Catharsis

Chapter Six: Enough

Three weeks after the war

"I've told you everything I know, multiple times."

"Tell me once more."

Draco clenched his jaw as he glared at the interim Minister of Magic before him. Kingsley Shacklebolt's dark skin gleamed in the light of the fire he had lit within his office in the ministry. They had hauled Draco back in for the fifth time, citing they needed to ask him some more questions about his family and what he knew as one of the Dark Lord's inner circle.

He had gone over all of it already, who he could confirm were Death Eaters, families they had targeted, plans, where those who had gotten away may have run off too.

All of it.

Yet, here he was. Again.

He clenched his hands into fists and bit back the snarky retort that was ready on the tip of his tongue.

He knew it was valid. That they didn't yet trust him. It hadn't even been a month since the battle, and as far as everyone outside of Hermione had known, he was a loyal Death Eater until the battle.

So he took a deep breath, and began again.

~.~.~

"Was it bad?"

Draco glanced over at Hermione. She was sitting across from him, chewing the inside of her cheek as she had a tendency to do when she was worried or anxious. He sighed, trying to relax the stony expression he had been wearing since he left the ministry.

"It was the same as it always is. I told them what I knew, they thanked me, and sent me on my merry way so they can haul me back in, in another few days."

"I know it's horrible, but they just want to be thorough. They'll trust you. They'll see."

"They look at me like I'm a criminal, Hermione, because I am."

"You are not -"

"Maybe I didn't kill anyone. But what I helped them with was nearly as bad. I am a criminal, Hermione."

"You were a teenager forced into this. It's not your fault. If anyone's, it's -"

"I don't want to talk about my father. I just spent hours doing that at the ministry."

She blew out a breath, reaching across the booth they were sitting at so she could place a hand gently over his. He controlled the instinct to flinch and pull away at the touch.

A year ago, it would have been because of her muggleborn blood. The thought of someone inferior touching him would have sent him sneering and throwing a jinx at whoever dared sully him.

But now... now, he felt as though he didn't deserve to touch her, as though the darkness within him would pollute her, infect her, ruin her as badly as he already was.

He knew if he so much as legitimately toyed with the idea of voicing that thought, that she would vehemently rebuke it, so he had never dared tell her. But she couldn't understand. How could she? She was good. She had always been good. He... he had never been close to it. He wasn't convinced he was capable of it, even now.

"Draco..."

He shook his head, placing his other hand on top of hers and squeezing lightly.

"It's fine. I'll go in one hundred more times if I need to. Whatever I can do to help."

She frowned at him and he looked away, unable to bear the empathy he didn't deserve from her blazing at him so sincerely in the warmth of her amber eyes.