Let Me Be Your Voice

Part 8

**Smut Warning**

He sat with Ron and Hermione under the beech tree looking out at the lake. He’d just finished telling them about his conversation with McGonagall and Dumbledore’s portrait.

Ron looked at him, not impressed, and Hermione hadn’t said a word. She sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, her back to the tree.

“That’s mental, Harry,” Ron told him. “How could you want to help him when you know full well he stood by while that bitch tortured Hermione?”

Harry felt his defences go up. “Well, what was he supposed to have done, Ron? Honestly. It’s not like he had any say in what was happening. If he’d spoken against his father, he would probably have been chucked into the cellar with the rest of us.”

Ron glared at Harry. “He’s a fucking Death Eater, Harry!” he spat through gritted teeth. “I can’t even pretend to understand why you spoke for him at his trial. If you would have let justice take its course, he’d be rotting in Azkaban with his father and the rest of them and we’d be shot of him.”

Harry closed his eyes, frustrated. He leaned his head back on his shoulders and opened his eyes again, looking up at the sky. “I dunno,” he said at last. “I guess there’s just something about nearly dying to save the world that makes me see a bigger picture.”

Ron and Hermione were quiet. Harry could tell they were not impressed by his reasoning; they were still bitter about the torture Hermione had suffered in Malfoy’s house. They climbed to their feet, brushing the dirt off their robes.

“We’ll see you later, mate,” Ron said, turning away.

Hermione hesitated, then spoke, her voice trembling. “I can’t talk about this right now. I just can’t.”

They left.

He listened until he could no longer hear their footsteps and stared out at the lake, thinking. He knew they were justified in their feelings, but he couldn’t help but see that Malfoy was changing. He’d been changing ever since the night Dumbledore was killed. It had taken Harry a while to reach the realisation that Malfoy had been in too deep and wondered, if he had had a family in the same situation, how much differently he would have acted.

At the same time, he was hard pressed to deny or confront his growing attraction to Malfoy. He’d been nervous enough when he’d sought out dates with girls, but not knowing if Malfoy was even gay made the prospect of pursuing him that much more formidable.

His introspection was interrupted when Ginny’s voice spoke. “Hello, Harry.”

She plopped down in front of the tree, taking the space Hermione had vacated.

Harry looked at her guiltily. They’d been avoiding each other ever since their conversation a month previously, and Harry missed her, but felt ashamed at how he’d led her on in the past.

“What’s new?” he asked, feeling inadequate, but there wasn’t anything else he could think to say.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you…” Ginny began, “I’m sorry if I made you feel like…”

“No, Gin,” Harry interrupted. “You had every right to feel hurt and angry. I’m sorry for the way I acted. I think we’re both just young and still trying to figure out how to deal with…” He gestured with his hand, trying to find the words to express what he was trying to say. “…all this stuff,” he finished.

She shrugged, a half-smile playing on her lips. “So, it’s Malfoy, is it?” she said, a teasing lilt to her voice.

“What?” Harry asked, feeling a tension build in his muscles.