As January progressed, Harry’s schedule was becoming jam-packed. Between weekly Anti-Dementor lessons with Lupin, biweekly Occlumency sessions with Snape and the rapidly increasing amount of Quidditch practice sessions, Harry was exhausted. Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint were still bickering over when to schedule the Gryffindor versus Slytherin rematch - although rumour had it that the game would take place a few weeks after Slytherin took on Ravenclaw in February - but the lack of a date hadn’t stopped Oliver from training the Gryffindor team brutally.

 

Anti-Dementor lessons and Occlumency lessons weren’t exactly a walk in the park, either. Harry’s original progress with the Patronus Charm had plateaued, and he hadn’t managed to produce anything more than vapour, yet, no matter what memory he selected. Professor Lupin was always gently, determinedly encouraging, but Harry’s confidence in himself was starting to wane.

 

Occlumency was also proving to be quite troublesome. Snape had moved Harry onto a different memory - this one was of his Uncle Vernon, enraged after an incident of accidental magic. Harry had attempted to Occlude it five times, now, and still hadn’t had any luck. 

 

And there they were again - Harry standing at the edge of Privet Drive’s kitchen, Snape just behind his shoulder, watching his eight-year-old self try to flatten his hair in a small mirror that Aunt Petunia kept on the side table. Uncle Vernon had been particularly angry about his messy locks around that time, and Harry didn’t want another smack around the back of the head, accompanied by a sharp order to comb his hair. At that moment, his uncle was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the paper and drinking a cup of coffee. 

 

Dudley came ploughing in, carrying a shiny, new cricket bat he’d gotten for his birthday. Before Harry had so much as a chance to turn around, he lifted it into the air and drove it hard into Harry’s ribs, with enough force to topple him to the ground. Harry laid there, gasping for air, while Dudley raised the bat, prepared to inflict another blow…

 

 But as the bat came whooshing down to hit Harry square in the face, there was a resounding crack, like a car backfiring. Dudley’s feet tripped over themselves, knocking him to the floor, and the cricket bat went flying across the room, smacking hard against the wall.

 

Dudley’s cheeks blotched into a nasty shade of pink as he struggled to take in what just happened. Both the eight-year-old version of Harry and his current self winced as Dudley opened his mouth.

 

“Daaaad!” he wailed, jabbing a finger in his cousin’s direction. “He did something to me! He attacked me!” 

 

“I didn’t!” Harry protested, shoving himself upright with some difficulty.

 

It was no use. Uncle Vernon would never have believed Harry over his own son - even now, his face was colouring an unpleasant puce, and his lips were drawing back into a snarl. He thrust himself to his feet, slammed his paper to the tabletop, then stormed across the room. He grabbed Harry roughly by the arm and began to screech obscenities barely an inch from his face. Harry could still remember, even now, the disgusting spittle that had flown from beneath Uncle Vernon’s bushy moustache…

 

“HOW DARE YOU ATTACK DUDLEY!” he bellowed. "HOW DARE YOU, AFTER EVERYTHING WE'VE DONE FOR YOU! I USE MY HARD-EARNED MONEY TO PUT A ROOF OVER YOUR HEAD AND FOOD IN YOUR UNGRATEFUL MOUTH, AND YOU REPAY US LIKE THIS? I OUGHT TO HAVE LEFT YOU ROTTING ON THE STREETS WHERE YOU BELONG!”

 

Eight-year-old Harry tried to cringe away, Uncle Vernon’s fingers digging into his flesh. Those finger-shaped marks had been the first bruises Harry’s uncle had left on his skin that day, but certainly not the last. 

 

Vernon raised his other hand in a closed fist, then began to drive it forwards -

 

And they were back in Snape’s office. By now, the post-Occlumency ritual had grown familiar. Snape placed his hands over Harry’s, and muttered quiet instructions about breathing until Harry managed to get control of himself again. The dreadful memory always made adrenaline course through his blood, urging Harry to run, to hide, to escape the wrath of Vernon that was soon to fall. Even though Snape always pulled them out before Uncle Vernon actually hit Harry, he couldn’t stop his body from reacting the same way it had five years ago. He still felt the danger like he was really there, and couldn’t switch it off.

