Chapter Text
Something was wrong with Draco Malfoy.
Harry had been watching for months, and Malfoy was only getting worse. His pointy features had become even sharper due to missing meals in the Great Hall. The bags under his eyes had become permanent, the purple standing in stark contrast to his porcelain skin. His platinum hair, once worn pulled back with pride, was now hanging in dull, stringy lumps across his forehead.
Malfoy, who had spent most of their previous years giving his best impression of one of his albino peacocks, never brought attention to himself anymore. Apart from the incident on the train, Malfoy had outright ignored Harry. No more loudly taunting Harry in the halls, performing dramatic reenactments of his mishaps to the Slytherin table during meals, or shooting hexes his way. Even if Malfoy had been a blood-purist git for the previous five years, this complete loss of personality made Harry’s stomach queasy. Draco Malfoy had become a ghost.
Merlin, he’d even quit Quidditch, and Malfoy loved Quidditch! Loathe as Harry was to admit it, Malfoy was a decent flyer, and had always given him a run for his money on the pitch. Harry had half a mind to hand his captaincy to Ginny so he could use that time to spy on Malfoy.
If Malfoy wasn’t in classes, more often than not Harry found him in the Room of Requirement with Crabbe and Goyle standing guard, polyjuiced as various girls in the younger years. Thank Godric for the Map. Harry truly thought it had malfunctioned when it told him that the second year Ravenclaw waiting at the end the corridor with a pile of books that could rival Hermione was actually Goyle. It was a neat system. One night, Harry had taken off his cloak to walk down the corridor, and when he passed polyjuiced Crabbe he dropped his books on the ground. The crash echoed through the hallway, and it must have alerted Malfoy that it wasn’t safe to come out.
Malfoy spent hours in there every day, and Harry was itching to learn what he was up to. He watched him on the Map or followed under his cloak, just waiting for him to let something slip. As much as Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Order wanted to pretend that his evidence was circumstantial at best (and paranoid and prejudiced at worst, based on the looks Hermione kept giving him), Harry knew what he saw.
Malfoy had reserved a suspicious object at Borgin and Burkes, surrounded by Death Eaters, and then bragged to Zabini, Parkinson, Crabbe, and Goyle on the train about moving on to “bigger and better things” after completing a job he'd been assigned by Voldemort. He’d outright admitted to working for Voldemort. Harry had even overheard Snape confessing to making the Unbreakable Vow to protect him, but no one, not even Dumbledore, seemed to care!
Whatever task he was supposed to complete, it was obvious that Malfoy was failing at pretending to be the perfect little soldier. Both Ron and Katie had already been hurt, and Harry couldn’t allow any more students to be put in danger because of Malfoy’s schemes.
Maybe he’d bribe Peeves tonight to get Crabbe and Goyle out of the way so he can follow Malfoy into the Room. That should—
SMACK! “Harry Potter, did you listen to a single word I just said?” seethed Hermione, a rolled up copy of The Daily Prophet clutched in her hand.
“Of course I… No, no I wasn’t,” Harry admitted sheepishly, rubbing his head.
Ron and Hermione shared a worried look between them, but didn’t acknowledge that he had been staring at Malfoy. Honestly, that was a welcomed relief. “As I was saying, I overheard Demelza Robinson in the common room this morning saying that Katie Bell is supposed to be returning from St. Mungo’s sometime during breakfast today.”
“Really? Are you sure?” Harry asked. Hermione nodded. “That’s great news! I wonder if she saw how Malfoy gave her the necklace.”
Ron put his face in his hands across the table and groaned. “Mate, I don’t know how many bloody times we have to say it, but it wasn’t Malfoy.”
“How can you be so sure that it wasn’t?” Harry retorted.
“How can you be so sure that it was?” Hermione snapped back.
Harry had to force himself not to roll his eyes. “I mean, just look at him! He looks…wrong. He doesn’t even do anything anymore—”
“Do you think that might have to do with the fact that his father has been sent to Azkaban? That’s enough to make anyone depressed, Harry.”
