To Hurt and Heal

1 - To Hurt and Heal

"Don't look as if you'll miss me, Potter," is Malfoy's amused quip fifteen minutes before he is due to be transported to Azkaban.

There is a wry, almost challenging smile on his lips, one that looks so out of place on his thin, wan face that Harry in his frustration almost wants to punch.

He isn't even sure anymore if he is angry because the old wizards in the Wizengamot hadn't listened to him (again) or because Draco Malfoy in general just has this talent of making people want to punch him, even when he is about to jump into the Dementors' arms.

Even when it is obviously only false bravado and ego enabling him to stand straight then.

His stiff shoulders and red-rimmed, sunken eyes fool no one in the room, though Harry suspects that Draco isn't really trying to deceive anyone.

The only ones present to send him off are Narcissa Malfoy and Harry himself after all.

Lucius Malfoy had already been sent to Azkaban since the Battle of Hogwarts, and it was quick and inevitable, and no one had argued the verdict of a life sentence—not his family, not even himself.

But Narcissa and Draco Malfoy—oh, Harry had fought tooth and nail for that.

But in the end, everything was decided on that blemish of ink, that monstrosity of a skull and a serpent.

Draco Malfoy is Marked. Narcissa Malfoy is not.

Three months, the Wizengamot had said. Three months in Azkaban and a magic ban, to be lifted on the 30th of August.

And it is a sentence obviously made light by the petition of Harry Potter—Gregory Goyle hadn't been so lucky—but three months is still three months and three months is more than enough to be locked in a cage, surrounded by Dementors.

"Malfoy," is the only thing Harry is able to say then, frustration making his tongue heavy, because Draco Malfoy, 17 years old and the sodding irritating slimy git that he is, saved him—

"The Ministry can't be going around leaving Marked Death Eaters unpunished," Malfoy says in reply, his face now fashioned into a careful mask of indifference. "It simply wouldn't be appropriate."

Harry shakes his head. "You told them it wasn't me. You... you saved me," he trails off, helpless, unsure how to convey the guilt that he feels for not being able to prevent this.

A wistful smile slowly slides its way on Malfoy's lips. "I did, didn't I?" And there is a distant look to his eyes, as if he is mulling over a thought that he has long since pondered. He sighs and fixes his robes, if only to avoid Harry's gaze.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm glad I did."

Harry can't help his legs from moving forward at that admission, but a hand on his shoulder steadies him before he can do something stupid like grab Malfoy's shoulders and shake him and demand that he be angry.

One glance over his shoulder has him looking into Narcissa Malfoy's blank expression. She shakes her head, a minute tilt to the side, before returning her gaze to her son.

"I'll be waiting, Draco."

Malfoy nods to her, and Harry is sure that they have already had their moment before he had burst in the room to personally apologize. Or at least try to, but the words didn't want to come out.

"Take care of my mother," Malfoy says, the smile not quite reaching his eyes anymore. "It seems she's taken a liking to you. See you later, Potter."