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Salt in Our Wounds	By : thewickednix Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 7362 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters portrayed herein. This is made for fun, not profit.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Part V

Damage Done

�I did not want him to die. I loved him.�
The words slip out of Draco�s mouth so easily, so incautiously that it takes a moment for me to register them. When I finally do, it takes an additional moment to realise that what Draco just said has to be true.

He loved me.

I am overwhelmed by the contradicting urges to either hit him or kiss him, but before I have time to do either I become painfully conscious of where I am. I blink furiously a few times to break the disbelieving stare I have held on Draco for the last minutes, and turn to my side to see every face in the room watching me. Hermione is staring at me, mouthing silent words that are never able to pass over her lips. I think this is the first time I have seen her completely speechless. I open my mouth to say something, but just as I do, a raging laugh is heard from behind me.
I turn around to find Ron next to me, nearly doubled over with laughter. He is clutching his stomach frantically and gasping for air.
�Malfoy, he- He actually-� Ron wheezes, his sentences cut short by his uncontrollable roars of laughter. For the first time in my life, I truly long to hit my best friend.
But as my eyes shift briefly back towards Draco, I forget all about Ron.
Because unexpectedly, for the first time tonight, Draco is looking directly at me.
I almost choke. The anger, confusion, and desperation shines now clearly in his metal eyes, piercing me like knives and making it difficult for me to breathe. His mask has fallen at the shock of seeing me, his soul laid bare for everyone to see at the most unfortunate moment. The tension in the room is unbearable.
It only lasts for a second. Then he turns away, blinks, and when he opens his eyes, his shield is again in place. It does not matter how much I stare at him , thinking that if I only do so he certainly must look my way. Draco only stares into oblivion, his eyes focused on something in the distance, his face unmoved even as I see Judge Grachev move to speak again.
�Why did you not go with him?� Grachev asks the question calmly, trying desperately to bypass the stir that has arisen in the room.
Trying to ignore Ron, still gasping for air beside me, my eyes dart back to Draco in wait for his answer. But there is no reaction, no change.�I did not seek to join the Light. I merely let Potter go.�
It is the truth, as I would have known it even without hearing him say it under the influence of Veritaserum. Still, the words turn a blade in my chest. For four years I had hoped, foolishly and desperately, that there was another reason for him to stay behind. That perhaps he wasn�t thoroughly evil. And now, knowing his feelings for me, it hurts even more thinking that he stayed voluntarily.
�Did He-Who-Must-No-Be-Named find out what you did?�
I feel the anticipation build within me. This is what I have been waiting for. To know what happened to him, to find out the truth that I have been wondering about for forty-eight long months. To finally know how he ended up in the state that I found him in.
�Not at first,� is the answer, Draco�s voice suddenly sounding a little more alive, even a bit snotty. I feel a slight smile creep over my face as I realise that he is proud of himself.
�They had no evidence. I left to sign of my own magical signature on anything, and I was able to keep silent about it, even when interrogated under Crucio. I was never a real suspect. After all, since Father died, I had been in the Dark Lord�s inner circle.�
The light tone of his speech runs down my spine in shivers. I can not imagine how someone can speak so frivolously about his father�s death and being tortured by his own allies.
�What happened then?�
�My mother got ill.�
From having a superior and snotty tinge mere seconds ago, Draco�s voice has now somehow shrunk to sounding, if possible, even weaker than before.
�She had been unstable since before Father did, and afterwards she just kept getting worse. Then one day she threw a fit, and the Dark Lord�� Draco�s voice dies out for a second, but the Veritaserum prevents him from stopping. �He tortured her. Usually he stops quickly, but now he just kept going on and on, and she kept screaming-� He takes a deep breath. �And then she told him. She told him she�d seen how I disappeared into the dungeons that night, a wrought iron fork from the fire place in my hand.�
Suddenly his eyes turn completely vacant, and if his mouth wasn�t still moving and words weren�t still slipping from his lips, I�d think he�d died.
�And the Dark Lord smiled- and he killed Mother. I was disarmed and Immobilised, so I couldn�t move or speak. My wand was broken in front of me, and then they brought in Astoria-�
�Who is Astoria?� Grachev interrupts, his brow knitted in concentration.
For a second the room remains silent, the only thing hear being the frantic scribbling of the Court Scribe.
Then Draco speaks. �Astoria Greengrass. My wife.� He ignores the intakes of breath from the audience and continues. �They brought her in, and used Crucio on her until her nervous system broke down. She died, along with my unborn son.�
Suddenly my brain is in a stand-still. His son? Draco married that woman and had a son? The thought, so contradicting to the fact that he actually loved me then, is wrenching my stomach into a tight knot.
A long silence follows Draco�s last sentence. It takes several moments for everyone in the audience and the jury to gather themselves.
�What happened after that?� Judge Grachev finally asks, his face twisted in a mixture of anticipation and dread of what he is to hear next.
�I was beaten up and tortured, interrogated, and thrown in a cell. I was close to death several times, but they kept me alive with potions and spells. Even after the battle where the Dark Lord was finally killed, my aunt didn�t give up. She kept dragging me along, up until she got bored with me trying to die all the time. She left me in the Manor, knowing I was too weak to ever get out on my own. That�s when the Aurors found me.� After those words, Draco sags back into the stone chair, looking exhausted. Be it reliving his hell, or having to share his inner thoughts with a crowd of people who only want to see him hang, but he looks like he might spontaneously combust any second.
Judge Grachev contemplates for a long moment before he speaks again.
�The jury will now withdraw to discuss the verdict.� he says, standing up from his seat. The rest of the plum-clad witches and wizards imitate the movement, all moving simultaneously back through the door from which they entered.
�Merlin, Harry!� Ron exclaims from beside me. �Can you believe that-�
I interrupt him by rising from my seat and heaving myself over the low wooden wall that separates the audience from the rest of the court-display. A loud murmur is heard from the other people, but I barely register it. I am hardly realising what I myself am doing, all I know is that I am walking across the stone floor, thinking the same thing over and over again:

He can�t go back to Azkaban.

