Title: Say Good-bye To Yesterday
Author: Heather68
Giftee: Sesheta66
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, past Harry/Ginny, implied Harry/Oliver
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 30,471
Summary: The Ministry of Magic has put forth a new program to retrain Death Eaters once the war is done, and Draco Malfoy is one of the many candidates. But how well can Harry cope with the task of keeping an eye on him?
Author Notes: Written for the anonymous exchange on livejournal at hpslashnotsmut. The request was for plot post HBP where Harry had to deal with Draco after the events of the book and that they still get into a relationship. Also she wanted mentor!Snape and it's Snape, who am I to resist that request?
Beta'd by Rakina, Arenas, and Xos2ed
Part One
"I hate him, he's scum. He's even scummier than scum. He's the stuff that grows out of scum," Harry groused, taking another sip of the Firewhisky set before him. The amber liquid burned as it traveled down his throat, warming him from the inside out. He sighed happily before setting the bottle on the table with a click. He was pleasantly buzzed and he was happy to keep himself in that state, especially after the piss-poor morning he'd been having.
"I hear you, mate." Ron thumped him on the back and he missed Hermione's irritated scowl. Harry chuckled harshly, while he tipped his bottle back once again. When no liquid touched his lips, he pulled the glass back with a mournful sigh. Empty. It joined the last three bottles he'd downed in the past two hours. His lunch break, which is when he had left, had been over for over an hour now. He wasn't concerned; it was the farthest thing from his mind. Work could bugger off for all he cared. If they fired him, they'd look bad, letting the Boy Who Lived Twice go without a good, solid reason. Harry had half a mind to let them do it, so he could gain public sympathy and put the entire program to rest, then maybe he wouldn't have to feel like he was about to vomit.
"I mean," he began again, his vision blurring as he looked at Hermione plaintively, "Can you believe they're actually letting him…letting him out? Malfoy? Of all people! You know, I would have f-fully supported the Ministry if they had decided to round up the whole lot of them and give them all the Kiss." He made a loud, wet smacking sound with his lips for emphasis.
"Harry James Potter, how could you say such things?"
Harry blinked, his movements sluggish as he tipped his head to the side in confusion. Hermione's moods made no sense to him. One second she was completely agreeing with him, and the next... He had no idea what he had done, or said. He snorted and lifted the same bottle he had cast aside moments ago, trying to take a long pull from it.
"Harry!" cried Hermione. She stood up, furious, her eyes seemed to be spitting flames. The image of a fire-breathing Hermione dragon made him laugh. That was, until the woman had to go and tug his ear and topple him from his bar stool.
"Hey, what did you do that for!" he yelped, stumbling as she dragged him forcefully from the bar and onto the crowded Muggle London street. He whined pitifully as she dug her nails into the shell of his ear. His eyes were watering by the time she had dragged him into a side alley and let go of his ear with a rough shove.
He glared at her and brought a hand up to rub his ear with a petulant scowl.
"What is wrong with you?" Hermione demanded, flinging her hands into the air. "Have you completely lost it?"
"Wha's wrong wif me? Wha' the hell is wrong wif you?! You hate him too, did, do, hate him."
"Yes," she said impatiently, "But then I grew up, something you clearly have yet to do!"
Harry glared at her angrily, his eyes crossing, before refocusing. "Don' yell at me like yer my mum, Hermy-ione!"
"Then stop acting like a toddler. For God's sake, Harry you're twenty-four not eleven, and neither is Malfoy."
"Just what are you im-imp…shaying?" The world tilted alarmingly as he took a threatening step towards her… or maybe he didn't. The brick wall dug into his back, the chill of the stones seeping through his shirt.
"I'm saying you're acting like an immature little brat and I'm sick of it."
"Yeah, well!" Harry pulled out his wand, ignoring the frightened look on his best friend's face as if he was going to curse her. Just who did she think he was? Harry Potter did not go about hexing innocents even when they disagreed with him. Closing his eyes, he managed to concentrate on the inside of his flat, and, with a loud crack, he disappeared, not realizing he'd left an eyebrow and a sneaker behind.
