Angel on the cover

A/N: This is the longest I've ever written, Let me know what you thought, Read , Review, Complain. I hope it clears some stuff up









Although Harry had become a regular fixture at the Ministry, his co-workers had never truly got over the hero worship that had worsened with the defeat of Voldemort. With his return, it didn’t look like that had changed: his entry initiated more excited twitters of conversation and blatant stares than ever before.







He was Harry Potter, only an infant when he first faced off with the Dark Lord, who as a man had lived up to his destiny and saved them all.







He felt too much like the little eleven-year-old boy that had seen this new world and existence as an escape from his horrible childhood. Except now he knew better. Thirteen years later, he had learned exactly what he had to go through to reach the peace he thought he’d achieved before these horrible visions began.







He dug his hands deep into his coat, holding the sides closed and avoiding eye contact with anyone. He never thought he’d be walking into this building again; there were so many things tied to it. Not returning to work had been the only good thing about leaving. Too many horrible memories--losing Sirius in its Department of Mysteries and many more battles fought within its walls as they struggled to maintain the symbol of their government--still haunted him.







“Harry, mate? Harry?” The slight pain he felt from Ron jostling him with his elbow finally snapped him from his reverie.







“What?” he asked, trying to clear his mind.







“We need to keep moving, mate, before this crowd gets any bigger,” Ron warned.







Harry took a moment to survey what should have been a vast lobby but was starting to shrink with the influx of people that were making their way towards them.







Ron grabbed the absentminded man’s hand and started shouldering a path to the elevators.







“It’s almost like you’re one of those celebrities off the telly,” he attempted to joke, waiting for a lift to completely clear and Harry to step in before joining him.







“For all the wrong reasons,” Harry replied, moving towards the back of the lift, head dropping onto the smooth glass, eyes closing. Ron waited as the doors closed, eliminating the loud roar that joined whispers made.







“Oh, thank you so much, Mr Potter! I know the Ministry will listen to you--I was scared I’d be thrown into prison!” Ron said with exaggerated reverence, bending his body in half, holding both arms out and moving them up and down.







The comment and Ron’s worshipping bow served to snap him out of his bleak mood. He laughed at his friend’s antics and threw an arm around his shoulders once he’d straightened.







“Don’t ever do that again,” Harry warned him then smiled reassuringly. “I’ll help you get this sorted out, but explain to me exactly how it happened in the first place?”







“Hermione wanted us to deliver your letter to him in person after we were able to track him down, all thanks to me,” Ron emphasised. “We went to New York and Mione had this crazy idea that Malfoy would just sit and listen to us, but I knew better,” he reassured Harry.







“So while she went to talk to him, I was waiting with my wand at the ready and a pair of extendable ears. Once I heard he was leaving, I stupefied him and moved–“







“Stupefied?” Harry questioned, horrified at the thought of him doing that to an expectant Draco.







“In a Poppy-approved way,” Ron soothed his friend. Once he saw that Harry seemed pacified by his answer, he continued. “So then we cast a Disillusionment charm on him and left the hotel. That’s pretty much it.” He looked a little put out that Harry had stolen the fire out of his story. “So what are you going to say, Harry?”







The lift doors opened and Ron had no chance to say more as they were bombarded once more by Ministry employees. Harry stepped out of the lift first, this time making his way towards the reception desk.







A young woman looked up at him but Harry interrupted her before she could say anything.







“I need to speak to whoever handles Wizard/Muggle relations.”







“S-s-sure, Mr Potter. I’ll just tell him you’re here.” She stepped from behind the circular desk and went back towards the extended hallways.







The men took seats next to each other in the waiting room.







“It’s gotten worse. Didn’t think it could,” Ron mused out aloud.







“At least in this case it will help you get out of trouble,” Harry comforted himself, ignoring the people who were not bothering to pretend they weren’t staring at him on the opposite couches or those merely “strolling by.”







“You guys seemed more civil back there,” Harry stated.







“With Hermione? We’re always civil. Well, almost always as long as I eventually give in an do as she says,” Ron said, resigned but smiling.