 

Once his breathing had gone from shallow gasps to lengthy inhales and exhales, Harry yanked his hands away from Snape and used them to hide his face. He clenched fistfuls of his fringe between his fingers and groaned loudly. “I failed again!”

 

“You’re being far too hard on yourself,” Snape said sternly. “What you’re attempting to do is incredibly difficult -”

 

“But I don’t know why I can’t just do it already!” Harry said, dropping his arms to hang limp at the sides of his chair. “I feel completely useless!”

 

“You are not.” Snape placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders, their faces level. “I told you this wouldn’t happen overnight. You have nothing to be ashamed of, Harry - these are horrible memories, things that would turn anyone’s stomach. It might take you some time, but you’ll learn to Occlude them eventually.”

 

Harry nodded reluctantly. “Can I try again? I want to get this done.” 

 

“Not today,” Snape said firmly. “You’ve had enough - we’ll try again on Wednesday.”

 

“Alright,” Harry acquiesced, but only because he knew that Snape was not one to be moved on matters like this.

 

“You’ll manage it, Harry. I’m certain.” Snape squeezed Harry’s shoulder once, then pulled away. He sat down on the other side of his desk and started briskly flicking through a stack of essays with a thumb. “Now, why don’t you go into the sitting room and play some chess with Draco? I think both of you could use the distraction.”

 

“Er… are you sure that’s a good idea?” Harry said hesitantly.

 

The pressure of the upcoming trial was not doing wonders for Draco’s mood. With every passing day, the other boy grew more and more insufferable. He was picking fights over the most ridiculous things, particularly with Snape, who he still blamed for his inability to attend the trial proceedings. Yesterday, when Snape had asked Draco to tidy up his bedroom, which was in a complete state, he’d blown up quite spectacularly. He’d even started throwing things around in his room and smashing them, an event that hadn’t occurred since Harry’s second day at Spinner’s End. Harry almost thought he preferred that to the constant passive aggressive comments and sniping, though. Since Snape wasn’t exactly a patient person, he would always whip an equally sharp barb back at Draco, egging him into an endless back and forth. It was tedious to listen to.

 

Draco was being just as bad with Harry, making constant, snide comments about him, or yelling at him for no apparent reason. Harry felt like he was constantly walking on eggshells, and he hated it. 

 

It was worst of all with the other students - Draco erupted at even the smallest of comments, nowadays, over things he’d tolerated easily just last month. He’d shoved Blaise Zabini into a pile of unicorn manure in Care of Magical Creatures on Monday, and would have done a lot more if Harry hadn’t grabbed onto him and held him back. 

 

Potions had been even worse, when Draco had thrown a handful of frogspawn into Pansy Parkinson’s face for a whispered comment she’d made about Draco’s father. Snape had looked ready to spit nails for that one. There was nothing that made him angrier than people messing about with potentially explosive ingredients. Harry had had Anti-Dementor lessons that evening, and they had still been arguing about the incident when Professor Lupin dropped Harry back in the dungeons late that evening. 

 

Harry’s plans to get Draco to befriend Ron and Hermione had been put on pause until the trial was over. It was too risky when Draco was so quick to anger - Harry was worried he’d start going on about Mudbloods and blood traitors again, since he was so determined to push everybody in his life away for reasons Harry couldn’t really comprehend.

 

On the other hand, Harry knew Draco needed someone to talk to… he had to be quite lonely. As annoyed as he was with the other boy, Harry still felt very bad for Draco. The only people he really spoke to nowadays were Harry and Snape, and half of those conversations ended up being arguments. 