"Potter!"
Harry groaned and cradled his head in his hands. Work wasn't supposed to come home. It just wasn't done! So, then, why was his boss in his living room waving a file in his face?
"Yes?" he growled.
"Did you forget you were on assignment?" Kingsley Shacklebolt asked, throwing the file next to Harry on the sofa where he was sitting.
There was a long pause while Harry tried to find the nicest terms possible to tell someone to bugger off. When nothing was forthcoming he gave up and settled for his traditional surly expression.
"No, how could I forget that?" he sneered. All he wanted was some Nurofen and his bed, or possibly some strong coffee and his bed. Either way, he really just wanted his bed and to forget this day ever happened. He didn't want to be talking about Malfoy again. It was bad enough that all he could think about was the skinny little ferret. He did not want to discuss how he would be forced into close quarters with the other man, even if it were only for a day, and just to make sure the prat didn't kill himself and save Harry the effort of doing it himself.
Shacklebolt sighed and ran a hand down his long face. Another long moment of silence occurred when the tall, bald black man just looked around the room as if searching for something. Harry sucked in his cheeks and glared up at him. He might be his boss, but that didn't give him the right to barge into his house uninvited.
"Harry." Kingsley looked at him and Harry squirmed beneath the stare. "Are you drunk?"
"No, boss."
"Harry," he warned.
Harry frowned, hugged a silver-trimmed throw pillow to his stomach, and glared at a blank spot on the wood floor. "Maybe," he finally said. Reluctantly, he brought his glazed-over eyes back up to meet stern brown ones. Harry suddenly wished the couch would swallow him whole. This was bleeding unfair! He bet others didn't get hounded like this when they skived off work; only him, the bloody Boy Who Lived. His scowl returned with a vengeance.
Freezing cold water splashed him in the face, the sting of it needle sharp. It drenched his hair and clothing, making it impossible to see through his glasses. Gaping, he could only blink in shock for a few seconds. Finally, he sputtered, water dripping out of his mouth and off his hair onto his nose. He wiped at his sodden face, suddenly very alert, painfully so.
"What the hell was that for?"
"You Apparated from a pub like this, didn't you?"
"So what if I did? It's not like I'm missing anything!"
Kingsley stared pointedly at his forehead, amusement scrawled over his face. Harry's eyes widened as he brought a hand up, immediately realized what was gone. "Shit."
Harry stretched, removing his glasses and setting them on the enamel surface of the desk. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he stared up at the pockmarked ceiling. He hated the paperwork aspect of his job with a passion. Although, he thought ruefully, this really was his fault. It served him right for being such a bastard the day before.
He had rung Hermione that morning to apologize, but she hadn't answered. The idea that she might have been at a class never crossed his mind until he had arrived at work. He still hadn't heard back from her, but he knew he would, if only because she would want to yell at him some more. He reckoned he deserved it. Well, not all of it. He still held true to the idea that Malfoy was scum, but saying that all Death Eaters deserved the Dementor's Kiss had been a bit callous of him. Harry also suspected she'd have a thing or two to say about the letter of warning he had received from his boss last night.
He was going to have to use Portkeys to get anywhere for the next month. His Apparation license had been suspended because he'd been an idiot. That still smarted a bit even if it had been for his own good. He hated Portkeys, however, it was either that or Flooing and if there was one thing he hated more than Portkeys, it was the Floo system.
The stack of paper beside him wasn't big enough to call a mountain, so he settled on calling it a rolling hill instead. A nice, big rolling hill of paperwork and it was all for him. Harry groaned as he picked up the first report. There was a reason he'd put this off to the last possible minute. It was no secret that he had made it onto the task force by notoriety and dedication alone. No one had bothered to find out what his writing and organizing skills were like. He wished Hermione would hurry up and call him back. He needed her wisdom and fabulous paper-writing skills more than ever.
"Harry, think fast!"
Harry held up a hand, catching the sandwich as it came hurtling towards his head. He grinned up at the redhead standing in the doorway. "Are you coming in or are you going to lurk about my door?"