“No, I meant you and Draco. Although I know that feeling all too well,” Harry comforted him.







“He’s not so bad,” Ron replied evasively.







“I knew that, but when did you figure this out?” Harry asked with a smile.







“Somewhere between the kidnapping and having him tied up in my living room. Stuff like that brings you a little closer,” Ron joked.







Moving closer, he explained seriously. “Actually, it was something that Hermione said about him raising your child in a world full of people that would hate its father. It got me thinking. He was a git when he was younger, but he was just trying to be like his father and who wouldn’t turn out screwed up from being raised by a bloke like that?”







Ron sighed, leaning back against the chair. “And then it struck me: he was not going to have just any baby, but your baby. The best friend of my future kid. I can’t believe you’re going to be a dad, Harry.”







Harry casually leaned into his side, but his whisper was anything but. “Let’s not talk about that here, okay?”







“Oh, yeah,” Ron agreed, spying the too interested looks from their audience.







They settled into an amicable silence, waiting for the girl to return.







“Mr Potter, please come right in. Oh and you too of course, Mr Weasley,” the young woman said as she ushered them forward and led them past the desk and the hallway they had expected to be shown down. Instead, they followed her past a series of doors and into a remote corner. They couldn’t see what she was exactly doing with her wand against the wall because her body shielded her movements, but the bricks soon parted and uncovered a lift.







The office was not far from where they exited the lift, but Harry was surprised to see the office they were being led to was none other than that of the Minister of Magic.







X x X x X x







“I want to see what’s inside,” Draco told Hermione, clambering to his feet.







“I don’t know if that would be a good idea,” she tried getting him to change his mind about looking at the Pensieves. “You don’t know what could be in there. You really shouldn’t be putting yourself through any stress right now.”







“Bring them here, Granger,” he told her quietly, not intending to budge from the subject.







“Fine. But don’t blame me if you see something that you don’t want to.” She left the room, but he could hear her heavy footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor.







He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. He wanted to see what was in the Pensieves--he had to know what was so important.







Hermione re-entered the room carrying one of them.







“This one is Dumbledore’s,” she told him, setting it on the ground in front of the bed. He nodded, having recognised the long scrutinised item when Harry had searched for more information on the Horcruxes. He didn’t care about that one--he wanted to see the one that belonged to Harry, the one where he had stored his important memories. Those he needed to see with more clarity, to relive so he could distinguish what was real and what was just faulty recollection.







No attempts on his part to move towards the offered Pensieve spoke of his disinterest, and Hermione shook her head in disagreement before fetching the other.







“Fine, here. I don’t know who this one belonged to.” She put the bowl next to Dumbledore’s.







Draco didn’t bother to enlighten her. They both knew who it belonged to, and while he understood why she was hesitant about him looking at its contents, he would not be deterred.







There were so many memories in there. Translucent tendrils swam in the bowl, holding information that Draco needed to have. He placed his feet on the ground and slowly slid down to sit with his legs outstretched on both sides of the stone basin.







Hermione watched him with concern, ready to intervene if the contents of the Pensieve became unbearable. Draco drew in a long breath and closed his eyes before leaning over into the basin.







Suddenly finding himself in this place, he wondered if he had fallen asleep in the Pensieve and was having this dream again. He had seen these walls before, this cold space that drew out every bit of happiness almost as well as the dementors that guarded the Azkaban grounds. Except it wasn’t him trapped in the steel enclosure--it was Harry.







The brunet had his knees drawn up to his chest and only one arm was wrapped around his legs. The other hung lifeless, obviously broken, next to his side. Draco’s unconscious footsteps led him to the bars, pressing his face against the cold metal in an attempt to get closer to Harry. Of course he didn’t expect him to look happy, but the man seemed positively tortured by whatever plagued him.







The sound of a door squeaking open announced that they were about to have visitors and both Harry and Draco turned to see who it was, although from their vantage point they couldn’t see down the hall where they were entering from.







“--why did you have to open the door anyway?” A voice questioned in an angry whisper. Because of the acoustics in the cave-like dungeon, their voices were easily distinguishable.







