exchanged sexual favours for Harry’s testimony, but also that Draco was trying to set Harry up as the next Dark Lord.
. . . The next morning’s Daily Prophet headline read: “Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley Split. Draco Malfoy to Blame?”
Draco could hardly open his window for the editions without batting off dozens of owls carrying cursed letters and howlers, all of them trying to get past his home’s wards. It was ludicrous. He had to make it to his first probation meeting in a little more than a week; how was he expected to go out in public when almost everyone wanted him dead?
Perhaps he’d just shut himself in entirely until then, and hope that things got better. He’d survived Voldemort—he could survive this.
********************
It wasn’t until a day before he was due to go to the ministry that Draco heard a word from the outside world.
He hadn’t expected it to come in the form it had, however.
“Draco?”
Draco, leaving the bathroom in nothing but a small towel, shrieked like a girl and crossed his arms over his chest. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”
Harry rubbed the back of his head and stared at the floor sheepishly. “Dunno. I wanted to talk to you, and I figured you weren’t answering mail at the moment –”
Draco dashed for his walk-in closet and snatched up a robe. “More to the point, how are you here?” he asked, putting on the robe and cinching it at his waist. “I have some of the strongest wards possible without using dark magic. Nothing should be getting past them.”
Harry shrugged. “Just Apparated in,” he answered nonchalantly. “So what do you think of this whole mess?”
Draco sat on his bed and huffed. “May as well sit down, Harry. I won’t bite.”
Harry stared at Draco’s bare chest, most of it still visible inside the “v” of his robe, and blushed. “Yeah, well . . . it can’t be helping your public image any to be called a Death Eater who wants me as your new Dark Lord.”
Draco stared at the bedspread under his hand. “No, I imagine it’s not helping any, but what can I do? I have to put up with it for at least five more years, and then I can leave the country. Start somewhere fresh—unless they tear me to shreds the second I step outside, that is.” Draco grinned widely, a bit manically, and looked up into Harry’s eyes. “At least I’ll be out of your way so you can be the next Minister of Magic, right?”
Harry’s expression turned dark. “I don’t want that. I’ve never wanted that. Don’t want the fame, either.” He grabbed Draco’s hand and held it tight. “And now that all the people innocent of Death Eater crimes have been tried and found innocent, I’d really rather disappear, too. Start new. Be someone else . . .”
His face got a faraway, distant look, and Draco couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help but –
He turned and with his other hand, he cupped Harry’s face and brought him close for a kiss. Soft, sweet and simple, it was over in seconds, and before Draco could regret what he’d done, Harry was pulling him close for another one, this one hard and desperate.
“Draco, I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I can’t handle the crowds—the attention—anymore. And I have so much magic since killing Voldemort, it’s practically leaping off my skin.”
It was true. Draco could feel the thrum of magic running under the skin of his hand, which he clutched back desperately.
“What if I lose control?” Harry asked him plaintively. “What if some reporter gets too close, too aggressive? If I snap?”
“I don’t –”
“I’m leaving. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now—I even told Hermione and Ron not to worry if I suddenly up and left—and now that I know how you feel . . . how you could feel . . . Come with me?”
It was insane. He’d be fleeing the law with a man he hardly knew – a man he’d kissed twice and decided he’d loved in the space between those kisses. It couldn’t work. It was insane . . .
Draco stared into Harry’s wild, green eyes and, strangely, he was not afraid to say: “Yes.”
The End.
********************
Addendum: Cards Drawn and Their Meanings
Characters/Pairing:
The Fool - A young man in gorgeous vestments pauses at the brink of a precipice among the great heights of the world; he surveys the blue distance before him--its expanse of sky rather than the prospect below. The edge which opens on the depth has no terror; it is as if angels were waiting to uphold him. His countenance is full of intelligence and expectant dream. He has a rose in one hand and in the other is a costly wand, from which depends over his right shoulder a wallet curiously embroidered.
Page of Wands - Dark young man, faithful, a lover, an envoy, a postman. BESIDE A MAN, HE WILL BEAR FAVOURABLE TESTIMONY CONCERNING HIM. Has the chief qualities of his suit, being: FIRE and a strong passion, ambition, career, creative endeavours, religion and/or philosophy that he will put his energy and soul into. He usually has something he has to do, whether he is recompensed for it or not. It is something that burns inside of him and he needs to act on it.