Ron laughed and entered the office space. Harry had once thought it a grand thing to have an office; this was before he discovered that having an office meant paperwork. He picked up his glasses and put them back on, both his office and his friend becoming clear once again.
"Don't you ever file these?" Ron asked, snatching up a manila folder. He flipped through the contents with a bored expression, before tossing it back on Harry's desk.
"Do you?" Harry returned, taking the wrapping off his ham and cheese sandwich.
Ron snorted. "No, and no normal bloke here does."
"Unless they've been stuck on office duty," Harry pointed out with false enthusiasm. Ron gave him a sympathetic look. He rolled his eyes, taking a bite out of his sandwich. "Kingsley found out I Apparated drunk last night."
"Rough bit of luck, mate."
"You're telling me, and on top of this," he gestured with his sandwich towards the not-so-tidy pile of papers, "I have to go and see Malfoy this afternoon."
"You really do have the worst luck in the world."
"Thanks, Ron," Harry said dryly, taking another languid bite of his lunch.
"Any time."
Harry chucked a bit of lettuce that had fallen out his sandwich at his friend. "Piss off then, I've got work to do."
Ron laughed and wagged his finger at him before he left the office.
Harry leaned back in his chair with a pleased expression and looked at the spread of work before him. He polished off his lunch in another five bites, before picking up the first file on his desk. It was Malfoy's. A scowl curled at the corner of his lips and he tossed it at the paper basket beside his desk. It missed and the papers scattered over his floor. Harry rolled his eyes in annoyance and pulled out his wand. He haphazardly cleaned up the mess and levitated the folder back over the edge of the desk and let it drop with a plop. It wasn't a particularly thick folder compared to some of the others littering his desk, but he couldn't bring himself to open it. He didn't care what crimes Malfoy had committed, just that he had in fact committed them. He didn't care what his blood type was, or what he had been acquitted from.
He did not want to sully himself with Draco Malfoy's folder. It was bad enough in another half an hour he'd have to go and visit him in person. He did not need to feel any more disgusted than he already felt. They would assign him to Malfoy just to spite him. It wasn't like there weren't other Aurors, more qualified ones, that could take this assignment. He had no doubts that this was just a way of his superiors testing him, and it angered him. Hadn't he proved himself enough over the past six years for them to realize he wasn't just some stupid kid? That he'd got the job not because he was the Boy Who Lived and defeater of Voldemort (which in its own right really should have been enough for them to accept that he was legitimate), but because he actually deserved his spot and his own team.
If he knew he wouldn't get sacked for doing it, he would have passed on the assignment to one of his underlings. They basically jumped at his beck and call and would lie on a puddle to keep his shoes dry if he asked them to. He wouldn't, though.
Sighing, he tapped his quill on his desktop twice before standing. He might as well get it over with. As long as he saw Malfoy and made contact with him he could go home and sleep the event off. He just knew that this was a bad idea. Ron gave him an encouraging smile as he passed his desk and he couldn't help but wonder if it was easy working under him sometimes. Ron never complained to him about it, but sometimes the scowls Hermione threw him were enough to know he had done something wrong. He couldn't possibly be that unapproachable, especially not since Ron was his best friend.
Harry wandered through the corridors of the Ministry of Magic with a petulant expression on his face. What a perfect killjoy, going to see Draco Malfoy. He fingered his wand as he neared the holding cells. A healer was waiting for him outside the door, as was expected, to fill him on the prisoner's health. The woman was middle aged with rosy cheeks, a warm smile and a pile of brown hair that was done up in a bun. She extended her hand, which he took without hesitation. He really didn't intend on staying very long. Kingsley had only said he had to see Malfoy, he hadn't said they needed to trade secrets and pal around like they were mates. They could only ask so much of him.
"Mr. Potter, I was hoping you'd come this afternoon," she said brightly. "I'm Matilda Leavenworth, Draco's personal healer."
Harry quirked a brow. "Personal healer?"
"Yes, I have been Mr. Malfoy's healer since birth. I know his records forwards and backwards. That's why they hired me for his case."
"Case?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling miles behind. "What case?"
