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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
- 5
- 6
- 7
Part VI

Too Much of Nothing

�I loved him.�
Just like that, the words that I vowed to never say out loud leave my mouth. At those words, my life is over. I watch the eyes of every human being in the room expand into the size of saucers as they take in the words that cannot be anything but the truth. Three little words, causing such distortion.
But it is not until I hear a strangely familiar, roaring, vulgar laugh that I find my world shattered into pieces. I do not want to look, but I can�t not do it. And when I do, my worst fear is confirmed.
Potter is staring at me, his eyes moist and shiny in disbelief and desperation, as he sits in the front row between a roaring Weasley and a stunned Mudblood.
For a split second all I can see, think, and feel, is him. Those green eyes disarm me completely, more than any spell, curse or potion ever could. But I gather myself quickly, focusing on who I am, the situation I�m in, the pain from my injuries� anything to make myself able to look away from Potter.
And I do not look back. I let myself slip away into the cold oblivion of nothingness, the numb sensation of drowning in too many thoughts, leaving room for none in the end.
I know that I am asked questions. I know that my lips are moving, answering, spilling whatever secrets I have left. My mind is playing images of my mother, the Dark Lord, Astoria, and countless unrecognisable faces, and I feel my throat contract as the painful memories wash over me. But I have buried myself so far in my sub-consciousness that I do not hear the specific questions I am being asked, and I do not know my own answers.
In the end, it does not matter. Nothing that I say can make things worse.
�The jury will now withdraw to discuss the verdict.�
A strange feeling of disbelief washes over me, and I am shook out of my trance. For the first time since this session began I am not wholly convinced that I know what my verdict will be. I never expected the jury to have to consider how they will punish me.
Though naturally, it cannot be worse than Azkaban.
As the plum-clad jury moves out through the door, a loud murmur begins in the audience. I gaze over to see what the ruckus us about, and I can�t believe what I am seeing. Potter, the proverbial idiot, just swans across the floor and walks through the Wizengamot door like he owns the place. Without being kicked out! Of all the insolence�
And people dare to call me arrogant!
They are gone for a long time. I try to sit still and look dignified, a hard task when being placed on this cold, uncomfortable stone. Occasionally I glance over to the Mudblood and the Weasel, who both look just as confused and anxious as I feel. I guess Potter�s display was not part of the original program.
Then finally the door opens, and the jury re-enters. Potter walks behind them, his head slightly bowed, clearly trying not to look anyone in the eye. I sigh, bracing myself for my verdict. Azkaban. It can�t really be anything else. They are even more ignorant than I think them to be if they let me go. I would probably have received a Dementor�s kiss, if they still practised that.
Faced with me, I�m sure they wish they did.
What bothers me is Potter. He hurries across the floor, refusing to look at anyone, even ignoring his friends� questioning faces. His face does not hold the sadness or disbelief of hearing a death sentence, but rather an embarrassed fear. Like a child, expecting to be scolded.
In spite of myself, I am affected by his odd behaviour, and doubt rises within me.

What has he done now?

�The Wizengamot has reached a verdict,� Grachev announces, his facial expression betraying nothing of their conclusion. �Will the defendant please rise?�
I do so, standing on shaking legs and holding my breath. I gaze over at Potter, who still refuses to lift his gaze from the floor. The Mudblood has reached out and put a comforting hand on his shoulder, looking very worried. As if Potter is the one on trial here.
�Draco Malfoy has been found guilty as charged for partaking in several incidents involving killing Muggles and Muggleborns, as well as being a marked Death Eater,� Grachev announces, pausing for breath. The air in the room shifts immediately, as if everyone holding their breaths are no able to breathe freely. Evil has once again been defeated and condemned. Bravo.
�However,� the Judge continues, and the tension flows immediately back into the room. �Mr Malfoy was a mere child when he was guided into such actions, and as such could not be held completely responsible for his actions.�

Excuse me? A child? I was as old as Potter, and no one is calling him a stupid brat!

�In addition to that, Mr Malfoy�s actions in promoting the victory over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named are undeniable.� Grachev pauses again, probably for nothing more than the dramatic effect, looking directly at me. �Therefore we have found that it is proper for Mr Malfoy to be released, and to give him the opportunity to amend his deeds.�

What?

It seems the crowd shares my astonishment. From all corners of the room outbursts and curses are heard. Grachev silences them all by raising a hand, indication that he is not finished. It takes a moment for the audience to quiet down, but Grachev waits patiently.
�This release includes a 60-day partial probation, under which time Mr Malfoy will be watched to assure that he does not abuse the courts generosity. Mr Malfoy will also be refused the right to retain a wand.�
Suddenly the air that I breathe becomes the air that I choke on. I feel as if I am drowning, and I have to fight to keep myself from hyperventilating. An excruciating pain shoots through my entire body, an empty feeling pulsing in my chest. And it has nothing to do with my injuries.
I hardly hear Grachev when he continues: �Mr Malfoy will not be allowed to use a wand, his own or anyone else�s, even if one is willingly offered to him.�

Not any wand. No exceptions.

