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The Drawing Room	By : Lindsay Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 1617 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor do I make any money from writing this story.

Chapter List
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Draco Malfoy had been given a life sentence in Azkaban. After four years and countless suicide attempts the Wizengammot had quietly shipped Malfoy to St. Mungo’s for reasons still unclear. At St. Mungo’s Malfoy was being heavily restrained in a solitary room for 22 hours a day. His time at St. Mungo’s was also for life and any interaction with the other patients was forbidden. Harry had read over Malfoy’s somehow lacking record of the past six years; his entire written record contained only three pages. Obviously there wasn’t much to report on someone when they’re locked up all of the time but it still seemed like something was missing.
The whole situation gave Harry a bad feeling. He was feeling worse yet after arriving at St. Mungo’s just four days after his and Hermione’s meeting with Kingsley. Knowing that he had to face Malfoy for the first time in over six years had left Harry shaking and sweating with a nervousness that was unfamiliar to him since joining the Aurors and working for the Ministry. He didn’t have any Ministry backing here though; here he was just Harry Potter looking to talk with an old schoolmate. Harry had been told specifically that he wasn’t to tell anyone that he was on Ministry business except Malfoy himself.
Convincing Malfoy was going to be a near impossible task, Harry lamented, as he walked down the main corridor leading to the closed ward. St. Mungo’s was bustling with activity when he had first arrived but the closer he walked to the closed ward the less people he saw until eventually he was alone in the stark whiteness of a deserted hallway with nothing but his own hollow footfalls for company. When he finally reached the end of the hallway he passed his wand silently over an inconspicuous closed door. Kingsley had told him to do this to gain entry to the closed ward. Only those who had been registered to enter prior to their arrival could enter the ward.
The door quietly unlatched and Harry quickly pushed his way through before closing it behind him. He found himself in a small reception room with half a dozen chairs and a small desk crowded into the slight area. A middle aged witch sat behind the desk and looked up as Harry approached.
“Harry Potter,” he said flatly, glancing around the silent room. He warily set his wand on the witch’s desk and she promptly snatched it away from him. Kingsley had warned him that he’d have to leave his wand behind.
“One moment please, Mr. Potter,” she replied with barely a glance but curiosity shone brightly in her eyes. No mention was made of his wand which she had quickly tucked away into a drawer. She gestured to the chairs on the opposite wall and Harry went to them and sat down. Harry started fidgeting immediately and was grateful when a healer arrived not five minutes later. He followed the man out of the reception area and into a white hallway lined with metal doors.
“Mr. Malfoy is not used to visitors and I ask that you not upset him. He is restrained for a reason – under no circumstances are you to free him of his restraints,” the man explained briefly before stopping half-way down the hallway and unlocking a door on the right hand side. The healer silently walked away and it took Harry nearly a full minute to gather himself and turn the knob leading into the room.
The room was as stark and white as the rest of St. Mungo’s but there was a sense of emptiness and desolation in this room; in this entire ward. There were two barred windows that let in some natural light but the view was of a cement wall with a small courtyard below. The room itself was barren aside from the bed and a stiff looking chair.
Malfoy didn’t look up when Harry had entered the room and thankfully his head was turned away. Harry approached slowly, taking in what he could see of his former rival. The form in the bed barely resembled the boy Harry had gone to school with. Malfoy looked emaciated, his bare arms were little more than skin and bone and his wrists were chafed red from the restraints. His hair was still as white-blond as ever but it’d grown long and was disheveled and knotted.
Harry grabbed the chair from the far wall and dragged it over to the bed before sitting in it, wringing his hands together in nervous anticipation. He was almost grateful when Malfoy turned his head in his direction because Harry really didn’t know what to say or how to begin. Malfoy’s eyes slowly roamed over Harry’s face, a blank look clouding his gaze before slow recognition settled into his expression.
“Potter?” he asked his voice raspy from disuse. Confusion transformed Malfoy’s features and he struggled with the restraints weakly before laying still again – his eyes wide as he stared at Harry in what could only be disbelief.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Harry practically stuttered, “Are you well?” Harry immediately felt stupid for asking how he was because clearly being restrained wasn’t an ideal way to live your life.
“I’m alive,” Malfoy responded dully.
“Well….that’s something,” was Harry’s response. He raked his brain for something more to say; a proper way to start this conversation. He was just so utterly shocked to see his childhood rival reduced to such a pathetic looking being. “I never wanted you to go to Azkaban; and your mother….”