"Didn't anyone tell you?" She shifted uncomfortably as she waited for his answer. He didn't blame her, most Aurors arrived fully informed, but Harry hadn't even touched Malfoy's file and he wondered if perhaps he should have. If there was something wrong with him, then his case had just become harder, and that marginally pissed him off.
Harry shook his head. Matilda sighed and gestured towards the window in the shut door. "Take a look inside," she instructed. He gazed at her for a long second before following her instructions. He peered into the square room with an irritated sigh and almost gasped in shock. As it were, his face went pale and that was nearly as disturbing as gasping. He'd seen worse before. The War hadn't exactly been a clean-cut affair. There was bloodshed, loss of limbs, beheading and death, but nothing like this.
He turned to look at the plump healer, his fingers resting on the tiny indent between door and window. "That's Malfoy?"
"Yes. That is Draco Lucien Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy estate and a prisoner from Azkaban. He doesn't look well, does he?"
Harry glared at the witch and then turned back to the small window with a surly expression. He knew she was trying to make him feel guilty, but it wouldn't work. It didn't matter that the very sight of Malfoy made his stomach churn and his throat clench in sympathy. "Does he eat?"
"Only when we force him to," Matilda answered in gentle tones. She clutched her clipboard to her chest, drumming her fingers on the back of it in a nervous gesture. "And even then his system sometimes regurgitates it."
He pinched his nose and reached for the handle. "Can I go in and see him?"
"Yes, of course." Matilda grabbed and turned the handle, pushing the door open for him. "He is your charge."
Harry groaned at the reminder. "Thanks."
"You're welcome, Mr. Potter."
He took that as his cue and stepped into the sterile, white-washed room. Nothing decorated the walls and there wasn't a single window. What was worse, Harry discovered after spending approximately five seconds in the room, was that the dim lights cast shadows upon the prisoner's face, distorting the visible features and hiding the rest. It was cold, it was uncomfortable, and it was no wonder Malfoy wasn't getting well. His situation here wasn't any better than in Azkaban.
Taking a deep breath of the cold air, Harry made his way across the short room and stood with his knees to Malfoy's knees, scowling down at him. "Malfoy," he snapped. Not even a flicker. The blond stayed perfectly still, the only indication that he was alive was the lethargic blinks of his eyelids every few seconds. Harry growled. He really did not have the patience to be dealing with this, at least not today. Fuck Kingsley for assigning him this mess, fuck him for making Harry take care of it, and fuck him for having the gall to tell him to do it today! Clearly, Kingsley just wanted to make his life more miserable than it already was. Stuck with Malfoy the Vacant Wonder, unable to Apparate away, and then having to fill out paperwork on this wholly miserable case. Malfoy would be better off in Azkaban than in the Muggle world. If the man couldn't even respond to his name, how the hell was he going to take care of himself?
"He's unresponsive, I already told you," Matilda stressed, settling a warm hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry shrugged her off and squatted in front of Malfoy, scanning his eyes for any hint of recognition, but there was none.
"Could you give me a moment?" he grunted, not breaking his gaze. Harry waited until she had retreated and closed the door behind her. She would be watching through the window. Technically Aurors weren't supposed to be alone with the prisoners, but when had he ever followed the rules?
"Fuck, Malfoy, it's me Potter, you know, your nemesis? You used to make my life miserable, remember?" Nothing, not even a solid blink. "Surely you can't forget me? I was your master's worst nightmare. I killed him, you know. I'm not sure what sort of information you get in Azkaban, but I did it, I succeeded in ridding the world of the worst Dark Lord since Grindelwald. I didn't do it alone, of course. I had the whole Order backing me. Do you even know what the Order is, Malfoy? Nah, of course you do, all the Death Eaters knew about us. Your father became intimately aware of us before his death.
"Did they tell you your father died? He had his slimy soul sucked out of his body like milk from a bottle. I was there, you know. They let me watch because I was the one who captured him." Harry could feel his frustration reaching a critical point. Malfoy had to be hearing some of this, the old Malfoy would have responded. He'd punch him in the face without any remorse and then cast some nasty hex at him. This Malfoy was pitifully boring and it galled him. How could Malfoy remain so unaffected by his presence? Any time he even thought the name 'Malfoy' he got a sour taste in his mouth. Malfoy, though, appeared to be more in tune with the floating dust than with his visitor. What had happened to him that he had turned into this thing? This lifeless waste of space.