 

The closest Draco got to talking to someone outside of their quarters was a big, black dog Harry had noticed him sitting with at the edge of the Forbidden Forest after a couple of Gryffindor Quidditch practices. The animal always made Harry’s hair stand on end when he noticed it. The dog bore a striking resemblance to the looming figure of the Grim that had been haunting Harry for the last few months. Because of that, he never dared to approach the pair of them. 

 

“I know I should be there for Draco and all, but he’s making it pretty hard,” Harry grumbled. “We’re not the ones being horrible to him…”

 

“But we are more accessible targets than Ministry prosecutors, or Daily Prophet reporters,” Snape said with a sigh. “It is not acceptable behaviour, Harry, but he is under remarkable strain. The trial is tomorrow - once that is over, and the matter is settled, we will be out of this limbo and the world’s attention will move on.”

 

“Are all wizard trials so quick?” Harry asked, tilting his head to one side. Aunt Petunia had always been a fan of soap operas that were chock-full of grisly murders, and a lot of them seemed to involve long and drawn out trials, full of angry, moustached lawyers and wig-wearing judges who were rather overenthusiastic with their gavels.

 

“Typically they are quite brief, yes. It’s all rather different due to magical intervention, which speeds along the process,” Snape explained. He must have worked out that Harry was thinking of the Muggle way of doing things.

 

“Still - I feel like they must end up missing things, if it’s all in one day,” Harry said.

 

He’d expected Snape to have an opposing explanation, but to Harry’s surprise, he nodded. “How do you think so many Death Eaters managed to avoid Azkaban? The Council of Magical Law is highly flawed.”

 

“Why don’t they just… fix it?” 

 

It seemed obvious to Harry. The Ministry could just close the legal loopholes, and then there wouldn’t be all of these problems!

 

Snape looked vaguely amused by Harry’s comments, and simply shook his head. “Fix the system which allows so many members of the Ministry for Magic to get away with crimes without consequence? I think not. After all, if you can still save your own skin, who cares about a few pesky miscarriages of justice?”

 

“But that’s completely corrupt!” Harry protested.

 

“Welcome to politics,” Snape said sardonically. He spread his hands wide. “It’s a messy business.”

 

“Definitely.” Harry pulled a face.

 

“Now, back to the matter of tomorrow’s trial.” Snape regarded him closely. “Draco has the day off lessons for obvious reasons, but I was wondering how you would feel about staying down here with him instead of attending class.”

 

“Really?” 

 

“It’s not ideal for you to miss school, but I am reluctant to leave Draco alone to his own devices, given the circumstances,” Snape said wearily. “I must attend the trial, and I’d prefer you staying over the likes of a different staff member, since he’ll probably cope better around someone… well, around someone within the family.”

 

He left a deliberate pause after those words, like he was waiting to see how Harry would react to the descriptor of ‘family’. Harry didn’t mind it now at all, of course, but a few months ago, he could see how that would have definitely sent him spiralling… Harry was suddenly struck by the realisation that Snape must often find himself choosing his words carefully like that. He was an impressively deliberate man.

 

“I’m happy to stay with him,” Harry said with a shrug. “Like you said, it’s family business. I want to be there for him.”

 

Even if he is being a massive berk right now, Harry mentally tacked on.

 

“If you feel you need an adult, do not hesitate to get one,” Snape added, his voice stern. “My fireplace is connected to the other professors’ offices, and I’ll leave the Floo powder on the mantelpiece so you can ask around for aid. Professor Flitwick will be available in the morning, and Professor McGonagall in the afternoon.”

 

“Okay.” 

 

Harry didn’t think he was going to end up needing that, though. He was sure that he was far better at dealing with Draco than Professor McGonagall or Professor Flitwick would be.

 

“And I expect you to do your schoolwork while you wait for me to return,” Snape added, a knowing glint in his eye. Harry, who had just been looking forward to an excuse to skip school, sighed and nodded. Snape turned back to the stack of essays, and Harry made his way out of the office and into the main part of their quarters. 