Story Progression:
Eight of Wands - Activity in undertakings, the path of such activity, swiftness, as that of an express messenger; great haste, great hope, speed towards an end which promises assured felicity; generally, that which is on the move; also the arrows of love.
Ten of Swords - Pain, affliction, tears, sadness, desolation.
The World - Assured success, recompense, voyage, route, emigration, flight, change of place.
Title: The Arrows of Love Strike Without Warning
Author:
yura_slashType: Fiction
Length: 4,158
Main Pairing: Harry/Draco
Cards: The Fool, the Page of Wands, the Eight of Wands, the Ten of Swords and the World.
Card Interpretation: See the addendum here
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Warnings: DH spoilers
Summary: The Fool and the Page of Wands advance through the Eight of Wands, the Ten of Swords, and, finally, the World.
Author Notes: Oddly enough, smut just didn’t find its way into this one. Hope you enjoy it!
The Arrows of Love Strike Without Warning
Draco stared out at the courtroom, overwhelmed by the large crowd that had gathered for his trial. Flashes went off, people pointed and murmured, and the cacophony of them echoing off the room’s red, stone walls was so overwhelming that Draco had to close his eyes for a moment, lest he be completely overcome.
His lawyer, a short, white-haired man with a booming voice, touched his shoulder lightly and whispered hoarsely in the direction of his ear. “Don’t close your eyes. It implies an admission of guilt.”
So he stared at the ceiling and moved his arms and legs restlessly, causing the metal chains that bound him to his chair to rattle and clang.
His lawyer leaned over to speak in his ear again. “I’m sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I tried to argue that the chains were unnecessary—in my mind, they’re highly prejudicial—but the members of the Wizengamot insisted that you be restrained.”
Draco ignored him wilfully and tried to straighten his fine robes, the black velvet of which was being crushed by the manacles around his wrists. At least the gold and yellow pattern across its length still shone brightly, like sunbursts against the expanse of a dark, endless night.
Suddenly, a gavel banged and Draco—along with at least half the inhabitants of the courtroom—jumped. The proceedings had begun. Draco made a point not to listen too closely as, when prompted by the Chief Warlock, his lawyer made a speech on his behalf. He walked around his chair and made extravagant hand gestures, occasionally drawing a gasp from the crowd. Draco couldn’t help but liken him to a small dog, barking and yipping around his feet, so he stared at the ceiling some more and rubbed the velvet of his robes in an attempt to soothe his frayed nerves.
The robes had been delivered to him by his mother just that morning, as a show of good faith that the verdict he received would be more favourable than his father’s was bound to be. Draco was not as sure as she, and yet he was strangely serene.
The chatter from the audience suddenly increased, and the Chief Warlock—was it Tiberius Ogden?—banged his gavel in an attempt to quiet the onlookers. It was clear that something odd was happening, but Draco continued to do his best not to take notice.
. . . perhaps he would get the death penalty. Now that the Dementors were gone, there was no need to fear the consumption of one’s eternal soul . . .
People were standing now and beginning to clap. A few of the members of the Wizengamot stood as well and joined in the applause. What was going on?
Draco finally snapped to attention, and when he did, his eyes landed on a lone figure approaching himself and the bench.
“If it please the Wizengamot, I call Harry Potter to the stand,” his lawyer announced with a flourish, and Draco watched with wide eyes as Potter continued towards him and took a seat at the witness stand. What was Potter doing here? Why would his lawyer have called him to testify on his behalf? Was he mad?! He was doomed! Perhaps they’d be able to dig up at least one Dementor and suck out his soul on Potter’s request. Dear, sweet Merlin . . .
A curtain of apathy fell across Draco once more as Potter was sworn in. He would not let this get to him, either. He wouldn’t listen to him, and when his punishment was handed down he would take it like a man.
But he could not help but look at him. Potter was resplendent in robes of orange and yellow, the pattern on them moving slowly. When Draco looked closer, he could see that the pattern was made up of small salamanders, simple black outlines that crawled across Potter’s chest and shoulders. His hair was a dark mop on the top of all that colour, just as wild as it had always been in school, and there was a red feather behind his ear that Draco was certain came from a phoenix. A tribute to Dumbledore?
Draco shivered at the thought of Him. In his mind’s eye he would always see him as he was on that tower, weak and trying to talk Draco out of killing him . . .