"You're pathetic, Malfoy, and you always were. From the moment I met you I knew I didn't like you. I guess my gut instincts were right, weren't they? You're nothing but a lowlife. A scum-sucking creature that needs to be stamped out. Lucky for you the ministry is keeping an eye on my actions because I'd certainly feel no remorse in killing you right now, and end your entire family with one little curse.
"So much for the high and mighty Malfoy family! Your father is dead, your mother is clinically insane and here you are unresponsive, no more alert than a tree stump. I visited your mother recently. She's a lovely lady, if not completely crazy. She seemed to think I was you. Kept calling me her precious baby and telling me daddy didn't mean it. Didn't mean what, ferret? What did your precious daddy do to you that put your mum in the loony bin?"
Harry growled, set a hand on Malfoy's shoulder and shook him. The blond's head lolled on his neck before falling forward, but aside from that, there was no voluntary action, not even a shudder of disgust. Harry wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry, or maybe do both. No one else on the force had their prisoner give them as much grief, at least not this kind. Admittedly some fought against the idea of living as a Muggle without magic, but more often than not they were willing to get back to their families in any way possible. Malfoy had no one to go back to, and Harry wasn't even sure the ponce knew it.
"I'd feel worse if you hadn't been an unbelievable snot to me. You wouldn't even be here if it weren't for Snape's sacrifice. As a matter of fact you would have got the Kiss the moment you were captured. Aren't you lucky? A lucky ferret. You little crybaby, you're a complete pushover. An insane, jealous prat. You always prattled on about my scar as if it was something I was proud of. I wasn't, you could have had it for all I care, and the fame that went with it. You would have loved it. Lived it up to the fullest, but no, not even you could resist the power Voldemort was offering. It came around and bit you in the arse, didn't it?
"No one else would have run to Moaning Myrtle to cry their eyes out like a little girl, no one else would have made a big scene over a tiny little scrape on the arm, no one else ran to their daddy when they got in trouble. Where's your daddy to run to now, huh, Malfoy?" he taunted, anger coursing out of control. "He can't save you, not when you need him most. The Malfoy name is mud – it's worse than mud, it's the little crawlies that live in the mud and you've got no one to hide behind any more.
"I'm so glad I didn't accept your hand that day on the train or I would have fallen in with the 'wrong sort'."
"Potter."
Harry fell flat on his arse in shock. Malfoy was looking straight at him, not through him, but right at him. "Malfoy?"
The blond glared down at him and Harry could feel his initial anger returning. He steeled himself, waiting for the cutting remark that was sure to come, but nothing happened. It was like whatever switch had been turned on in Malfoy's brain was back off again.
"Malfoy!" he snapped, hoping he'd get a reaction of some sort. "Malfoy, you bleeding idiot, if you bollocks this up for me I swear-"
He reached out and touched the other man's knee. Malfoy flew into action and launched off the bench. He scrambled beneath the wooden seat and huddled into a ball before Harry could even move forward. The healer opened the door, but Harry didn't notice. He crawled forward on hands and knees, now more confused than irritated. He reached out a hand and hesitantly rested it on the emaciated blond's shoulder. Nothing happened, just like before. Malfoy had gone completely inside himself once again and Harry sighed.
"Mr. Potter, what did you do?"
Harry looked over his shoulder in fear. Matilda was looming over him with her hands on her hips and a concerned expression. "N-nothing," he stammered, quickly getting to his feet.
She sighed, scribbled something on her clipboard and knelt beside him, before talking again. "That was the first time he has responded to anyone in five months. We've been trying everything imaginable to get him back in working order, but those damned Dementors-"
"Wait, what Dementors?" Harry asked harshly, his head whipping to the side to look at her.