It�s not as if I know where my own wand is, so at least I don�t have to watch them snap it before me. But the thought that I would never hold a wand again was much less terrifying when I thought I would be locked up in Azkaban for the rest of my life. That was something to be expected, a possibility I have been prepared for my whole life.
But this� To be cruelly sent back into that world, without my family, my friends, my life� Even without my wand. What purpose does my life serve then?

I�ve spent my whole life being taught how despicable and pathetic people without magic are. Now I find myself being condemned to a life slightly better than a Squib�s.
The irony is not all that appealing.
I feel as if I�m watching this happen to me from outside a glass ball. As if these things aren�t really true, aren�t actually happening to me. I know that my legs are swaying, that I am barely able to stand upright anymore. Yet I do not feel it. I feel as if I am just witnessing everything, somehow partaking while remaining on the outside. As if in a dream.
But there is no one to wake me up. No one to save me. And I have never been as frustrated as I am now, realising that this time I can do nothing to save myself. As if through a cloud I hear the Judge finalize the verdict. I blink a few times, trying to bring myself to care about where I will end up, where I will serve out my probation, who will be assigned to watch me. Anything really, besides my wand.

Don�t think about the wand. Don�t break down. Not now. Not yet.

Trying to suppress the hopelessness threatening to overflow within me, I gaze around to find some, any interest in my surroundings. My eyes find Potter, who is still staring at me intently. For the first time since I heard my verdict, I recall the Golden Boy�s existence. He notices my face fixed on him, and fidgets uncomfortably under my gaze. And somehow, as I stare into his apologetic yet relieved emerald eyes, the whole part he has played in this dawns on me.
And I feel like screaming, because I suddenly know exactly where I will end up.

Damn him. Damn him straight to Hell.

******

�Draco?� Potter�s voice sounds from beside me as we step out from the fire place into a small, sparsely ornate living room. �There is a guest bedroom down the hall, you can-�
�Couldn't you just leave me alone?� The words are out of my mouth before I realise it. They catch Potter off guard, and it takes him a moment before he manages to answer.
�What? I just saved you from Azkaban!� he croaks, sounding almost as desperate to make himself believe those words as he is to convince me.
�I was not yours to save!�
I still do not look at him, I cannot look at him. Instead I gaze around, observing my surroundings. This is obviously a Muggle house. It feels strangely empty, as if the lack of magical objects makes it dead and eerie. Potter�s obstinate silence makes it even worse.
�I would have rather stayed in Azkaban and kept what shred of dignity I had left than to be dragged in front of the Wizengamot and humiliated in front of hundreds of people!� I state, not raising my voice the slightest but letting my furiousness seep through my words.
�You would have rather spent the rest of your life in prison than to experience one day of embarrassment?� Potter asks disbelievingly. I have to restrain myself from hitting him. Taking a deep breath, I finally turn to face him.
�Do you actually believe that people will forget this incident in a day? A week? A month, even?�
When he does not answer, but merely looks away, I continue. �No, they won�t!� I spit at him viciously, despise tainting my voice. �Therefore, instead of spending a month or a year in Azkaban until I died, I will now have to suffer through a lifetime of humiliation and scorn. They will never forget.�
I narrow my eyes at Potter, and he shrinks under my gaze. I can only sneer. �Is that really the life that you would have chosen for yourself?�
He swallows loudly, desperation and a silent apology in his expression. �I couldn�t let them-� he stammers, trying again: �I�I just wanted to save you.�
And I snap.
�You cannot save everyone, Potter!� I roar at him, my dignity be damned. �Thanks to your fucking hero-complex, you�ve now destroyed my life as well as your own!�
Potter furrows his brow. �What are you talking about?� he asks perplexed.
I don�t even bother to try to stifle the contemptuous snort that escapes me. �Merlin, you are so naïve. You don�t think that after the word spreads about me saying� what I said in there,� I begin, stumbling over the words that must not be mentioned. �and you then taking me in to live with you, that certain rumours will start to circulate?�
Potter immediately turns as white as a sheet, and I sneer victoriously.
�There�s nothing odd about that,� he says quickly. �Anyone would have done the same.�
A pathetic attempt of denial, typical Potter. I raise an eyebrow at him. �Oh really? If I had let Weasley out of the dungeons, do you think he would have volunteered to put up with me for 60 days? Do you think he even would have fought that hard to get me a fucking trial?�
The silence that follows indicates that I have finally gotten my point across. Potter stares at his shoes, a faint flush on his face. I can almost hear his brain trying to work through the issue. A pointless struggle, really.
�So you see, Potter,� I say, unable to stop myself from taunting him further as I move towards the door to the hallway. �You�re paying a high price for thinking you can change me. For thinking that I want to be changed.�
Stalking out through the door, I do not hear if he answers me or not. A small voice inside my head scolds me for being so ungrateful. I ignore it. Good intentions be damned, Potter is still an ignorant fool, still trying to save every poor unfortunate soul that crosses his path. And even after all this time, after all that has happened, he still does not understand that no matter how much he tries, he cannot save me from myself.

End of part VI
- 5
- 6
- 7
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Salt in Our Wounds