“Sorry, but ‘Mione’s right Harry. Lucius Malfoy might be a right arse, but he’s still Malfoy’s dad. If he ever makes it out of Azkaban, he’ll never be the same,” Ron piled on.
“Which is exactly why we should get rid of dementors in Azkaban in the first place! The entire practice is completely barbaric!”
“‘Mione, that might be a little too far—”
“Don’t you dare tell me that’s too far, Ronald Weasley! How can you justify subjecting people, who are at that point utterly defenseless, to dementors at all hours of the day? Most of the prisoners aren’t given long sentences, but regardless of their crimes they are doomed to go out of their minds?”
“But, Hermione—”
“Do you really thing a person who steals Fizzing Whizzbees—”
At this point, Harry tuned out their bickering to sip his tea and return to his study of Draco Malfoy. Malfoy sat at the end of the Slytherin table, far from the other sixth years and was either unaware or outright ignoring the worried glances Parkinson was shooting at him. He nibbled on his toast, and Harry noticed that there was nothing else on his plate when all of a sudden he dropped it, his face turning ashen as his eyes widened and flicked towards the doors of the Great Hall. There was a crowd around someone, curse his eyesight, it looked like—
“Katie!” Harry yelled, breaking off Hermione’s tangent. He’d worry about whether or not Hermione was on the verge of forming a new society later. Right now, he had to talk to Katie. With one last glance towards Malfoy, who had apparently already made it halfway out of the Great Hall, Harry got up from his seat.
“Harry, maybe you should wait—” Hermione tried, but he was already gone.
Harry made his way through the crowd, listening to everyone chatting excitedly about Katie’s return. “That means the whole Quidditch team is back! We have Ravenclaw in the bag!” Dennis Creevey exclaimed to one of his friends. Luckily, Harry didn’t have to wait long for Katie to spot him.
“Harry!” Katie smiled at him. “Katie! How are you feeling?”
“Loads better now. I should be grateful, whatever curse was in that necklace, I wasn’t in any pain that I can remember while I was unconscious,” she confided.
“I’m glad to hear it. Listen Katie, there isn’t any chance you remember who gave you the necklace, is there?”
She sighed. “I’m sorry Harry, I wish I had an answer for you. But like I told Professor McGonagall and the aurors, I have no memory of it.” Harry suppressed a groan. It seemed the only person with memory of it ran out of the Great Hall the second Katie had returned. Prick.
“It’s alright Katie. I’m sure we’ll find him, anyway,” he insisted, trying to sound optimistic.
“Yes, well, I’ll be happy as long as I don’t miss our last match!”
Harry smiled, and he only had to kind-of fake it. “Of course! Listen Katie, I’ve got to run, but we’ll catch up later, yah?”
“No worries. See ya, Harry,” she said, turning back to Demelza.
Harry sprinted out of the Great Hall, his pulse thrumming in his throat. He nestled himself into a secluded alcove in the Entrance Hall and rummaged through his bag until he found the Marauders Map. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” Harry spoke breathlessly, tapping his wand to the parchment.
Hogwarts appeared before him, and he scanned for Malfoy. The seventh floor corridor was empty, so it was unlikely that Malfoy was using the Room of Requirement. Malfoy wasn’t in the Slytherin Common Room either, although it looked like Theodore Nott was getting very close to Daphne Greengrass in the Sixth Year Boys Dormitory. Would Harry have to start checking up on Nott, too? From what Harry could tell he was not involved in this task like Crabbe and Goyle were, but all their fathers were Death Eaters, so it might not be a bad idea.
Focus! Harry chided himself. Malfoy wasn’t anywhere near in the potions classrooms or the dungeons. Nowhere on the first floor either. Harry scanned over the second floor.
“There you are!” He whispered. Draco Malfoy’s dot was in… hang on, was that Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom? Harry shook his head. It didn’t matter. He found Malfoy, and after seeing Katie he’d had enough. He was finally going to get his answers.