“I understand, Potter. Thank-you,” he cut Harry off politely enough but his expression was cold. Harry glanced behind himself at the solid steel closed door before turning back to Malfoy. Harry reached forward and started to undo the surprisingly muggle restraints binding Malfoy to the bed.
“What are you doing?” Malfoy hissed while shooting his own paranoid look at the closed door.
“I can’t talk to you like this,” Harry shook his head, unable to meet Malfoy’s eyes, “I came to ask for your help and I….well I cant do it if you’re laying there like that, against your will.” Harry had nearly undone all the straps and when the last one was finally free of his wrist Malfoy only continued to lay there. Finally Harry risked looking at the other man’s face but he was only met with Malfoy’s blank gaze. Finally and slowly Malfoy sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed to face Harry. He moved stiffly, like an old man awakening after a long sleep.
“I’m not supposed to be unrestrained, if they found out….” Malfory started, rubbing at his chafed wrists.
“They won’t know,” Harry interrupted. “Why do they keep you like this anyways?” He gestured vaguely at the restraints, feeling rather uncomfortable about the whole thing.
“You don’t know?” Malfoy looked truly baffled. “I thought The Prophet would have done a story about me after they pulled me out of Azkaban.”
“No. No one’s heard anything about you in years; most people believe you died in Azkaban or that you’re still there,” Harry informed him.
“That’s interesting,” Malfoy mused as a small smirk transformed his face and he suddenly looked more like the Malfoy Harry remembered. “The Dementors wanted the Ministry to get rid of me. Instead they put me here; restrained.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Harry pointed out.
“I figured out how to defend myself from the Dementors and there really is no point being in Azkaban unless they can torture your soul so they wanted me gone,” Malfoy gave another vague response and Harry was sure he was doing it on purpose to rile him up.
“Defend against them? How?” Harry was skeptical.
“I taught myself how to do a wandless patronis,” Draco replied flippantly like it was no big deal; like he hadn’t learned to perform an impossible feat of magic.
“What?!” Harry’s eyes were probably bugging out of his head he was so surprised. It was completely unheard of as far as Harry knew. Wandless magic was difficult for even the most experienced witches and wizards but a wandless patronis was not feasible. “How could you possibly think of a happy memory when you’re surrounded by Dementors all of the time?”
“When you have enough motivation anything is possible, Potter. Besides, I didn’t need a truly happy memory; the knowledge that I’m innocent was enough. That’s why they keep me restrained, they think I’m some kind of master of wandless magic but that just isn’t true,” he paused but Harry didn’t know what to say in response so he continued, “I’m assuming you didn’t come here to chit chat.”
“No I…I didn’t. I need help,” Harry felt suddenly uncomfortable asking for Malfoy’s help. He was still completely thrown by what Malfoy had told him. Malfoy seemed just as uncomfortable too as he seemingly ignored what Harry had said.
“You look like being an Auror agrees with you,” Malfoy said while glancing over Harry; his choice of words and even his tone were a little strange but Harry was sure it’d been meant as a back handed compliment and no more than a means to direct the conversation away from himself.
“Thanks but I’m not an Auror anymore,” Harry replied slowly.
“I glimpsed the Prophet not even two months ago and the headline – the only part I got a chance to read – said that ‘Auror Potter breaks long-time girlfriends heart’,” Draco said casually but Harry recognized it as a jab.
“Yeah well, I haven’t been an Auror for almost three years yet somehow the title stuck,” Harry couldn’t help but note the bitterness in his own voice. This was getting too personal. He knew Malfoy was doing it on purpose and considering what he’d just told him, Harry couldn’t blame him.
“That surprises me. I always thought you wanted to be an Auror. I thought you’d marry the Weasley girl and live happily-ever-after. What happened?” Malfoy seemed to be enjoying this far too much and Harry couldn’t help but feel like he was getting some sick pleasure out of learning about the downside that was Harry’s life.
“Why did you continue to fight for Voldemort after your father was captured?” Harry asked just as casually, and Malfoy’s face grew still and his eyes narrowed. A long tense silence passed between them.
“You said that you’re here for my help. What do you want?” Malfoy countered abruptly.
“Well,” Harry resigned himself to the fact that he wasn’t going to drag this out. “I work for the Ministry under a new division. We don’t have a particular title but basically what we do is sweep Death Eater homes for dangerous wards and spells before the properties are liquidated.”