Draco knew that he deserved whatever punishment he got here today. He would not balk. He would . . .
“And you don’t think that Mr. Malfoy is a threat to the general public?”
“No,” Harry answered, voice strong and confident. “I do not think that Draco is a threat to anybody, be they a member of the Wizarding society or not. In fact, I believe him to be more of a threat to himself than to others. And I do not think that he should be sent to Azkaban.”
Draco kept his mouth closed with an effort. What was happening? Surely Potter couldn’t be serious?
Tiberius looked down his nose at Potter, expression dark. “Surely you don’t mean that, Mr. Potter. We have eyewitness accounts and testimony that proves Mr. Malfoy was instrumental in the Death Eater attack that took place at Hogwarts in 1997. And that he personally tortured, using the Cruciatus Curse, many prisoners that were held at Malfoy Manor. To suggest that he be set free is –”
Harry interrupted him before he could finish. “Draco was a minor when the most serious of those offenses occurred, and I know that he was acting under extreme duress when he made his ill-conceived attempts on Albus Dumbledore’s life and when he let Voldemort’s Death Eaters into Hogwarts. In fact, Professor Dumbledore was aware of Draco’s plots and did nothing to stop him, as he saw the precipitation of certain events as inevitable.”
“You have testified to that effect in the posthumous trial of Severus Snape, which you insisted upon in order to clear his name and award him the Order of Merlin. You are also scheduled to appear at a trial to expunge the record of one Sirius Black, who you claim was falsely accused and imprisoned by this court. Do you plan to make an appearance at the trial of each Death Eater we have in custody in order to testify to their innocence?”
Harry tilted his head to the side for a moment, and Draco had the impression that he was listening to someone whispering in his ear, although there was no one near him on the stand.
“Mr. Potter, you will answer the question,” Tiberius chided. “Do you, or do you not, plan to testify to the innocence of each Death Eater that we have in custody?” It was clear that the other members of the Wizengamot were becoming restless, and Harry turned his head back so that he was staring at the entire bench directly.
“No, sir,” Harry replied with restraint. “Only those that I know to have been acting against their will, or those that acted parts unknown to yourselves and the general public. I think you can appreciate the position myself and other members of the opposition to Voldemort, also known as Tom Riddle, were in this past year. I would hope that this body would want to know the truth about what occurred these past few years and make it a part of the public record. I would also hope that this body would want to be fair to those who suffered under the tyranny of Tom Riddle, on both sides of the conflict. For instance, Draco’s own mother was forced by her husband to endure Tom Riddle’s presence in her home and in her life. Her loyalty did not necessarily lie with him however, and it was she who saved my life during the Final Conflict by telling Tom Riddle that I was dead so that he would not kill me while I lay alone and unarmed.”
Tiberius had to bang his gavel a number of times to silence the courtroom. “Enough! And what do you suggest we do, then, with this young man, if he is not a threat? Will you take responsibility if he is set free and then proceeds along the path of the dark?”
Harry paused again for a moment, as if listening to someone whispering in his ear yet again. Then, “I suggest he be put on probation. He would have to report to a probations officer periodically, submit to scans for dark magic, and have his regular magic usage closely monitored. I will not presume to tell this court what to do, however.”
Tiberius chuckled. “Really? No need to be coy, Mr. Potter. But this counsel will take your opinions into consideration, given your unique knowledge of the situation and role in the events that have taken place. You are dismissed.”
Draco watched Harry leave the stand, still in complete shock. The rest of the trial passed in a blur of sound and colour.
They were still deliberating. Draco’s lawyer assured him that the verdict would be favourable, but Draco barely heard him.
Why had Potter spoken on his behalf? It made no sense. It wasn’t logical. Was he just so much of a Gryffindor that he had to save Draco from what he considered an unjust end?
A commotion rose again as the Wizengamot filed back into the courtroom from their deliberation chambers. Flashes began going off as Draco was prompted to stand, and when he looked past all the people Draco thought he saw a dark head of hair decorated with a bright red plume in the back of the courtroom, against the wall. He squinted and, sure enough, he saw a bushy head of hair bobbing beside Harry’s own.
He should have known that Granger was behind Potter’s strange burst of verbosity. She was obsessed with unjust suffering, inequality, lost causes and . . .
“After much deliberation, it is the decision of this court that Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, be found guilty of all charges brought against him.”
