Chapter Text
Light travels much faster than sound.
That's why when you opened your mouth, all I saw was your beautiful lips moving, that's why I didn't hear you telling me you didn't love me anymore until much later.
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I guess it's kind of funny, now, if you think about it. I could have had anyone, anybody, any witch or wizard I wanted, but the only wizard I loved decided that I just wasn't enough anymore. Maybe I never was to begin with, but...I'd rather not think like that.
Being the "Saviour" is not fun, okay? I didn't ask for this.
It's a whole bunch of people fawning over you where ever you go, always sharing their tragic back stories, picking and picking at wounds that will never get the chance to heal, it is scarring, always asking for, "One more picture, Mr. Potter."
I have received invitations to every stuffy, stupid formal event the Ministry could think of, and I somehow always ended up going, because I felt like if I didn't, I was somehow cheapening the deaths of those that died; Remus, Tonks, Colin, Fred. I felt like I owe them all something. I still do. They died because of me.
I had to, I had to. It's the least I could do.
Ron likes the attention, though. He always had a bit of a desire for the spotlight, and I don't blame him. I don't. I know it wasn't easy trying to make something of himself when he has as many older, more successful brothers as he does.
Hermione just politely smiles and she'll even agree to the occasional autograph once in a while, she respects the fact that people are thankful to us, of course, but she downright despises the hero worship, and the pedestal the Wizarding World has put me upon.
Ha. Let's be honest, I hate it too.
I always thought it was ironic, the way Draco hated it as well.
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After the Battle, I didn't hear from, think about, nor see Draco until the trials at the Ministry.
I guess you could say I was a little bit more than shocked when Kingsley Shacklebolt charged him with the crimes of being a Death Eater and attempted murder, as well as various war crimes, not to mention the use of Unforgivables, and housing Death Eaters and most importantly, Voldemort himself. Draco was a child, he was fodder for the front lines, hell, all of us then were only children. We were playing grown-ups the best way we knew how. It's not like we had any other choice at the time.
His mother, Narcissa, was sitting with the other people being tried and accused. Her small frame shook violently with sobs, loud wails echoing throughout the courtroom. I was taken aback by the sight of her, normally ornate hair in a curly, frizzy, unkempt ponytail, her usual expensive, showy robes were replaced with a long sleeve tee and sweatpants.
I don't think a Malfoy has ever worn sweatpants before. Let alone in public.
"The Wizengamot suggests life in Azkaban, we feel are being extremely generous by not pushing for the Kiss-"
I stood up, enraged, my eyes surely blazing-
"Are you serious? My god, I didn't defeat a genocidal maniac just so we can be prejudiced towards others! Generous? Life in Azkaban? Are you bloody mental? He is just a kid! For gods sake, I'm still a kid! He didn't kill anyone, he was being bloody forced to serve Voldemort-"
The courtroom erupted in gasps and outraged whispers.
"No! Listen, he and his family would have been killed if they refused to house him and all the other Death Eaters, it's not Malfoys fault his father is such a nasty piece of work, so tell me, are you seriously going to condemn him to life in Azkaban? If you commit him, commit me, too. At least I bloody murdered someone." I spat out angrily.
Hermione was shocked, big brown eyes wide, and her bushy eyebrows shut up into her hair, while Ron turned red and started spluttering about Fred and how he needed "vengeance."
Hermione turned to Ron, and smacked him on the thigh.
"Stop it," she hissed.
Kingsley Shacklebolt regarded me silently.
"Since Harry Potter has personally advocated for Draco Malfoy, accused number E14, the Ministry declares a personal pardon from all charges, granted by the Minister, himself. Court is adjourned."
Draco's mother was sobbing even louder now.
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"What the fuck is wrong with you."
"Jesus, Ron, seriously? You're still pissed about Malfoy? Yes, he's a bloody git, I know that, but he doesn't deserve to rot in fucking Azkaban! He had no choice, okay? So get off your fucking high horse about Fred's death, stop taking it out on everyone you lay your eyes on, because this is hard enough already. Think about your mother for fucks sake. Or maybe Hermione. Stop freezing her out and treating her like shit, because in case you haven't noticed she loves you." I grit out.
Ron turned as red as his hair.
"Talk to me when you've come to your senses."
With that, the door slammed so hard the portraits on the wall all fell off in the entryway in Grimmauld Place.
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I received an owl from the Malfoy estate, maybe four days after the trial and the blow up with Ron.
The bird was pure white, beautiful, really, and she almost looked like Hedwig.
