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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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"Do you know why you're here, Harry?"
"No, sir."
It was an effort for Harry to keep his voice steady. In truth, he'd been dreading this interview ever since Kingsley had Flooed him that morning. And when he came into Kingsley's office and saw Gerald Jackson sitting off to the side, as smug as Dudley on his birthday, his dread had solidified in his chest.
But Harry still maintained the soldier posture and the slightly downcast eyes. By now, Kingsley as well as Jackson expected it of him.
"You're here because Mr. Jackson has reported that you were taking advantage of one of the prisoners."
Harry wanted to scream and lash out. When he was the only one who took care of Draco, the only one who even gave a damn whether he lived or died--
And then he saw the way Jackson was leaning towards him, and cooled his temper. Of course that was exactly what Jackson wanted him to do. By proving his point, Harry would get Kingsley's apologies and a removal from Azkaban, and probably a referral to a Mind-Healer. Harry had to control himself, or the chance to help Draco would walk out the door.
With a heavy sigh, Harry focused on Kingsley again. "What are the accusations, sir?"
Jackson frowned. Good. Anything that displeased that bastard was a good thing for Draco.
"That you have, er, pursued a romantic relationship with someone under your care." Harry's calm reaction was unnerving Kingsley, too, or at least it seemed like it from the way Kingsley peered at him. He shuffled a few papers on his desk and sighed. "It stops short of rape, but there's the possibility of that."
And of course he used concern for Draco as his motive in making the report. Damn him. Damn him. Damn him.
Outwardly, Harry remained alert and attentive as he never could have if this was only about him. "I see. Can I ask what proof there is, sir?"
Kingsley exchanged a glance with Jackson, who had started to frown so heavily that Harry wanted to snicker. Still he was calm and waited, his hands clasped lightly behind his back. Kingsley finally turned towards him and said, "The amount of time you spend with Mr. Malfoy."
"Oh." Harry shrugged a little. "He's in pain from the Dementors, sir. I'm making sure that he doesn't go insane and deprive us of a punishment that hurts those who are sane most."
"I wouldn't have thought you would be so cold."
Kingsley sounded disappointed in him. And of course Harry couldn't explain what was really going on, with Jackson there. The most he could do was sigh wearily and say, "I'm showing as much compassion as I can, sir. I mean, he was my enemy in school and throughout the war. The few good things he's done can't outweigh the bad. And if I gave him special treatment that was good, wouldn't that just add substance to Mr. Jackson's accusations?"
Jackson scowled now as though something in his gut was paining him. Kingsley paused, then shuffled some more papers and said, "I see what you mean. There's also the fact that you obscure the door of the cell with some special charms."
Harry shrugged. "Keeping Malfoy sane does involve holding him and cooing to him like a baby, sir. It's the only thing he responds to. You can ask the other guards if he's ever had a bruise on him."
Another pause. Harry wondered if there was "proof" that Kingsley was reluctant to bring up, or if this was all Jackson had managed to come up with.
Kingsley finally coughed. "There's also the way that you took up the post of a guard in Azkaban within a few days of Mr. Malfoy coming to be a prisoner there."
Harry did let himself roll his eyes this time, because if he didn't, then Jackson would probably get suspicious and start thinking he had a plan. "That was within a few days of the end of the Death Eater trials, too, sir. There was only so much time I had. I would have applied earlier, but I was busy then."
"It seems reasonable to me," said Kingsley, and turned to face Jackson with a faint challenging air that heartened Harry. At least it meant Kingsley was on his side in all this. "So, Mr. Jackson. Do you have any more proof?"
"He spends too much time with him!"
"Explained already." Kingsley moved a hand without looking away from Jackson. He looked even more intimidating than he had the few times Harry had seen him fighting as a member of the Order of the Phoenix. "And I must admit, I resent the insinuations against Harry. Gerald. There's no reason to suspect him of--sexual misconduct with a prisoner."
"All those rumors about him and Malfoy being involved romantically--"
"I didn't know you were the sort to pay attention to rumors, Gerald. I may have misjudged you."
You just lost the game, Harry thought in happy wonder. Jackson had made the exact same mistake he'd been trying to get Harry to make. He'd abandoned the pose of concerned, neutral observer and shown his grudge, and lost his temper.
"I meant only--it was the Ministry's reputation I was thinking of, sir, not the--"
"If this is only rumors, or based on rumors, then I'll have nothing more to do with this," said Kingsley with finality, and turned to Harry. "You're free to go, Harry. I understand that you're supposed to report to work anyway this morning."
"Yes, sir," said Harry, and nodded to them both, and walked out the door, suppressing the temptation to hum. Behind him, he could hear Kingsley ripping into Jackson.