"Help me with him first," she ordered, already hooking an arm underneath Malfoy's armpit. Harry grabbed Malfoy's hands and carefully pulled them from around his knees so they could pull his legs straight. They maneuvered him around until they could pull him out from beneath the bench. Harry hefted him into his arms finally realizing just how badly off the blond was. Ron and Hermione's twins combined would weigh more than him and that was distressing, because the twins were four. He settled Malfoy on the long bench and stepped backwards so Matilda could get the other man's life signs.
Kingsley wanted him gone by that night, but there was no way in hell Harry was moving Malfoy anywhere, not today if he had any say in it. He'd be safer in Matilda's care than left in some house in the country alone. It was bad enough that he was feeling bad for the git, but now he was going to risk his job by once again defying direct orders. Merlin, if Malfoy got him fired he'd kill him with his bare hands. He wouldn't need his wand to do it.
"Dementors," Harry repeated with a modicum of urgency. There shouldn't have been any Dementors in Azkaban when Malfoy was there, they were all supposed to be gone! That's why it was still possible to reprogram the Death Eaters to become part of civilized society again. The Ministry wasn't daft. The people implementing these programs knew what they were doing, or at least he suspected they did enough planning to realize the pros and cons. This was insane. He wasn't supposed to have to worry about Malfoy dying from neglect.
He gritted his teeth as he pulled out the thin metal bracelet and snapped it around Malfoy's frail wrist. Taking another one from his pocket, he attached it to his own wrist and adjusted it so that it was snug against his skin but no longer pinching. It was a sad thing to see the same piece of jewelry hanging loosely off Malfoy's wrist – he could stick two fingers through it, but Harry had his own on the last hook and it was right against his skin.
"Tell me, Healer Leavenworth."
Matilda gently folded Malfoy's hands so they were resting on his stomach and then swept a lock of greasy hair off his face. "The Ministry reinstated Dementors to guard the cells of the worst people in Azkaban."
"But Malfoy wasn't even high security."
She shook her head; a few strands of brown hair fell out of her loose bun. "You're right he wasn't, but his father was, and his father was in the cell next to him."
"They didn't-" Harry started, horrified. "I was there when Lucius was given the Kiss. They did it in a private room inside the ministry. There were only four witnesses; we weren't even near Azkaban!"
"Yes, but Draco could hear his father's cries from his cell," Matilda explained patiently. "There was no way to block the sounds, or the chill. He could hear the executioners talking to Lucius about what was to happen. He heard everything and felt everything that happened to his father. It was the day after the Dementors were removed that they discovered Draco wasn't eating anything anymore, and that's when they contacted me." She brushed her hair off her face in a swift movement. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy did not need Dementors guarding his cell for this to happen."
"Five months," Harry said, gazing at Malfoy's colourless face. He needed to speak with Hermione before her next class started in half an hour. There were so many things that needed to be taken care of that he couldn't even begin to imagine what he was going to do. It was clear that he'd need to speak to his boss about this Malfoy problem as well, and he would definitely have to cancel his date with Oliver Wood for tonight. He just couldn't deal with his personal life at the moment. He didn't need the attempt at recruitment and flirting he'd get from Oliver. As much as it pained him to do so, because he really did like Oliver and it would have been a welcome relief, he had to think about his job. A job that he wasn't sure he'd be holding much longer.
Matilda looked at him sadly and patted his cheek in a motherly fashion. Harry smiled at her in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. Malfoy did not deserve her.
"I need to go."
"It's quite all right," Matilda stated, brushing off the unspoken apology. "I suspect we'll be seeing each other again soon."
"More than likely," he agreed, reaching out and shaking her hand. "Good afternoon, Healer Leavenworth."
"Good afternoon, Auror Potter."
Hermione tapped the nub of her quill against the pockmarked desk and sighed. These students just weren't grasping the concepts. She might as well slam her head into the wall behind her for all the correct response she was receiving. She set the essay aside and shoved at her bushy brown hair. It kept falling into her face. Amanda had been demanding her attention that morning and she hadn't got the chance to put her hair up. She still wasn't sure what the jabbering four-year-old had actually been talking about, it had taken all her energy trying to look and sound attentive while trying to brush her hair into some semblance of order.
