Chapter Five
Everything about The Alastair Moody Reform Institute screamed 'new', from the sterile white walls to the smell of paint in the visitor's waiting room, where Harry sat warily watching the clock tick towards nine. Harry was one of several people waiting to see a prisoner (or patient, as the guards called them), and around him sat worried mothers and fathers; and girlfriends, sometimes jogging a baby on their knee to keep them quiet. It didn't help Harry's nerves that many of them stole glances at him, one woman whispering to her toddler: 'Look, sweetheart. It's Harry Potter!'. They were all here to see people they loved. Harry hoped he wasn't.
It had taken the Ministry about three minutes into the first post-War hearing to realise that Azkaban couldn't be the correct punishment for everyone - but that a fine or public service couldn't be an alternative to every minor crime. So they came up with the Moody Institute, modelled on Muggle prisons, by way of punishing the criminals who were worse than petty thieves, but not so bad as murderers. It was now home to about one hundred criminals, split into two separate buildings: one for the men, and one for the women.
The woman next to Harry, an elderly lady with kind eyes, smiled at him.
"You here to see a friend?"
Harry didn't have a correct answer to her question, and ended up saying awkwardly, "In a way, I suppose."
She smiled. "The War must have complicated things for you?"
He nodded, and after a moment of silence, asked:
"Are you here to see your son?"
"My husband." She shook her head, "Silly bugger got caught shoplifting one of those sneakerscope things while the War was on. They were desperate times," She looked at him sadly, "Though I'm sure I don't need to tell you that, Mr Potter."
Harry grimaced. "How long's he in for?"
"Only a month, thankfully. How about your friend?"
"Seven."
"Oh, I am sorry to hear that," She said, patting his knee.
At nine o'clock on the dot, a guard opened the door and told them that they could come through. Harry walked in and saw Draco immediately, his unusual blonde hair easily standing out. Draco was staring at his linked fingers resting on the table, and only looked up when Harry sat down. As Harry's eyes met the icy blue of Draco's, a memory flashed through his mind. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Finding Draco sobbing over the porcelain sinks. Draco's curses shooting past his head, and he, Harry, shouting sectumsempra, and watching in horror as the cuts appeared, and the blood began to pour out.
"Potter?"
Harry blinked and realised he'd been staring at Draco, who was watching him in confusion. Attempting to erase the past from his mind, he tried to speak. Harry had rehearsed what he wanted to say several times while he'd waited, but now all the words seemed wiped from his mind.
"Hi," He managed. Draco raised an eyebrow.
"Hi."
An awkward silence fell between them. Why the hell did I decide to do this? Harry thought angrily.
"I didn't think you'd want to see me," Draco said eventually.
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What If? -Drarry
Fanfiction[Complete] What if Draco had met Harry differently? What if they had started as friends? I try to follow JK's basic storyline so it seems similar to the books and movies, but with some differences (obviously) to make the Drarry happen :D from both H...