I smiled fondly at the thought of her.
I cautiously opened the letter, slightly shocked to see Draco Malfoy himself was inviting me to the Manor to see him on "personal business." I was almost even more shocked to see the "thank you's" littered throughout the parchment.
Tomorrow at noon seemed like a fucking lifetime away.
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I Apparated to the Manor, scowling when I saw I had not arrived at the ornate, front door, but the foot of the long, winding driveway.
Awesome.
It was so stereotypically Malfoy I couldn't hold back my biting laughter.
I trudged on up the drive, impressed by the grand gardens and the white peacocks that were gliding about. I put out a hand to one, and it hissed at me and ruffled it's feathers.
Nasty little shits.
I shuddered and kept pacing forwards, finally nearing the intimidating door of the Manor. I had previously sent an owl I borrowed from Ginny to reply to Malfoys letter, so it's not like he'd be surprised by an unwanted guest.
Ha, wait. I'm Harry Potter, so maybe I am a tad bit unwanted, I mean, this is Draco Malfoy we're talking about.
I stared rather stupidly at the door, and was about to knock, when the door flung open, and I was greeted by a crying, angry, Malfoy.
"W-well are you going to come in, or a-are you going to stand there like a f-fuckwit?" the blond managed to ask between angry sobs.
I blinked.
Malfoy gritted his teeth, balling his hands into fists.
"Come the fuck i-inside, Potter, Merlin's sake, those Muggles sure as fuck did a b-bang up job teaching y-you your goddamn manners." he spat out.
"Okay." I said rather dazedly, and stepping inside, looking around the grand entryway, trying not to look too impressed.
I cleared my throat and tried not to stare at the still crying boy.
"So...er, you owled me."
Malfoy gave me a dirty glare, and Merlin, if looks could kill I'd be pushing up daisies alongside Voldemort.
"Oh, well spotted, you're so fucking intelligent, do you want a filthy gold star?" he shrieked, throwing his hands into the air, no longer stuttering his words, having controlled his crying now quite a bit.
Probably because I was pissing him off.
Yeah.
"Um, I should, I should go-" I started, as I crept closer to the door.
"No! Wait! I need to talk to you!" Malfoy said urgently, wiping his eyes rather pissed offedly, looking like each tear drop shed had personally offended him.
Shit, for all I know, they had.
"Um. Okay, er, what about, exactly?" I asked awkwardly,
He shook his head.
"About that little shitty spectacle you pulled during my trial, Potter. You and I both very well know I should be rotting away in Azkaban, I should be with my father. I should be with my m-mother."
He started crying silently again, shoulders positively trembling, looking so vulnerable.
"Wait. They actually charged Narcissa? She didn't even have a Mark! If it wasn't for her, we'd have lost the war! Jesus, Malfoy, why the fuck didn't you say something sooner? I could have helped her!" I yelled, pissed off by now.
Narcissa Malfoy did not deserve to be in Azkaban. And I'm just going to be nice and choose not to voice my opinion on Lucius.
Malfoy trembled, shaking hard.
"You t-think I don't know that, Potter?
It should have been me. It should have been me." he said bitterly, tears streaming down his pale face.
I was quiet for a moment.
"I don't think I would say that."
He glared at me.
"Are you really that fucking noble, or are you just a bloody idiot? Of course I should, I have a Mark, I cast Crucio on people, innocent people, I helped Voldemort kill Dumbledore, I have blood on my hands, you stupid piece of shit. So why didn't you let me go?" Malfoy was yelling by now, grey eyes shining wildly, and cheeks tinged pink.
I sighed.
"Snape killed Dumbledore, first of all. I was there. And Malfoy, look, Voldemort, he basically had you lot hostage. You didn't have a choice. Your father, he...he should have never put you and your mother through that. You aren't your father, Malfoy. I know that, I've seen it. Back during the War, you could have sold me out, when those Snatchers had us. And you didn't. You're a kid. You did what you had to do." I said sadly.
Malfoy looked at me, unshed tears welling in his eyes. I wanted to hold him, try to push all his brokenness together somehow.
Fuck, I'm going insane, right?
Instead I toed at the marble floor with my trainer, like an idiot.
"You still should have let me rot. I don't deserve this kindness. I know I've been, how do I say this, well, a bit of a prick to you, and your friends, even. I just don't understand." the blond said softly.
"Exactly. People haven't been kind to me. That's why I'm like this." I said honestly.
All I got in return was dazed silver eyes.