The disturbance in the hallway was a blessed relief to her stressed mind and she listened to the yelling with a small smile. Was it really four o'clock already? Hermione picked up a spare quill and transfigured it into a chair beside her desk.
"But, sir-"
"No 'but's Potter, there is no running in these corridors, is that understood?"
"Yes, sir." She could have applauded Harry for his ability to bullshit to his superiors. Anyone who didn't know him as well as she would have believed that he felt truly remorseful.
Hermione shook her head at the familiar conversation and charmed her teapot so the water would boil. Her next class started soon, and she knew how much Harry enjoyed the curious looks he got when he stayed too long. She hurriedly made herself appear busy when her bumbling friend made it into the lecture hall. He cleared his throat and Hermione made sure to look up at him with a pleasantly surprised expression.
"Harry!"
"Hey, Hermione."
He took his seat and, without asking, reached over and grabbed the self-heating teapot and then picked up the empty teacup before pouring the warm liquid into it. Hermione observed him in silence, taking in the slight tremble in his hands and the defeated look in his eyes.
"You saw Malfoy, didn't you?" she asked once he had taken a few sips of tea.
Harry grinned sheepishly and nodded. He set the teacup on the edge of her desk and bowed his head. She knew better than to push him, but if he didn't say what he wanted to soon he would have to say it in front of a class full of giggling girls and awestruck boys. Hermione reached over, covering his hand with her own. Harry glanced at their clasped hands and entranced, raised his head to look at her. Her heart constricted in sympathy. A part of her wished she could have told him what she had known before now, but another part was telling her it was better he found out on his own.
"Yes."
"And," she prompted, now more than a little worried. Surely nothing could have happened. After all, Malfoy was in a vegetative state.
The silence in the room was enough to make Hermione wish to retract her question. But, then Harry shrugged. "He's a bleeding log."
"A log?" she repeated, one eyebrow rising slightly.
"He just sits there and stares."
"Harry-"
Harry cut her off with a curious expression, a cross between betrayal and suspicion. "Hermione, did you know?"
Her eyes widened. How could he have known? She tried to calm her beating heart, by drinking a sip of her own tea. "Perhaps."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
He looked so pathetic, but she knew him well enough not to fall for puppy-dog eyes. It was bad enough she did things for him that a person in her position shouldn't be doing, but talking about a patient went against her code as a healer. There were just some things she couldn't do, even for him. "I couldn't, Harry. The only reason I even know is because Malfoy's case was so extreme and rare. They needed all the help they could get, which is why they asked the teaching staff. I wanted to tell you Harry, I really did. In my defense, you should have read your own file first instead of ignoring it."
"I know," he said, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses. Hermione waited for him to gather his thoughts and poured him another cup of tea. He had another five minutes before her students started to arrive in which to tell her what had occurred.
"What happened?" she prodded gently. Harry's smile was strained and Hermione began to worry. It couldn't be worth the amount of time he was taking. Nothing should have happened when Harry was with Draco, unless he did it himself, but then Harry would be fired and the orange lining of his Auror robes would be gone.
"I-well-I might have lost my temper."
"You didn't," she groaned, running a hand down the side of her face.
"I did. Hermione, I've never felt so pissed off in my life and I took it out on him. I was screaming at him and everything. When he didn't react I just flipped and started tormenting him, apparently something I said jogged a memory because suddenly he was looking at me." Harry shook his head and looked up at the ceiling. He rubbed a hand over his neck before bringing his gaze down to meet hers. She gripped his hand tightly and waited, barely containing her excitement. They had been trying everything to bring Malfoy back and all it had taken was Harry to get angry. "Hermione, he spoke my name and it was the only word he said."
"Harry, that's amazing! He actually reacted!"
Harry grinned ruefully, peering at her from beneath thick eyelashes. "He moved too."
"Did he?" Hermione asked. That was more of a shock than speaking. "Why?"
"He started ignoring me," grumbled Harry with a wan smile. "and I might have shaken him and he kinda bolted under his bench."