I won. He lost. Harry worked to keep his feet on the ground and his face in a properly sober expression. He won't dare try anything like that against Draco again.
Even knowing that Jackson was persistent and might try something else didn't worry Harry. After today, he strongly suspected Jackson would no longer be in charge of Azkaban, which would severely limit his power.
And fighting for Draco like this is worth every second it takes.
*
"Can you tell me how long it's been?"
Harry had been telling Draco the silliest news stories he could remember from the past month, including the ones where reporters had followed him around and written breathlessly about what he ate for lunch. He paused when he heard Draco's question, though. "What do you mean?"
"How long have I been here? How much of my sentence do I still have to go?"
Harry swallowed his pity, mostly because he knew Draco would hate it. Then he said, "I didn't realize you'd lost track of that."
"Don't try to distract me, Harry."
Harry swallowed again and said, "You've been here six months. Five months still to go."
"I thought it was a year?"
"That you'd been here?" That worried Harry, since it showed that Draco's grasp on reality had slipped further than Harry had thought, even with all his efforts to keep him mindful of what was passing outside his head.
"No. My sentence. Six months and five is...eleven."
"They took a month off," said Harry, and hesitated as he tried to remember whether he'd told Draco that. Surely he must have? It was the sort of news he would have rushed to him with ordinarily.
And then he remembered. That had actually happened before he became a guard at Azkaban, before he started trying to help Draco any way he knew how. He had assumed Draco had heard it already.
"Why did they take a month off?"
Draco's voice was hoarse and breathless. Harry took his hand and squeezed it tightly. "Because I begged them to. It wasn't pleasant, and I couldn't get you out of the sentence altogether, but some of the Wizengamot agreed that you were only a child for the majority of the war and the time you were a Death Eater, and they listened to me."
Draco froze for so long that Harry thought he'd been drawn back into a dream, or a daze, or maybe a Dementor Harry hadn't felt was approaching. Then he turned towards Harry and hissed like he'd suddenly discovered he knew Parseltongue.
"Don't you ever tell me that you didn't fight for me enough again."
Harry jumped. Draco was staring at him with something in his eyes that almost approached the deadly hatred Harry had once seen there. Harry simply shook his head, wordless, not understanding.
"You told me about Jackson, about defeating him. You fought for me against him. You've managed to convince my mother not to sneak in here where they could get her, too." Draco grabbed his breath and went on. "And now you tell me that you took a month off my sentence and I didn't even know?"
He looked as if he was a second away from punching Harry in the jaw. "If you ever, ever decide that you didn't do enough for me again, Harry Potter, I am going to shake you so hard."
As a threat, it left a lot to be desired. But as a means of putting the fire back in Draco's eyes and strengthening the clench of his hands, Harry thought it top-notch.
And that was the best reason of all to stop talking about how he hadn't fought, he decided. Draco didn't want to hear it, he didn't believe it, and it gave him strength to know that Harry had fought for him, which Harry's denial didn't. So he would stop saying that.
"When you look at it in that light," Harry said musingly, eyes locked on Draco's face, "maybe I did."
Draco pulled him in, eyes wandering between Harry's own eyes and his lips. Harry found himself holding his breath, leaning closer, and then Draco's hand was on his cheek and Draco's lips were covering his.
It was wonderful, an enchantment that Harry never wanted to end, unlike the kiss Draco had surprised him with a few days ago. He found himself leaning against the wall of the cell, cradling Draco and turning him a little so that they could both be more comfortable.
And all the time, he never worried that perhaps he hadn't blocked the door to the cell with the appropriate spells.
Draco surpassed everything else in his attention, his intensity.
They pulled back from each other slowly, and Harry closed his eyes and groaned a little as he thought of the way Draco's lips had tasted. He reached out with one hand, wanting to touch his cheek...
And found slick, salty wetness under his fingers.
"Draco, what did I do to make you cry?" Harry whispered. He pulled Draco closer, and Draco came with the pull, letting his head fall on Harry's shoulder for an instant.
"You keep me alive," Draco whispered. "And I wonder what will happen when I come out of Azkaban, and you're not there for me anymore."
Harry swallowed. It was hard to make that kind of commitment when he knew Draco would have his mum there, and maybe any other friends who might come back to him once he'd escaped the stigma of Azkaban. But on the other hand, how could he refuse?
Even if it turned out that Draco didn't need him then, he needed Harry now.
"If it turns out you want me," he said, and met Draco's eyes, and tried to convey all the particular meanings of "want" that he could with that sentence, "I'll be there."
And Draco swallowed in turn, and leaned against him, and his tears stopped. His shivering stopped. His clutch tightened.
That, to Harry, was the most important thing.
The End.
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Heart in Azkaban