The person who spoke now was Theodore Nott, but who was he talking too? Draco’s fists clenched in response; he hoped they weren’t coming to continue torturing Harry.







Behind him, Harry lifted his head, tilting it to the side, eyebrows furrowing as he listened to their conversation.







“He was being a pompous arse and needed to be taught a lesson.”







“And did you teach it to him, Father? Because he’s gone now. How are you going to tell the Dark Lord he escaped?”







“I don’t know.” His answer drew a frustrated sigh from Theodore.







It was Nott, Theodore’s father, and the person the pair was discussing had to be him and Draco knew the moment that Harry arrived at the same conclusion. His previously tense body relaxed a fraction and he allowed himself a thankful but fleeting smile.







“Nott. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that we are one prisoner short, assuming Potter is still down that hallway?”







Hearing his father’s voice, Draco froze for a moment, cupping his hands around his abdomen in a protective gesture that had become quite familiar in the last few days.







“Of course he is, Malfoy,” Nott senior retorted indignantly.







“I think I’ll see for myself.”







As the sound of their footsteps got closer, Draco had to remind himself that this was just a memory and that he couldn’t hurt him or his child. Although he knew he was coming, he wasn’t prepared when Lucius Malfoy came into sight.







“Hello, Potter. You look horrible,” Lucius commented, looking down upon the captured “Boy-Who-Lived.”







“I feel great, actually,” Harry shrugged, smiling back at him.







“Do you? Don’t delude yourself, Potter. Draco will be recaptured eventually and the little blood traitor will pay.”







“Still mad that Narcissa loved him so much? She died to save him from the life you were forcing him into,” Harry retorted.







Stupid, Gryffindor! Don’t provoke him! Draco thought, casting a glance at his father’s face out of the corner of his eye. He realised he truly did owe his mother everything and was saddened that his child would never know her.







Draco could see his father fighting hard to maintain reign on the legendary control he was known for and tried to remain composed. For all the evil his father had wrought, he had genuinely loved his mother and Draco knew the man blamed him for her self-inflicted demise.







Lucius turned his attention to both Notts instead of responding to Harry’s remark, making the motion of leaving the dungeon. “Transport him as soon as possible. Wouldn’t want you to lose him too.”







“Pettigrew’s gone too,” Theodore informed Lucius’ retreating form.







“You don’t think…” his father began.







“Of course he did. It doesn’t matter. We will report to the Dark Lord that the prisoner Draco Malfoy escaped and Peter Pettigrew went missing at the same time. We’ll let him make his own conjectures,” Theodore decided authoritatively.







Draco knew his father well enough to catch the flash of envy that crossed his face--anger that another’s son was taking up the place that had been meant for Draco, that Theodore had been able to carry out the instructions the Dark Lord had for the cursed necklace, succeeding in placing the Imperious curse on Madame Rosmerta, all of it.







He felt the memory melt away and Harry’s bare bedroom came into focus again. He felt eyes on him and found Granger staring at him intently, wand at the ready, but she relaxed once she saw he was okay.







Why would he want to see that?







The only positive thing Draco could think of was that Harry had received confirmation of his escape.







They didn’t speak in the time that it took Draco to choose another memory, ready to find out more. He took one last look at the on-guard young woman and lost himself once more in the Pensieve.







It was the Astronomy Tower. He could hear the sounds of fighting and struggle from nearby and the cries he had later associated with genuine fights for survival, not the petty school boy ones he’d instigated.







He glanced around the room, but Harry wasn’t there. How could he not be present but the memory was in the Pensieve? The question was swept out of his mind when he realised just who was in the room: Dumbledore and Theodore Nott.







He watched the Headmaster disregard the wand the boy pointed at this chest as if he had no concern of the threat to his life, but still wanting to spare the other the pain of killing someone.







There was a dignity in the way his now deceased Headmaster quietly spoke to Theodore, the strain on his ailing body beginning to show with every centimeter as he slid down the ramparts, trying to reason with the boy.