Harry raced down the corridors, cold stone pounding against his feet. He was running on instinct, barely avoiding crashing into the students who were slowly making their way towards a late breakfast. After what felt like an eternity, he finally made it to the second floor girl’s bathroom.
Panting outside of the door, Harry checked the map one more time to confirm that Malfoy was still inside. Satisfied, Harry tapped his wand to the Map once more and said “Mischief managed,” before tucking it back into his bag.
Harry scanned the hallway like a soldier assessing a battlefield for danger. The floor outside the bathroom was covered with water, and he could hear galloping sobs coming from within, sure signs that Myrtle was home.
Harry opened the door with his wand drawn and closed it behind him. The first thing he saw was Myrtle floating above the sinks, only she wasn’t the one crying. No, Harry’s jaw went slack as he realized it was Malfoy making those gut wrenching sounds.
Myrtle was murmuring platitudes to Malfoy as he bent over a sink. He held onto the edge with a death grip, his head bowed and shoulders shaking as he gulped down uneven breaths between his sobs. Malfoy frantically turned on the sink, and started scrubbing so hard at his left forearm, that Harry could have sworn he saw blood.
Disturbed as he was by the scene, Harry did not lower his wand. He had to make a move, but he couldn’t just leave Malfoy like this.
“Malfoy?” Harry said, warily.
Malfoy jerked his head up, and his red-rimmed eyes met Harry’s in the mirror. Harry saw grief, panic, and rage flit across Malfoy’s face in a manner of seconds before Malfoy turned to face Harry, drawing his own wand with a shaky hand.
“Get out, Potter. You shouldn’t be here,” Malfoy hissed.
Myrtle gasped, and looked between the two boys. “Leave us alone, Harry! Draco’s done no—”
“Out, Myrtle!” Malfoy snapped. Myrtle barely held back her own sob as she flew from the room. Quite frankly, Harry didn't care where she went. Now that he had him cornered, Harry should ask Malfoy about Katie. About Ron.
“Why are you crying?” He asked instead. Damn it, Harry.
“That’s none of your business, Scarhead,” Malfoy spat.
Harry’s jaw tightened as he stepped towards Malfoy. “If you’re planning another attack, Malfoy, it is my business.”
Malfoy’s face fell with despair for just a moment, before it turned back to rage as he aimed his trembling wand hand towards Harry. Harry mirrored the other boy, raising his wand to match, prepared for this to end in a flurry of spells.
But Malfoy made no further move to attack. The boys stood at an impasse. Panting breaths and water smacking against porcelain the only sounds filling the space between their wands.
Harry looked at Malfoy, really looked at him. Malfoy was hesitating. He looked resigned, trembling and afraid, cornered in a bathroom. In that moment Harry just couldn’t bring himself to see a Death Eater. All he saw was Draco. A scared, quivering boy who was in far over his head. Harry loosened his grip on his wand, lowering it slightly.
“Please,” he said quietly, "don’t make me fight you. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Malfoy froze in shock, and after a bitter, surprised laugh, Malfoy cracked. “You don’t want to hurt me? Well, that’s new for you. Don’t fancy playing the hero again? Taking down the evil, villainous Malfoy? I thought that what the Savior does best,” he seethed.
“This isn’t a game, Malfoy. Not one that I want to play, anyway. And I don’t think you’re evil, or a villain.”
Draco sucked in a breath; his wand dipped, almost against his will.
“Don’t—You can’t do that. Don’t pretend like you actually care, Potter,” Draco growled.
Harry slowly started to step towards Draco. “You were crying in a girls’ loo with Moaning Myrtle. I think you need someone to care about you.”
“Don’t come any closer!” He squeaked, panicked.
Harry stopped in his tracks and met Draco in the eyes, seeing not the hatred he had become accustomed to, but terror and guilt. “You don’t want to do any of this, do you?”