Hermione released his hand and picked up her quill again. She bit the feather in thought as Harry drummed his fingers against her desk. "What did Healer Leavenworth say?"
"She explained what happened to him." He shook his head, tracing the grain of the desk. His eyes took on a plaintive quality when he next spoke, "Hermione, no one deserves that."
"Now there's something I never thought I'd hear you say," she said, unable to keep the ice from her tone.
Harry sighed. "I did call and apologize about eight times this morning."
"But it didn't hurt me, Harry. That generalization hadn't come from nowhere," she pointed out, bringing her cup of tea to her lips. "You had to have meant at least a bit of it."
"I do. I hate him."
Hermione scanned his eyes for any uncertainty. "Yet you feel for him."
"I'd feel for anyone in his circumstances," Harry mumbled, staring holes into her desk.
She hummed, ignoring his disbelieving stare. "If you say so." She glanced down at her watch and her eyes flickered towards the shut door, any moment now her students would be entering. "So, what are you going to do?"
"Malfoy wasn't even supposed to be in that holding cell today, he was supposed to be gone. His circumstances, however," he recited dully, "make it clear he needs an extension. If he isn't gone by tomorrow night at seven, you're out of a job, Potter."
"Oh Harry, you can't seriously be considering leaving him in the Muggle world. He'd be killed – or worse just waste away."
"He already is wasting away!" Harry snapped, clutching his blue teacup, his face going murderous. Her desk drawers began to rattle. Hermione didn't dare say anything to upset him further. She hadn't seen him so close to losing control like this in a long time. "He's skin and bones, Hermione! I've never seen anyone that scrawny still alive!"
"He would be though, he hasn't been eating."
"I know it's just… I can't nark on him when he's like that," Harry grumbled, "unresponsive. It's just not fun."
"You aren't supposed to be having fun, Harry. You're supposed to be doing your job."
"Have you been talking to Kingsley?"
Hermione blinked and shook her head. "No, why?"
"It's nothing. You just sounded like him, that's all. Potter, what are you doing? You are supposed to be taking care of this paperwork, not running off and seeking out trouble."
The brunette grinned and petted his hand in mock sympathy. "I'm so sorry, Harry. That must be difficult."
Harry pouted, but started laughing shortly after. Smirking to herself, Hermione was glad she had taken the risk and poked fun at the situation. Harry rarely seemed to be laughing anymore and the sound was wonderful to hear.
"Professor, I was wondering if- oh!"
Hermione's gaze snapped to the door where a petite blonde was standing balancing a book that was open in one hand and her bag in another. She appeared to be in shock.
"I'd better get going," Harry said, flashing the girl a charming smile and a wink. Hermione noticed that she flushed once Harry had turned and almost dropped the heavy-looking book. She eyed him over as he stood. "You've got a class and whatnot." He walked around Hermione's desk and bent over kissing her cheek gently. "I really am sorry about last night," he whispered so the younger girl couldn't hear.
"I know you are, you prat," Hermione murmured, affectionately squeezing his hand one last time. "Now get out of here. I still fully expect you to be at our house tonight for dinner. Amanda and Brigit have been asking where you are. They miss seeing you."
"How are my favorite nieces, by the way?"
Hermione snorted. "Pests."
Harry laughed. "The same as always then?"
"Same as always," she confirmed.
"All right, I'll be there, so long as you make shepherd's pie."
"Of course I will," she sighed, exasperated. "It's all the twins eat now."
"Is that my fault?" Harry questioned, the picture of innocence.
Hermione rolled her eyes before shooing him away. "Get out of my classroom, Auror Potter or I'll call in Healer Constantine in to escort you off the premises."
"You wouldn't dare."
She opened a drawer and held up a piece of paper with a bright blue dot in the corner, an interoffice memo. "Wouldn't I?"
"You're a mean lady, Healer Granger."
"I know," she agreed easily, reordering the papers on her desk. "Now go."
Hermione watched Harry laugh as he squeezed past a few more students who were in the doorway, and then disappeared into the hall. She shook her head. Harry was in for a tough time, she just wondered if he knew how tough.