Draco wanted to cry out in dismay, but his mouth was dry—the breath had gone from him. His face had gone numb. More flashes went off. Is this what it’s like to lose everything? To lose all hope?
His lawyer squeezed his shoulder, and Draco realized that the Chief Warlock had begun speaking again. “As no one has outright refuted the charges laid against Mr. Malfoy, we had no choice but to find him guilty, although we do realize that there were mitigating circumstances that should be taken into consideration for his sentencing.”
More flashes went off, and Draco tried his best not to fall back in his chair.
“In the interest of expediency, we shall sentence him now, and hope that the appeals process can be avoided in return for our leniency.”
A murmur rose through the courtroom and Tiberius banged his gavel. “Enough. This court sentences you, Draco Malfoy, to magical probation for a term of five years. During this time, a trace will be placed upon you and all magical use will be catalogued by the ministry. You shall also be required to enter psychological evaluations and counselling, to last the duration of your probation, that will include monthly scans for evidence of dark magic on your person. If at any time you act in violation of your probation as laid out here today, you will be imprisoned and held without bail until such time that you can be retried by this court.
“Given the backlog we currently have, that could be a long time,” he added sternly over his glasses.
Draco nodded blankly, too overwhelmed to comment.
“Then Mr. Malfoy, you are free to go. Your wand will be surrendered to you on your way out. Court adjourned.”
He banged the gavel one final time and an explosion of noise erupted a second later. The chains also fell off Draco’s arms and legs, and his lawyer hugged him. People began clamouring forward, quills waving and shouted questions falling from their lips. Draco couldn’t move—and then his lawyer was shuffling him along, pushing their way through the crowd and answering questions for him. Saying things like he was happy with the verdict, that it was fair, that he would be a changed person as of this moment . . .
They reached the doors to the courtroom and two people moved to block their way. Instead of pushing his way through as before, his lawyer stopped and stood silently at his side. Draco looked up—Harry and Hermione were there, staring at him. Hermione had a grim, serious expression on her face, but Harry looked happy.
“I knew we’d win,” Harry said, and then he was patting Draco’s shoulder.
Draco thought he’d never seen anyone more attractive than Harry was at that moment, and as he stared at him in a stupor, the expression on Harry’s face morphed from one of happiness to one of concern. “Malfoy? Malfoy, are you okay?”
His lawyer shook his shoulder in an attempt to rouse him, and Draco toppled, unconscious before he even hit the floor.
Draco stared at the wall across from his private, hospital-room bed, trying to process the events of the last few weeks. Voldemort had been killed, and then he’d been thrown in jail, rushed to trial, found innocent after Harry-bloody-Potter had testified on his behalf and promptly fainted after deciding that said Potter was actually quite attractive in a devil-may-care, I’ve just saved your life again sort of way.
The Mediwizards attributed his embarrassing bout of unconsciousness to stress, but Draco thought their diagnosis too simple. A combination of relief and prolonged stress-related insomnia had led to his—not fainting!—but falling asleep instantly, so soundly that only Harry’s arms had kept him from hitting the floor.
Yes, he’d seen the full-page photograph on the cover of the Daily Prophet when he’d woken up three days later. His lawyer, the bastard, had thought it would be funny to spell-o-tape the damn thing to the wall of his hospital room.
He stared at the offending photograph of himself falling into Potter’s arms a bit longer. There was nothing else to do anyways, as he’d been ordered to stay in bed and not exert himself in any way, magical or physical.
Perhaps he’d go insane—break the monotony a bit, in any case . . .
A knock on the door jarred him out of his moment of self-pity. “Mr. Malfoy? You have a visitor, if that’s alright.”
Draco perked up instantly. “Yes, and for the love of Merlin send them in quickly – before I go mad from boredom.”
The nurse retreated and Harry’s head poked around the doorframe. “I always thought it was rubbish that Wizarding hospitals didn’t have tellies or something similar –”
“Potter? What are you doing here?” Draco was aware that his voice was getting higher with every word, but could do very little to control it. Just as he couldn’t keep from looking nervously towards the newspaper clipping taped to the wall.
Harry, who’d since moved into the room, followed his gaze – and promptly flushed scarlet when his eyes fell on the newspaper article. “Embarrassing, that,” he commented, then cleared his throat. “All sorts of bizarre speculation, too, on account of my testimony. Erm, sorry . . .”