Draco didn’t respond, but his face fell and he completely dropped his wand arm, like the fight had been zapped out of him.
“No,” his voice broke. “No, I, I don’t want to do any of this.”
Draco dropped his wand, and it clanged against the tile.
Harry edged a step closer. “Malfoy?” He asked.
“I can’t— I can’t do it,” Draco gasped, breathless. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried so many times and I keep failing and failing and people are getting hurt and I’ve screwed up everything and she’s going to die! She’s going to die and it’s all my fault!”
Harry threw caution to the wind and crossed the rest of the distance in a heartbeat. He nudged the wand on the ground slightly behind him with his foot while keeping his eyes on Draco.
“Who’s going to die, Malfoy? Is it Katie?” He asked, heart sinking.
“No, no. Not her. Potter, I can’t do it anymore! I can’t!” Draco cried into his hands.
“Breathe Malfoy. I need you to breathe. If you can’t do it anymore, turn yourself in. Come with me, and we can fix it. We can make it right,” Harry spoke gently, like one would to a wounded animal.
“You don’t know that, Potter! I need to protect her!”
Harry didn't know how to handle this—a Malfoy who appeared desperate and pleading rather than confident and superior.
“Turn yourself in to me, and we’ll protect her, Malfoy. Trust me, I don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Harry promised.
Draco looked up from his hands, and to Harry’s shock, his tearstained face looked hopeful. He dared not move as Draco’s silver gaze studied him.
Whatever Draco was looking for, he found, because he slowly raised his shaking wrists to Harry and whispered, “I trust you, Potter. Please.”
Stunned by the gesture but trying not to show it, Harry slowly raised his wand, eyes flicking to the blood staining Draco’s left sleeve that he didn’t know how to heal, and softly whispered, “Incarcerous,” allowing ropes to gently curl around Malfoy’s wrists, lightly binding him.
It looked like a weight had been lifted off of Draco’s shoulders, and his knees crumpled in relief. Draco dropped to the floor and Harry followed, kneeling in front of him, uncaring of the wet tile seeping into his trousers.
For a long moment, Draco stared at his reflection through a puddle on the ground while Harry watched. Draco’s breath hitched, his composure splintering. And then, he broke.
The choked sobs coming from Draco earlier were nothing compared to what he was unleashing now. Harry could feel Draco’s heartbreak. It was echoing across the bathroom and ringing in his ears like his own, twisted version of a phoenix’s lament, and Harry never wanted to hear Draco sound that dejected again.
It was a moment that should have been a victory, yet Harry felt nothing but defeat.
If Harry hadn’t already begun to acknowledge that Draco did not want to be a Death Eater, watching Draco shake violently into his bound hands would have convinced him.
There was a finality to it, a complete surrender. Not knowing what to do in this situation and feeling his touch would be entirely unwelcome, Harry just let him cry in out.
After a few minutes, Draco was able to calm himself. “I’ve been waiting,” he rasped towards the ground, “I’ve been waiting for someone to stop me. To catch me. I wanted to get caught. I thought maybe Dumbledore, or someone would notice. When I realized you were following me around like some self-righteous shadow, I really hoped it would be you.”
Harry blinked at him. Choosing to ignore the ‘self-righteous shadow’ part of that statement, Harry asked, “Why?”
Draco finally looked up at him. “Because I’m not brave enough to stop on my own. I can't risk her.”
“Her,” Harry repeated. “Is this the person you asked me to protect? Who is in danger?”
“Yes,” Draco swallowed. “My mum.”
Harry’s breath caught. Narcissa?
“I never wanted to hurt anyone,” Draco’s voice was no louder than a whisper. “I didn’t mean for Weasley or Bell to get hurt. I just wanted to complete my task without anyone else having to die or get hurt. But I failed. I failed everything.”
“Was that your task? Did he want you to kill someone in the castle?” Harry silently hoped that Draco hadn’t been tasked with killing him.