 

Draco was sitting at the kitchen table, where he was supposed to be doing Charms homework - a task which he had been arguing with Snape about for half the evening. Instead of doing that, he was reading through an old copy of the Daily Prophet. Harry bit back a groan. Draco had an unhealthy obsession with those old newspapers, full of graphic descriptions of Lucius’ crimes… the more modern articles had also unfortunately captivated him, since the Prophet had started dedicating a section of their paper to lurid, sensationalised recaps of Lucius’ various crimes as they drew closer to the trial day.

 

It definitely wasn’t good for Draco to immerse himself in that much violence, particularly since it had been perpetrated by his father. Harry thought he might as well do as Snape had asked and at least try to interest Draco with some sort of distraction. He certainly needed it…

 

After a moment of hesitation, Harry crossed the room and hovered awkwardly at the edge of the kitchen table. Draco didn’t look up, or otherwise acknowledge Harry’s presence. He flicked over to the next page, where Harry saw a black-and-white image of a bearded man with solemn eyes staring back at them.

 

“How are you?”

 

Flick. A tearful blonde woman looked back from the page now, bleeding heavily from the cheek. Draco stared at her, purposefully ignoring Harry. He winced - that had probably been a stupid question, anyway. Draco was obviously doing terribly. 

 

“Look, why don’t you stop obsessively reading and come and play chess with me?” Harry tried. “I’ll let you have white.”

 

“Can you just shut up and let me read?” Draco snapped, not even bothering to look at him. “No one wants to hear you bleating on all the time!”

 

Harry scowled, then took a few deep breaths to try and get control of himself. He even tried to use a few Occlumency techniques to push away the anger and remind himself of what the real issue was here - Draco was just really stressed, and wasn’t handling things well. He needed a friend, not another argument.

 

“Reading it over and over won’t help what’s happened,” Harry said softly. “All it’s going to do is make you feel awful about your dad. Maybe it would help if you had a bit of a distraction -”

 

“And what would you possibly know, Potter?” Draco spat. He slammed a hand against the table. “You don’t know a thing about parents - yours are dead! You’ll never understand anything about family, since you haven’t even got one! And no, those Muggle oafs don’t count - but they made that perfectly clear to you, didn’t they?”

 

Harry flinched back. He felt like Draco had struck at something deep and wounded in his chest.

 

“Draco Malfoy!” Snape’s voice boomed from his office. The door, which had been left open a crack after Harry’s exit, was flung open so violently it smacked into the wall as Snape emerged, white-faced and livid. Even though Harry wasn’t the one he was angry at, he still cringed back. He hadn’t seen Snape this angry since the Hogsmeade incident…

 

All of the fury died from Draco’s face, to be replaced by something rather like regret. “Severus -”

 

“Your room. Now!” Snape seized Draco’s collar, hauled him out of his chair, and marched him into his bedroom. The door slammed shut, but that didn’t even begin to block out the shouting.

 

“How dare you say such things!” Snape seethed.

 

“I just -”

 

But Draco’s voice abruptly cut off, and Harry couldn’t make out a further word. Snape must have remembered Harry’s complaints about all the arguing and had conjured up some sort of Silencing Charm. It wasn’t all that effective, since Harry could still hear muffled voices and the angry tones that choked them, but just couldn’t make out the words anymore. He appreciated the effort, at the very least. 

 

Harry sighed loudly and shuffled down the hallway into his bedroom. He collapsed onto his bed and buried his face in his pillow. Snape’s words to Harry about family from earlier clearly didn’t ring true with Draco, then… it did hurt, when Harry had sort of started to believe that they were one. Stupid…

 

Why the hell had he even bothered trying to help Draco? He was being completely horrid all the time, and Harry was sick of it! Who was he to bring up the Dursleys like that? This wasn't the Draco Malfoy he'd come to like - this was the Malfoy of early August, who Harry had despised. 

 

After several minutes of Harry feeling rather sorry for himself, his bedroom door swung open. He recognised the sound of Snape clearing his throat. 

 

“Catch.” 