I can feel his eyes on me as I move towards the jury�s door, and fight not to look back at him. Reaching for the door handle, I am forced to take a deep breath.
I know perfectly well what Draco has done. Better than anyone, perhaps. I know that he probably does not deserve anything but a lifetime in Azkaban. But in spite of everything, seeing him like this, I have no choice but to reach out to him. How could anyone deserve to go through what has happened to him? How could I ever leave him to such a fate, after he saved me?
After he told me he loved me?
�Mr Potter!� an older woman of the jury exclaims as I slam the door open, and immediately all eyes are on me. They do not look pleased.
�Mr Potter,� Grachev begins in a reprimanding manner from his place at the top of a long, heavy, dark table. �You are under no authority to be here. I have to ask you to leave immediately.�
For a second I consider taking my leave, but I am quickly able to convince myself that if there is one moment for me to abuse my fame, then this is it.
�I apologize, Mr Grachev,� I state, looking with respect at both the Judge and the other members of the Wizengamot. �But I must ask for permission to make some additions to my testimony.� I utter the words with respect, but leave no possibility for a denying answer. After all, one does not refuse a request of the Boy Who Lived.
�Very well,� Grachev says sourly, after a moment of pretence consideration. �What do you have to say?�
I breathe in deeply, smothering the voices within me that are telling me how ridiculously I am behaving.
�I know what Draco Malfoy is responsible of. I know every detail of what he has done. Still, I find myself forced to plead for his release.�
I can barely manage to look the jury in the eyes. To my relief I find that while they do look concerned, they don�t look completely averse to my statement. Most of them look confused, and I don�t need guess why. Why would Harry Potter defend one of his worst enemies, a known Death Eater and a Malfoy, to this length? Especially when that particular Death Eater just professed his love for him in the presence of two hundred witches and wizards?
A very good question. One I have no way of answering.
The same older woman who spoke when I entered clears her throat and looks at me with a knitted brow.
�This is no small matter, Mr Potter,� she says gravely, regarding some paperwork before her on the table. �While we do agree on Mr Malfoy�s integrity in helping you escape from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, his other deeds are irreversibly unforgivable.�
She looks like she would like to continue, but I hurry to cut her off.
�If he hadn�t released me, Voldemort would have most likely won the war!� I exclaim, watching every member of the Wizengamot shiver and pale at the mentioning of that dreaded name. I grab the opportunity to continue.
�His actions in the war are indeed horrifying, but you cannot deny that we owe him the victory over the greatest Dark wizard of all times!�
�That does not change the fact that he has admitted to every crime he is accused of,� a skinny old man on the right side of Grachev speaks up. I feel the urge to curse him, preferably with an Unforgivable.
�He was raised to do those things! Weren�t you all raised to believe the things that you stand for today? If someone threatened your beliefs, would not you defend them?� The words leave my mouth without much consideration, and I wonder myself if I actually believe them or not. Be they or not, I finally seem to be getting through to the jury. Many of the members of the Wizengamot have lowered their heads slightly in what almost looks like shame, nervously gazing sideward at each other. I seem to have struck a nerve.
Seeing the doubt rising within them, I seize my opportunity. �Mr Malfoy was only a child of sixteen at the time. He did what he was told to do, as would have many others. Should he not be taught another way, instead of being punished for the foolish mistakes he made as a child?� I breathe out, anxiously waiting the Wizengamot�s reply.
A pale woman with maroon hair at the lower end of the table is the first to speak up. �I think Mr Potter is right,� she says, her voice small and nervous, but carrying well through the room. When the rest of the members look at her questioningly, she shrugs slightly. �If I had been forced to live my life as I chose it when I was sixteen, I would hardly be sitting where I am right now.�
Some of the other witches and wizards nod in agreement, and I bite back the urge to cheer out loud. Grachev looks doubtful as he turns to look at the woman. �What do you propose then, Camille?�
The woman named Camille contemplates for a moment before she answers. �I think we should take away his wand.�

What?

�His wand?� I echo, the disbelief evident in my voice.
�Yes, his wand,� Camille repeats, looking very satisfied with herself. Suddenly I don�t like her half as much as I did a minute ago.
�Of course, he would have to be set in partial probation before his release into society,� she continues offhandedly, as if only thinking out loud to herself. �Naturally he would have to be watched for a time, to make sure that he can behave himself and adjust properly to a life without magic.�
My thoughts run wildly as I listen to her words, and I pray that the other members of the Wizengamot won�t see this as a good solution. Unfortunately, most of them seem pleased, some even look quite smug. I hate them in this moment, pretending to be the face of justice while they thrive in the knowledge that they are taking away the magic of a fellow wizard. I look to Grachev, who seems to be my last hope.
�I think it�s a good idea,� the man says, and my mouth goes suddenly dry as I realise that I have just contributed in robbing Draco of the thing that means the most to him. While I have saved him from Azkaban, which is a much more horrifying fate, I doubt that Draco will see it in such a positive light.
�Who will be assigned to watch him?�
The question sounds through the air, seeming to ring in my head several times before I am able to gather the information. And I realise that if I can ever do anything to make amends with Draco, than this is it.
It�s suicide. Shear madness. And I have no other option. The words are out of my mouth before I retain any presence of mind to prevent them.
�I�ll do it.�

End of part V
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Salt in Our Wounds