Draco grimaced. “Don’t apologize. After all, you’ve saved my life—a few times now, I believe.” He glanced at the slim package in Harry’s hand. “What’s that, then? A get-well present?”
Harry laughed nervously and ran a hand up the back of his head, mussing his hair. “No! Well – sort of, I suppose.” He held the package out, realized he was too far from the bed, and then came forward haltingly. “Your wand. I was going to give it back to you once the Wizengamot had given me the okay, but you . . . well, you fainted, and –”
Draco grabbed the package and glared at Harry. “I did not faint, Potter. I fell asleep. Suddenly!”
Harry grinned at him. “You can call me Harry, you know.”
Draco gripped the package in his hand tightly, and imagined he could feel the thrum of magic under his palm. “Fine, Potter – Harry. You can call me by my given name, as well.”
Harry nodded and Draco could tell that he was trying to find a graceful way to leave. Unfortunately, Harry was anything but graceful. He edged away shyly and glanced back at the Daily Prophet photograph of himself catching Draco’s unconscious body. “Well, I better go. I’ve got another trial to speak at –”
Draco settled back against the pillows of his bed, wand box held against his chest. “Yes, duty calls. Bye then, P – Harry.”
Harry was out the door in moments, a muffled “Bye, Draco,” sounding past the door as it swung closed behind him.
It was a few days later and in the comfort of his own, newly purchased home that Draco realized he hadn’t properly thanked Harry for his help. On impulse, he penned a hasty letter of thanks and an invitation—and sent it before he could change his mind.
When Potter’s reply finally found its way back to him, Draco had already regretted the hastily composed letter ten times over. But here was his response now, a full week after he’d stopped expecting it.
What could possibly have possessed him to invite Potter to dinner, anyways? Just because he’d stared at that damned Daily Prophet picture for the rest of his hospital stay, and taken it with him when he was discharged, and folded it carefully and placed a preservation charm on it and put it in his memory chest with all his most cherished possessions . . . well, it didn’t mean that he particularly liked Potter. Or wanted a date – er, a dinner with him. As a thank you for his help in his trial –
Potter’s owl pecked his hand in irritation and Draco cried out in pain. “Ow! What the devil is the matter with you?”
The barn owl, an older bird slightly worse for wear, stuck its leg out under Draco’s nose and chattered impatiently until he had pulled the small scroll lose.
“It’s probably just a rejection letter . . .” Draco murmured to himself. The barn owl turned and winged out of the room, clipping Draco’s head in the process, as he unrolled the message.
It was the same scroll that he’d sent.
The bastard had sent back his message without even bothering to reply?! Draco was ready to cast a (probably probation-breaking) Incendio when he noticed the untidy scrawl added under his own, more elegant, script. The messages read together:
Dear Harry,
I write you now, eager to right a wrong that I have done you. On our last meeting, I neglected to give you the thanks you richly deserve, and for that I apologize. I want to do so now, and with real depth of emotion.
Thank you, Harry, for defending me so adamantly and loquaciously (for which I think I owe Granger thanks, as well), and know that I will consider myself forever in your debt. You are more than welcome to ask of me anything in my power, and I will do what I can to even the scales between us.
In the hope that you accept my thanks, and in the spirit of good will, I would like to invite you to dinner with me at sometime in the near future. It would, of course, be my treat.
My everlasting gratitude,
Draco Malfoy
Dear Draco,
Sorry this is so late—post has been piling up lately. Hope it’s not too late to take you up on dinner.
– Harry
When the paparazzi caught them out together, it was total chaos. Thankfully, dinner had gone well and was over before the vultures descended, quills waving and flash bulbs going off in their faces.
Unfortunately, Draco went into shock—the moment was too reminiscent of his trial—and Harry had to take him by the hand and Apparate them away before he could hyperventilate and – fall unconscious again.
The next morning’s Daily Prophet headline read: “Harry Potter Wooed to Dark Side by Newly Freed Death Eater?” and was accompanied by a picture of Harry grabbing Draco’s hand and pulling him close before Apparating them away. The article not only implied that Draco had exchanged sexual favours for Harry’s testimony, but also that Draco was trying to set Harry up as the next Dark Lord.
. . . The next morning’s Daily Prophet headline read: “Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley Split. Draco Malfoy to Blame?”