Theodore's form blurred out of focus for a moment and it was too easy for Draco to place himself in Nott’s position holding Dumbledore at wand point, too easy to envision himself trying to control his shaking, reminding himself that his mother’s and his own lives were on the line in exchange for Dumbledore’s. His mother had gifted him with a choice, a choice that had saved him from so much more than she could have imagined. Maybe she had known exactly what awaited him all along….



As it was, his olive branch to the 'light side' had taken place in the Headmaster’s office with that infernal twinkling in Dumbledore’s eyes and unwanted offers of Muggle lemon drops. He had been shaken a little then too, but the trembling in his shoulders had been the results of restrained tears wrapped in anger. With Severus' tight grip on his shoulder, he had accepted the Headmaster’s offer of protection and through all the pain and trials he's faced, he had never regretted it.







This elderly man had the courage to speak to three appearing Death Eaters as if he were serving them tea at a quaint, cozy get-together. At Greyback’s appearance, Dumbledore at last seemed surprised. Draco himself couldn’t resist the urge to step back until his back touched the wall. The werewolf’s gruesome appearance and the bloodlust in his eyes chilled Draco to the bones. His comment about liking the young ones didn’t comfort him any, as he couldn’t help but imagine his tiny child captured between those long, vicious yellow nails.







After that it all seemed to happen so quickly: Severus appeared and answered Dumbledore’s pitiful pleas. Draco saw the disgust Severus felt at being forced to kill the man who had become more of a father to him than his own. Draco turned his face from the Headmaster as he disappeared from sight over the battlements.







There, next to where Draco himself reclined, a figure appeared from the wall itself, which seemed to peel away to reveal Harry. Harry had been there all along! Behind the guise of his invisibility cloak, he’d had a front row seat to the demise of his mentor. He hadn’t known that Harry has been there to see this; the man had never confided it in him.







He didn’t bother following Harry’s desperate sprint in the direction Severus had fled in. He didn’t want to see any more of this. He uttered a Finite and escaped back into the present.







“Are you alright?” Hermione asked urgently from above him.







“Fine,” he nodded and slowly lifted himself to his feet.







The inquisitive woman was dying to ask what he found in the Pensieve, but maintained the question on the tip of her tongue.







“Let’s go. You can come back for those, right?” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.







X x x X x x X







The car ride to the nearest Floo point was a quiet one. Draco centred his attention on the sounds of the Muggle city that had grown familiar to him during his brief life there. It had seemed so long ago, having the news of his pregnancy so soon after Harry’s disappearance. Leaving his home of twenty-three years for the unknown realm of Muggles, he had been lucky enough to come across Rob and the opportunity to begin a new life with dignity.







He kept thinking of the memories in the Pensieve; the only positive thing he could see from them at first was the conversation between the Notts that confirmed his escape. The other. The other was nothing more than a painful reminder that, for some reason, Harry had remained glued to the spot and became a spectator for the murder of Dumbledore.







Harry was no coward. Something had to have been stopping him.







Lost in his musings, Draco had missed the phone conversation Hermione was having next to him and only caught the last remnants of it as she asked her husband to bring two of her special containers.







“That was Ron,” she informed him as she flipped the mobile closed. “Apparently they met with the Minister of Magic and they explained everything to him. There shouldn’t be any trouble, but he thinks it’s best if we’re here when the American Ministry sends their wizards to settle this tomorrow.”







Draco nodded briefly after a moment before Hermione got a chance to tell the driver to turn back.







“Pardon me, sir. Could you please stop the taxi?” he called to the driver. “I’ll be back,” he explained hopping out of the car. Hermione noted that they had stopped in front of a corner store.







It didn’t take Draco long to reappear at the door of the car with a plastic bag, whose large red ‘Thank you’ was all she got to see before he shrunk it and furtively slipped it into his pocket.







After Hermione instructed the cab driver to turn around and return to the flat, she sighed and settled back into her seat.. She felt her eyes begin to droop and decided a quick rest would serve her well. She had barely slept the night before, worrying about these men who still seemed so much like boys.