Draco brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them as he confessed in one breath, “He ordered me to kill Dumbledore and find a way to get Death Eaters through the wards of the castle.”
Harry stared at the boy curled up into a ball in front of him, and tried to picture Voldemort telling him he had to kill Dumbledore. This wasn’t a task—it was suicide.
Draco, emboldened by Harry’s silence, continued. “The Dark Lord moved into my home almost two years ago, Potter. He lives there, and invited all sorts of Death Eaters and dark creatures to join him. My mother is there, alone without father or I to protect her, and she has to serve Him tea like a bloody houseguest!”
Harry’s stomach felt leaden as he let Draco keep speaking.
“The Dark Lord made me take the Mark. I didn’t want it. I don’t want it. But he was so angry over the Battle at the Ministry, and he blames the failure on my father, so to punish him he forced me to become a Death Eater and made me accept this task. If I refused he was going to torture my mother before killing us both, and if I fail he’ll only do worse.”
Any lingering anger directed towards Draco for his actions over the past year evaporated in an instant and was replaced with something far more dangerous— understanding.
If Harry had been put in this situation and Voldemort had threatened Lily Potter, Harry knew without question that he would have done far worse than Draco to protect her.
“Draco,” Harry spoke softly, “This doesn’t make you a Death Eater.”
Draco sniffed. “Yes, it does. I’m a coward, I couldn’t stand up to—”
Harry cut him off, “You’re sixteen. Voldemort," Draco flinched, "is using you like a pawn. He put you in a lose-lose situation and dared call it a choice. What you did wasn’t cowardice, it was survival. Living to fight another day. If you would have stood up to him in your home, you would have died. Narcissa would have died. And for what?”
Draco just stared at Harry, mouth agape, with a look of disbelief and awe etched on his features.
Panting, Harry continued, not wanting to break Draco's stare. “I understand why you did what you did, and I don’t think you deserve to go to Azkaban. You shouldn’t even be in this position! You are not of age, and Voldemort can’t even kill Dumbledore, Malfoy! I can promise you firsthand, it’s not from his lack of trying!”
Draco snuffled and looked away. “It doesn’t matter now. I failed. They’ll kill my mother, and then come for me.”
Harry shook his head, determined. “No. They won’t. I won’t let them.”
“How?” Draco looked hollow. Empty.
“Have you ever heard of the Order of the Phoenix?”
Draco blinked at him. “Dumbledore’s vigilante group?”
Harry let out a soft laugh. “Well, that’s certainly one word for it. If you let me take you to the Order, not the aurors, they can protect you and your mother. They’ve hidden people before and kept them safe. It won’t be easy, but it’s a way out.”
“Hidden like your parents were hidden? Like the Longbottoms? I don’t think my mother would enjoy the Janus Thickey Ward, Potter.” Draco sneered. Harry closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, he recognized the jab for what it was—fear. Malfoy was afraid for his mother, so he was hiding behind a mask of self-importance to protect her. The tear tracks on his face kind of ruined the image, though.
Instead of responding with anger like Draco so clearly wanted him to do, Harry finally said, “My parents put their trust in the wrong people, as did the Longbottoms. Their protections were solid, and quite frankly, it sounds like this is your only way out.”
Draco swallowed, and gripped Harry's hands with his bound ones, his silver eyes searching Harry’s face. “You promise you'll protect her?” Draco pleaded, raw and trembling.
Harry didn’t hesitate or break his stare when he responded, “I’ll keep you both safe.”
Harry had been breaking rules to do what was right since he was eleven, and saving the Malfoys was right. He didn’t care what Dumbledore or the rest of the Order would think when he told them exactly what he had just promised to someone with a Dark Mark. No matter how much he'd tried to pretend, Draco Malfoy was no Death Eater.
Draco blinked, and let out a sigh of relief. “Okay. Okay, I'll go with you to the Order.”
For the first time in months, Harry thought Draco sounded alive.