Draco could hardly open his window for the editions without batting off dozens of owls carrying cursed letters and howlers, all of them trying to get past his home’s wards. It was ludicrous. He had to make it to his first probation meeting in a little more than a week; how was he expected to go out in public when almost everyone wanted him dead?
Perhaps he’d just shut himself in entirely until then, and hope that things got better. He’d survived Voldemort—he could survive this.
It wasn’t until a day before he was due to go to the ministry that Draco heard a word from the outside world.
He hadn’t expected it to come in the form it had, however.
“Draco?”
Draco, leaving the bathroom in nothing but a small towel, shrieked like a girl and crossed his arms over his chest. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”
Harry rubbed the back of his head and stared at the floor sheepishly. “Dunno. I wanted to talk to you, and I figured you weren’t answering mail at the moment –”
Draco dashed for his walk-in closet and snatched up a robe. “More to the point, how are you here?” he asked, putting on the robe and cinching it at his waist. “I have some of the strongest wards possible without using dark magic. Nothing should be getting past them.”
Harry shrugged. “Just Apparated in,” he answered nonchalantly. “So what do you think of this whole mess?”
Draco sat on his bed and huffed. “May as well sit down, Harry. I won’t bite.”
Harry stared at Draco’s bare chest, most of it still visible inside the “v” of his robe, and blushed. “Yeah, well . . . it can’t be helping your public image any to be called a Death Eater who wants me as your new Dark Lord.”
Draco stared at the bedspread under his hand. “No, I imagine it’s not helping any, but what can I do? I have to put up with it for at least five more years, and then I can leave the country. Start somewhere fresh—unless they tear me to shreds the second I step outside, that is.” Draco grinned widely, a bit manically, and looked up into Harry’s eyes. “At least I’ll be out of your way so you can be the next Minister of Magic, right?”
Harry’s expression turned dark. “I don’t want that. I’ve never wanted that. Don’t want the fame, either.” He grabbed Draco’s hand and held it tight. “And now that all the people innocent of Death Eater crimes have been tried and found innocent, I’d really rather disappear, too. Start new. Be someone else . . .”
His face got a faraway, distant look, and Draco couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help but –
He turned and with his other hand, he cupped Harry’s face and brought him close for a kiss. Soft, sweet and simple, it was over in seconds, and before Draco could regret what he’d done, Harry was pulling him close for another one, this one hard and desperate.
“Draco, I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I can’t handle the crowds—the attention—anymore. And I have so much magic since killing Voldemort, it’s practically leaping off my skin.”
It was true. Draco could feel the thrum of magic running under the skin of his hand, which he clutched back desperately.
“What if I lose control?” Harry asked him plaintively. “What if some reporter gets too close, too aggressive? If I snap?”
“I don’t –”
“I’m leaving. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now—I even told Hermione and Ron not to worry if I suddenly up and left—and now that I know how you feel . . . how you could feel . . . Come with me?”
It was insane. He’d be fleeing the law with a man he hardly knew – a man he’d kissed twice and decided he’d loved in the space between those kisses. It couldn’t work. It was insane . . .
Draco stared into Harry’s wild, green eyes and, strangely, he was not afraid to say: “Yes.”
The End.
Addendum: Cards Drawn and Their Meanings
Characters/Pairing:
The Fool - A young man in gorgeous vestments pauses at the brink of a precipice among the great heights of the world; he surveys the blue distance before him--its expanse of sky rather than the prospect below. The edge which opens on the depth has no terror; it is as if angels were waiting to uphold him. His countenance is full of intelligence and expectant dream. He has a rose in one hand and in the other is a costly wand, from which depends over his right shoulder a wallet curiously embroidered.
Page of Wands - Dark young man, faithful, a lover, an envoy, a postman. BESIDE A MAN, HE WILL BEAR FAVOURABLE TESTIMONY CONCERNING HIM. Has the chief qualities of his suit, being: FIRE and a strong passion, ambition, career, creative endeavours, religion and/or philosophy that he will put his energy and soul into. He usually has something he has to do, whether he is recompensed for it or not. It is something that burns inside of him and he needs to act on it.
Story Progression:
Eight of Wands - Activity in undertakings, the path of such activity, swiftness, as that of an express messenger; great haste, great hope, speed towards an end which promises assured felicity; generally, that which is on the move; also the arrows of love.
Ten of Swords - Pain, affliction, tears, sadness, desolation.
The World - Assured success, recompense, voyage, route, emigration, flight, change of place.
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