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Heart in Azkaban	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 2201 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
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"Tell me the truth about Draco, Mr. Potter."
She looks worn, was Harry's first thought. Then he wanted to sneer at himself. Of course Narcissa Malfoy bloody looked worn. Her husband and son were both in prison. She had escaped only because she'd done something daring and reckless. And it had been mostly for Draco's sake that she'd saved his own life, Harry knew.
He wondered if she regretted it, now, but seeing the way she stared at him, he realized she was still waiting for an answer to her question. He cleared his throat in embarrassment and replied, "He's holding up, Mrs. Malfoy. He needs me a lot, and he wants me to call him by his first name. He's also sensitive to the Dementors."
He thought about telling Mrs. Malfoy that another guard had been abusing Draco, but immediately dismissed the thought. He didn't know the guard's name, for one thing, and Mrs. Malfoy would think Harry was holding back if he couldn't give her a name. And if he could, then she would do something vengeful.
Harry understood the impulse, but there was nothing more likely than Narcissa Malfoy's interference to convince Jackson there was something inappropriate going on with him and Draco.
"That does not sound like holding up to me."
Harry sighed and forcibly brought his mind back to the conversation in front of him instead of the one he hoped to have with Draco later. They were in his drafty little front room in the flat that was all he could afford on an Azkaban guard's wages. Mrs. Malfoy sat as if she was afraid she would get worms from his chair. "He is, Mrs. Malfoy. He tells me what he needs, and I provide it."
"Explain to me what that means."
"He said he couldn't stand it that I called him by his last name. He wanted me to call him Draco. And he tells me that I'm the only one will take care of him. I proved that to him, I think, by coming when he needed me." Harry hoped Mrs. Malfoy didn't ask about the context of that.
She seemed unlikely to. In fact, she bowed her head and even took a sip of the tea, which she thought inferior; she'd conveyed that to Harry without speaking. But now...
Harry held back his sigh. He hoped he didn't end up with two Malfoys to take care of.
"I would rescue him if I could. Does he ask about me?"
"He does," Harry said, which was perfectly true. Draco might not do it as often as his mother thought of him, but he had his sanity to hang onto, and once again, Harry felt unable to judge someone who had that to cope with. "He knows you have to keep yourself safe, though."
"Keep myself safe," Mrs. Malfoy repeated, with a frown that Harry would once have thought incredible of someone who had been in Slytherin.
"By not doing something stupid in an attempt to get him rescued," Harry said, staring at her, "which would prove that he has an ally in the prison as well as outside it."
Mrs. Malfoy sat back with a haughty movement that reminded Harry of when he'd first seen her at the Quidditch World Cup. Her hands shook a moment before she clenched them on her knees. "You could dare to say such a thing to me."
"Yes," Harry said. "The Ministry is volatile right now, you know that, with people like Gerald Jackson in charge. He'd love a chance to arrest you and put you in prison right alongside Draco and Lucius. I can hear him now, crowing about having the whole set."
Maybe it was the almost perfect imitation of Jackson's voice he did, but Mrs. Malfoy eased slowly back in her seat, her face still hard and uncompromising, but her hands relaxing. "You know more about politics than I would have thought you did, Mr. Potter."
Harry had to smile. He didn't care if it was grim right now. "I've been forced to learn."
"But no one forced you to take care of my son. Why did you?"
Harry swallowed and met Mrs. Malfoy's gaze as directly as he could, despite knowing how she would react to what he had to say. "If I'd fought a little harder, he might not have gone to Azkaban. It was so sure to me that they would release him, I forgot about the way the Wizengamot is approaching things now..."
"Ah." Again Mrs. Malfoy's fingers clenched on her lap, knuckles turning the color of snow, and then relaxed. "I think you blame the wrong people, Mr. Potter. You should blame the, as you say, volatile mood of the Ministry."
Harry simply shook his head. "I can do that, or I can blame the right people. Which is most people except you and Draco."
Mrs. Malfoy gave him a strange smile. "I am beginning to see why Draco feels at home with you. What a very Malfoy thing to say."
*
"I saw your mum today."
Draco, basking in the light of Prongs and sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Harry, as tight as Ron and Hermione had during the Horcrux hunt, said nothing. But Harry soldiered on. He thought it was important to remind Draco of his family.
