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Let Me Be Your Voice	By : Queenie_Mab Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8661 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations from Harry Potter, created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers: Bloomsbury, Scholastic, and Warner Bros. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
An hour later, Harry sat in a chair before McGonagall’s desk, Hermione and Ron beside him. The heads of houses had subdued Smith, Boot and Corner and stood guard over them somewhere behind Harry.

McGonagall looked down her nose sternly from her position in the throne-like chair behind her desk. The door opened, drawing her attention.

Harry turned to see Kingsley Shacklebolt enter the room followed by Dawlish and two Ministry watch-wizards in matching uniforms. They relieved the professors of their charges as Kingsley addressed McGonagall.

“Minerva, thank you for your swift action.” His low voice rumbled through the room, reverberating off the circular walls. He surveyed the students. “Where is Mr. Malfoy?”

“Poppy is looking him over,” McGonagall answered. “She will be here with him shortly.”

Kingsley turned his dark face to Harry, a frown creasing his bald forehead. “You witnessed the attack, Harry?”

Harry nodded, he was still finding it hard to control his anger. He kept his lips pressed angrily together.

“We saw it too, Kingsley,” Hermione said, and then quickly amended, “I mean, Minister.”

Kingsley’s eyebrows raised comically. “You may call me by my name, Hermione,” he said, smiling though the smile did not reach his eyes. “You have earned that right.”

The door opened and Madam Pomfrey entered the room, Malfoy following as though against his will. He looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else in the world at that moment than where he was.

Harry noticed his face was more pale than usual and he had pink spots on his cheeks as though he was suffering from a fever.

His heart felt like it was being crushed by his deflating lungs, as if a hole had opened up in his chest and swallowed it. He met Malfoy’s grey eyes, seeing a hopelessness there, a sadness that Harry couldn’t help but feel Malfoy had brought upon himself.

Kingsley turned to Malfoy.

“Mr. Malfoy. Are these three the students who attacked you?” he asked sharply, pointing at the bound students.

Malfoy gave a quick nod, not looking at them.

“That’s good enough for me,” Kingsley said, and nodded at Dawlish. “Take them away to await trial.”

Dawlish cleared his throat and his reedy voice spoke up. “Minister, I don’t think a head nod should suffice as testimony …”

Kingsley’s retort was quick and sharp. “If Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger back that head nod, than it is enough, Dawlish. Take them into custody immediately and keep your remarks to yourself.”

Dawlish seemed to curl in on himself at the rebuff. He took charge of Michael Corner and led the watch-wizards out with Boot and Smith.

“Minerva,” Madam Pomfrey interjected. “I would like to keep Mr. Malfoy for another night of observation …”

Malfoy violently shook his head.

Harry raised an eyebrow, meeting Malfoy’s eyes as if he was pleading with Harry to stand up for him. Grudgingly, he turned to Madam Pomfrey.

“Madam Pomfrey. He shares a dormitory with me, and now that Smith and Boot are gone, he should be safe there. The other boys are friends of mine.”

She glowered at Harry as if angry that he would challenge her authority, but McGonagall answered her as Malfoy nodded his head in agreement.

“Poppy, I feel that Mr. Malfoy has missed enough school as it is, as has Mr. Potter. As Harry is the only one who can communicate with him more than a yes or no question, I would prefer they stick together and attend their lessons.”

Madam Pomfrey frowned, her hands on her hips.

“Very well,” she told McGonagall then turned to Harry. “But I expect you to notify me immediately, Potter, if anything out of the ordinary occurs. Do I make myself clear?”

Harry nodded his agreement.

“We need to get down to our lessons, Minerva,” Flitwick said in his squeaky voice.

McGonagall looked at the clock on her desk with a frown. “Yes, Filius, of course,” she said. “You and Pomona should return, and Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley as well. I only need to speak with Molly and Horace, Potter and Malfoy a few minutes longer.”

Professors Sprout and Flitwick left with Madam Pomfrey. Ron and Hermione followed, closing the door behind them with a soft click.

Meanwhile, Malfoy seemed to be attempting to blend in with the portraits lining the walls. Harry saw that his face was drawn and a line creased his forehead.

“Mr. Malfoy,” the portrait of Snape said in the silence that fell. It made Harry shiver hearing Snape’s voice for the first time since the war. “Dumbledore has told me what has happened to you. I am afraid I know of no method of removing the curse. It could be that your father must lift it personally or that it may wear off in time. I’m sorry, Draco.”

Harry had never heard so much emotion in that silken voice before. It was sort of creepy.

“Draco,” Dumbledore’s portrait said next. “Trust that Harry will help you overcome your affliction. He is a worthy friend to have, and I know he cares.”

McGonagall cleared her throat. “Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, I would like you to attend your lessons now, but return to my office at the end of the day. Your heads of houses will speak with you individually at that time.”

Harry stood up, feeling a bit outside of himself still, but took some deep breaths to calm his emotions. He walked to the door, unable to avoid noticing the slight flinch Malfoy gave as he passed.

“Are you coming?” he asked.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall called after him.

He turned to look at her.

“Understand that I expect you to stay together, and send me a Patronus immediately if anything is amiss.”

They each gave a curt nod of understanding and left the room, but not before Harry noticed Snape’s portrait leave its frame, its hand to its head as if wanting to escape an unpleasant conversation. He looked over his shoulder at Slughorn and Molly’s troubled expressions as they waited for McGonagall to have her quick word, and wondered what he and Malfoy were in for later that day.

When the reached the bottom of the circular stairs and stepped out from behind the stone gargoyle, Harry turned to Malfoy, unable to keep the bitterness he was feeling from his voice. “What time is it?” he asked, more for something to break the cold veil of silence hanging between them than for anything else.

Malfoy looked at his wristwatch, and then held up his index fingers.

“Not talking to me again, are you?” Harry asked, tempering his frustration. “Fine. Eleven?”

Malfoy nodded, his eyes still wary.

Harry felt sick. It was just like the time in his fifth year when the sleeping serpent inside him would awaken at random and lash out its hatred at Dumbledore. He wanted the anger to go away, wanted people to not treat him like he had a Jekyll and Hyde complex.

“So, Transfiguration?” Harry asked.

When Malfoy nodded again, Harry led the way down the corridor, his bitterness and anger still bubbling just under the surface of his control.
- 14
- 15
- 16
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Let Me Be Your Voice