“They’re liquidating Malfoy Manor?” Malfoy suddenly looked even more ashen, any hint of the smarmy smile he wore while trying to get a rise out of Harry had disappeared into a look of shock and despair.
“You should be thankful that’s all they’re doing. A month ago they wanted to demolish it but the Ministy was able to convince the Wizengamot and the general public of Malfoy Manor’s historical significance,” Harry provided, but this information didn’t seem to soothe Malfoy at all. His shoulders had slumped and his head bowed to look at Harry’s feet. It took a moment for Harry to recognize that Malfoy looked defeated because he’d never seen the other man look that way before. Even during the trials Malfoy always held his head high and remained strong even as he was being forced to plead guilty to dozens of crimes that he had no part in. The Wizengamot had used him as a scapegoat to account for the crimes committed by all of the Death Eaters who were eluding capture. At the time the public accepted Malfoy as the scapegoat and no one except for Harry himself spoke on Malfoy’s behalf.
“You can’t get into the drawing room,” Malfoy stated. He slowly looked up to meet Harry’s eyes again. Malfoy’s eyes were dull and sunken, his face gaunt, hair limp and skin pale as parchment. How quickly the news of the Manor’s liquidation had ruined Malfoy’s spirits.
“No. I can’t get into your father’s office either,” Harry admitted. He was glad that Malfoy had recognized why he was here without him having to keep explaining.
“Who are you working with?” He asked suspiciously.
“Hermione is doing research for me but when I’m working in the Manor I’m alone,” Harry figured answering Malfoy honestly was probably the fastest way to get him to trust him enough to tell him what he needed to know about the wards.
“Who do you report to?” Malfoy asked with only slightly less suspicion.
“The Minister; Kingsley,” he replied shortly before elaborating. “It’s a small department, like I said, and Kingsley likes to keep close tabs on special cases.”
“You won’t get in. I can’t help you,” Malfoy explained slowly a slight furrow appearing between his brow as he seemed to fall deep in thought.
“Hermione thinks its blood magic,” Harry supplied.
“I know what it is but the wards are near impossible to break. I’d have to do it myself and even then it wouldn’t be easy because I simply don’t know how,” Malfoy confirmed Harry’s suspicions.
“Will you at least try?” Harry prodded.
“I don’t know if you’ve forgotten but I’m serving a life sentence here. This might not be Azkaban but they aren’t just going to let me leave. Besides, if the Manor is being liquidated why would I help you?” Malfoy responded snidely. He had a valid point, two really.
“Kingsley could probably get you out for long enough to help and if all goes well I might be able to convince him to give you a pardon,” Harry offered even knowing that it wasn’t his decision to make or his terms to offer. His name no longer meant much to those in the wizarding world ever since he was forced out of the Aurors but Malfoy certainly didn’t need to know that.
“What good is a pardon if I have no home to go to?” Malfoy retorted with a tone laced in bitterness.
“I…don’t know what it means to you but you could at least have another chance to start a new life. And I’m the only one working in the Manor right now. They haven’t taken an inventory so I’m sure if you wanted something, family heirlooms or whatever, I could arrange that for you,” Harry was practically on thin ice and he knew he should stop offering promises that he would be hard pressed to keep but he was also set on completing his job at Malfoy Manor.
“If you can somehow get me out of here and I won’t ever have to come back I might consider helping you,” Malfoy reasoned.
“Well at first it might be hard to convince Kingsley….”
“Then try. Keep me out while I’m helping you and in the interim work on keeping me out for good. You are the great Harry Potter after all, it shouldn’t be too hard to get your way,” the last was said with dripping sarcasm but Harry ignored it.
Of course Malfoy had no way of knowing that most of the magical world had turned against Harry. There were still Death Eaters at large and most of the wizarding world liked to blame Harry for it. He’d become the scapegoat for all of the incompetent Aurors who were failing at their jobs and all of the innocents who had died as a result; just as Malfoy had become the Ministry’s scapegoat for all of the Death Eaters that managed to get away. Harry supposed that they did have that one thing in common.
“We’ll see,” Harry replied non-committal. “I have to be going,” Harry was distracted as he stood but as Malfoy lay back down on the bed Harry realized he’d have to strap him down again. Harry concentrated his magic and in moments Malfoy was secured to the bed again.
“Impressive,” Malfoy commented dryly at Harry’s display of wandless magic, “Although a bit cocky, aren’t you?” he added and Harry merely grinned at him, looking quite pleased with himself, before quickly making his way to and slipping out of the door without another word.
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The Drawing Room