“Where’s Malfoy?” The vacant spot next to professor Sinistra immediately caught his eye. Usually he was greeted every morning with a “Late for breakfast again now, are we? You know you could just set an alarm for once like a normal person.” And Harry would respond with something among the lines of “I’m not a normal person, I’m the chosen one.” Then Malfoy would roll his eyes while Harry did a dramatic hair flip.
He always loved seeing Malfoy struggle to suppress a smile every time he did that, and had gotten quite accustomed to their morning ritual.
“Called in sick this morning. Migraine I believe.” Answered professor Mcgonagall.
“Odd. I don’t believe he’s ever been sick since he started working here.” Professor Sinistra looked a bit worried.
“Shouldn’t someone go check on him?”
“Yes, excellent idea Harry. Why don’t you go bring our favorite Slytherin a nice cup of tea? Maybe mention you still haven’t bought an alarm clock while you’re at it.” Neville always made comments like these and Harry still didn’t know why. He and Malfoy seemed to get along just fine but as soon as Harry suggested Neville should go to him to run an errand or something he always sent Harry instead.
“Uhm, well I don’t think I’ll bother him with my non existing shopping habits but I’ll go and have a look. If someone could cover the first couple of minutes of my second years…?”
“Yes of course Harry.” Sounded the answer from Neville, professor Mcgonagall and Flitwick, who exchanged some knowing looks with each other.
“Right then… I’ll go pay him a visit…” Harry gave his colleagues a strange look.
“You go do that Potter.”
“A task right up your alley.”
“Remember to be safe!” Called Neville after him. Sometimes Harry didn’t really get his co-workers. After giving them another questioning look Harry walked off towards the dungeons. It was too early to deal with their weird behaviour.
“Malfoy? Malfoy are you in there?” Harry got no response, but when he pressed his ear to the door he could hear heavy, irregular breathing. Someone was in there at least, and if it wasn’t Malfoy then Harry had to chase the intruder out. And if it was Malfoy then he might be in dire need of help since he didn’t answer.
He decided to open the door.
“Malfoy? Are you in here? I brought tea… “ Harry looked around in the room. It didn’t look like Malfoy was suffering from migraine. The torches on the sides of the walls were burning brightly and illuminated a true mess of a room. Clothes, books, quills and a couple of empty wine bottles decorated the floor.
“Malfoy?” The blond man sat on the middle of his king-sized bed on the far end of the room. He was hugging his knees, and stared out of the window looking out into the great lake. He didn’t respond.
Harry took some tentative steps towards the bed, careful not to trod on anything. “Are you alright? Minerva said…”
His words got stuck in his throat. The closer he got the more he saw. Malfoy was clutching a ministry letter in his hands, the date above the writing told Harry it had arrived the day before. But what shook him the most was that Malfoy was crying.
Silent tears were running down his face, showing no sign of stopping any time soon.
“What happened?” Harry put down the steaming mug of tea on the nightstand, shocked. The last time he’d seen Malfoy cry was during sixth year in the bathroom, just before he cocked everything up by nearly murdering him.
Something bad must have happened. Something really bad.
“What’s wrong?” His voice was barely above a whisper. He felt nerves pool in his gut waiting for the answer.
What could have upset Malfoy so much? What on earth could possibly have the power to break the man who even after the war and the trials hadn’t been broken. The man who had turned Slytherin from a mouldy and disgusting mess into a proud and fierce house again. The man who had been so strong that even Ron had started to admire his character, though he would never admit it.
“He’s reopening his case. He’s blaming everything on me. Everything.” Malfoy drew a couple of shaky breaths. He looked like he could pass out any moment.
Harry suddenly felt his insides turn to ice. It had been ten years since the trials. Ten years. That meant convicts could now ask for a do-over of their case.
He pried the ministry letter from Malfoy’s cramped up hands and read. His frozen insides fell out. Lucius Malfoy was pleading not-guilty, on the grounds that his son had forced him to join Voldemort’s ranks. His own son. He was blaming everything on his own son.
“I won’t let them do this to you. I won’t let them force you to re-live everything, I won’t.” Harry crumbled up the letter in his shaking hands. He wanted to punch something, or floo to the ministry and tell them exactly why this was not happening, or…
“Please leave.” Sniffled Malfoy. “I need to be alone right now.” It broke Harry’s heart that the man thought Harry could leave him alone when he was in such a high state of distress. If ever there had been a moment when Malfoy should not be alone, it was now.
Malfoy tried to wipe the tears from his eyes, tried to recompose himself. Harry caught his hands. “Don’t. Don’t do that. He betrayed you. He is your father and he betrayed you. You’re allowed to be upset.”
“I’m not, Potter.” He tried to free his hands while avoiding Harry’s gaze. “I’m fucking not, I should have been in class ten minutes ago. I can’t… “
“You can. Fuck you Malfoy, for thinking that you don’t even deserve to be upset about this.” Malfoy tried to pull his hands free again, and this time Harry pulled back. Without much resistance Malfoy fell towards Harry, who let go of his hands and wrapped him into a hug.
“Shove it Malfoy.” He kicked off his shoes and sat down on the bed, holding Malfoy tightly wrapped in his arms. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Malfoy didn’t protest anymore, suddenly he felt all of his energy drain away. He’d barely survived the first trials, repeating everything… It was too much to ask. He didn’t even have the energy to feel ashamed for crying in front of his former rival, his current crush.
He caved and he caved hard. “He is my dad.” Malfoy buried his head in the crook of Harry’s neck, his voice broken by tears. “What kind of monster do you have to be, in order to make your own father hate you?”
So I thought it might be fun to write a piece of this story every time I hit a memorable number of followers, in this case that’s 250. Is that a good idea not? Please tell me I have zero judgement skills.
I have reached 350 followers! Omg thank you guys! You can now you can read part two here
for 400 followers part 3 is here!
If you want more parts then you can follow me!