Let Me Be Your Voice

Part 11

“He won’t tell me who did it!” Harry shouted in response to McGonagall’s questioning. They were joined by the four heads of houses. “All he would tell me is that three students ganged up on him for being a Death Eater. He says he doesn’t plan to press charges and he thinks he deserved it.”

He glared at the professors’ expressions, as if challenging them to contradict him.

“Nobody deserves to be beaten half to death three to one. And the fact that they think he can’t talk makes it ten times worse. I’m sick to death of all this hate! It’s all Voldemort’s fault. He fucked Malfoy up, brainwashed him, and it doesn’t seem to fucking matter that he’s gone! Every time a shred of happiness shines my way, it gets snuffed out and stolen before I can even breathe! I hate it!”

Harry was so angry and overcome, he was shaking. He felt like he couldn’t stop his limbs from trembling, like the shock was stealing back over him, breaking his defences.

Molly Weasley bustled over to Harry’s chair and brought her hands down on his shoulders, gripping him tightly. “We’ll beat it, Harry. Don’t even doubt that for a moment.”

He felt the emotion choking him up as a sob stuck in the back of his throat threatened to overwhelm him.

“Give us a mo’, would you lot?” Molly said to the rest of the room, her voice sharp and commanding.

The tears began to fall despite Harry’s efforts, and he shut his eyes tightly against them, hearing the other professors leave the room.

He turned in his chair to hug Mrs. Weasley tightly, burying his face in her neck, breathing in the sweet scent of flowers and baked goods he associated with what a mother should smell like, allowing it to comfort him.

She rocked him, smoothing his hair back. “That’s it, dear. Let it out. You’ve fought too long and too hard for one so young. It’s good to step away and let yourself recover before charging into the next battle.”

Eventually, the tears stopped. He felt weary, but the thought of Malfoy recovering alone in the hospital wing gave him the strength to lift his head and let go of Mrs. Weasley.

She wiped the tear tracks off his cheeks, looking down at him with a face full of thoughtful affection. “I know what love looks like, Harry,” she said a bit wistfully. “I always hoped that you and Ginny would grow closer and that you’d eventually become the son I’ve always seen you as, but it’s really not necessary, is it?”

Harry wiped his nose on his sleeve, blinking in confusion. “What isn’t?”

Molly smiled down at him, holding his chin up to look her in the face. “That young man needs you as much as you need him. I have you in my heart as my son already and don’t need a piece of paper to tell me it’s true. Go on and tell him how you feel, Harry. I give you my blessing.”

Harry flushed, pulling away. “Er … That is … I’m still not …” he stammered.

“Go on,” she said, still smiling.

He wiped his face with his hand and left. He didn’t see any sense in protesting.

~x~

Harry settled into his bed in the infirmary after Madam Pomfrey insisted he stay. He felt much better after his cry, but he thought she likely was using his shock as an excuse to make sure Malfoy wasn’t left alone, and that was fine by him.

In the morning he woke up to the sensation of being watched. He opened his eyes and reached for his glasses, slipping them into place absently.

Malfoy looked ten times better than he had the previous night. He was lying on his side, propped up on an elbow, eyes trained on Harry.