"She was worried about you. But she said that I sounded like part of your family." Harry hoped Draco would smile at that, but he only closed his eyes and let his head fall on Harry's shoulder. Harry sighed and stroked his hair. "She said it was a Malfoy thing to say, to say only you and her were excused from blame for you being here."
"There's another person," Draco whispered.
"Who?" Harry asked, hoping that it was a sign Draco was going to talk about Lucius, which he hadn't done since he was here.
Draco turned his head, eyes as luminous as snow. "You."
Harry sighed and rubbed Draco's shoulder with one hand. Draco had said that was a simple thing he missed, and his friends or house-elves used to do it for him. Seeing the way he arched his neck now and closed his eyes, Harry was willing to bet that some of his friends thought his satisfied-cat look was all the payment they needed.
"If you want to believe that, then I won't say anything else," Harry promised. "The last thing I want to do is distress you."
"Ah, Harry," Draco whispered. "You don't really believe it. But you're willing to let me do that. You're willing to let me act as much like a normal person as possible, given the situation. Thank you."
His voice sounded almost teary. Harry would have backed away before, let him have his space and control his voice. That was what a person as proud as Draco Malfoy would want, in Harry's estimation.
But this was Draco, not Malfoy, and so Harry hesitantly put an arm around his shoulders and said, "I think the main reason I'm to blame is that I didn't fight hard enough. I thought your trial was all wrapped up. They offered to let me come in for three days of testimony, but I only did one."
Draco's hand covered his fingers and squeezed. "I know," he whispered. "I know, Harry. And I don't blame you."
Harry paused. There was something specific in those words, he thought, something special that Draco was trying to say to him. He just didn't know what it was. "And you want to listen to something other than me blaming myself?" he hazarded.
Draco gave a muffled snort. Harry had to smile. It was such an intense, interesting sound, and he knew he wouldn't have thought that only a few months ago, but he couldn't really care. He was just glad that Draco remained capable of a sound like that, when he had been in Azkaban.
"I would rather you didn't blame yourself at all," Draco said, lifting his head and shaking it so that his hair fell down on his shoulders in a rather attractive fashion. "But if I can't get that, then I'll settle for not listening to you blame yourself, yes."
Harry swallowed. "It's just," he said, aware of Draco's eyes and yet wanting to get this out, "I could have fought harder."
"You could have. And the Wizengamot could have been more merciful and not such a bunch of bastards." Draco sighed through his nose. "Neither happened. If you want to blame yourself and keep quiet, do, by all means." He turned a little to the side, as if he didn't think Harry would notice Draco still observing him. "But I would rather that you excuse yourself."
"Excuse sounds like--" Harry put a hand up when he saw the way Draco turned towards him, ready to do battle. "I understand. I'll think about it and do what I can, all right?"
"That's the reason you keep me sane, you know."
Harry blinked, not understanding, and Draco reached out a hand and laid it on his knee.
"You can joke with me," Draco whispered. "I know you pity me, I know you think this is horrible, but you don't make everything about that. Maybe you can't. If my mother was here, I know she would be so upset that I'd spend half my time comforting her. With you here, I can mourn. Thank you."
Harry had no idea what to say. He only touched Draco's shoulder and said nothing. Bringing up the times, again, when he hadn't been there to protect Draco seemed ungracious at the moment.
Draco leaned in, closer and closer. Harry watched him, wondering if he was going to whisper a secret he wanted not even Dementors to overhear.
Instead, Draco's lips brushed his cheek. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you, again and again."
Harry had to swallow. He had to pull himself together against the fear that someone might have seen. They couldn't have, he remembered. He'd blocked the door with the spell that obscured the sights inside the cell again.
And Draco was pulling back from him, curling into a ball so tight that Harry couldn't bear it. He probably thought Harry was rejecting him. Harry reached out and clasped a hand on his arm, and then pulled Draco in for a hug.
"I'm sorry," Draco whispered.
"Don't be. You took me by surprise, that's all."
Draco stared at him. Harry stared back. He had no idea what his face was conveying at the moment, but he tried to make it as warm and welcoming as possible.
Draco leaned against his side again. He said nothing for the rest of the time Harry spent with him, but his hold never loosened.
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Heart in Azkaban