 

Harry looked up just in time to see a half-eaten packet of chocolate digestives flying through the air towards him. His Seeker reflexes alone allowed Harry to snatch them from above before they sailed onto the ground and got smashed. He reopened the packet and bit into one. These were his favourite biscuits, which Snape knew. He was obviously trying to make Harry feel better.

 

It wasn’t working. There was a horrible ache in Harry’s chest.

 

“Are you alright?” Snape asked softly. Harry didn’t respond  and continued to nibble at the edge of the biscuit, not in the mood to talk.

 

Snape crossed the room slowly and sat on the end of Harry’s bed. His eyes didn’t leave Harry’s face, even once. “Draco will be in to apologise soon, if he knows what's good for him.”

 

"Don’t force him,” Harry said heavily. "I've heard worse - you know that.”

 

"That does not excuse his behaviour.” Snape was starting to look very angry, now. "You will not be spoken to like that in my household.”

 

“He'll calm down after the trial,” Harry said gloomily. He had to hope, at least…

 

“Indeed.” Snape ran his hands over his face, clearly exhausted. “This has turned out to be a highly difficult situation for everyone involved. To be perfectly frank, Harry, I'm not quite sure how to address any of this with Draco. He simply refuses to be helped.”

 

“I’m not sure if there is a way to help him, honestly,” Harry said, hugging his knees to his chest. “It was always going to be terrible for him - and for us by extension.”

 

“Unfortunately, you may be right.” Snape sighed heavily. “But just know - we will get through this. When Draco’s parents were originally tried at the end of July, things were actually worse than this, but he learned to cope eventually….”

 

Harry’s eyes widened. “How could he be worse than he is now?!”

 

“It was not a very pleasant month,” Snape said grimly. His eyes were narrowed. “He is rapidly using up my reserves of goodwill once more. Emotions may be running high right now, but after the trial, I will not be making any more allowances for his behaviour, and neither should you. He will not speak to you so disrespectfully any longer.”

 

“Okay…” Harry, who despite everything still felt bad for Draco, didn’t really know if he had it in him to yell back at the other boy if he kept being so rude. He was certainly angry about what Draco had said to him, but worst of all was the hurt. He hated that Draco was using his deepest insecurities against him like this…

 

“I might just go to bed now,” Harry muttered, averting his gaze from Snape’s face. He wanted to wallow in peace.

 

“Very well.” 

 

Snape stayed there for a few moments, though, just staring at Harry. There was something like frustration obvious on his features before he Occluded it away. Harry very purposefully got to his feet and headed to his wardrobe, which Snape luckily picked up on as his cue to leave.

 

“And Harry? For what it’s worth…” Snape hesitated for a moment, before his eyes turned steely with resolution. “Family does not simply mean those you share blood with. You do have a family, now. Remember that.”

 

Harry managed a thin smile, even though his chest was aching. 

 

Late that night, when Harry laid awake, staring into the darkness and thinking, his door swung open. He instantly recognised the level breathing as Draco’s. He stood in the doorway for over a minute before speaking.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Something in Draco’s voice was tight and choked, like he’d been crying. “I don’t know why I always say such dreadful things.”

 

Harry knew that at times like this, Draco liked to sit at the end of his bed for a time, to feel less alone. The right thing to do would be to let Draco in, to give him company…

 

But Harry was hurt, and that pain left him angry. He hardened his heart and pointedly turned over, shutting out Draco entirely. The other boy lingered for a few more moments, then sighed heavily. His footsteps padded off down the corridor, and his bedroom door creaked shut. 

 

---

 

The morning of the trial dawned cold and windy. It was so overcast outside that the murky green lakelight which normally streamed through the dungeon windows was almost entirely absent; inky, rolling waves pressed against the glass, leaving them in flickering candlelight

 

They ate breakfast in their quarters that day, instead of in the Great Hall. It was one of the worst meals Harry had ever sat through, nearly as insufferable as those awkward, stilted breakfasts they’d all endured in early August. Snape seemed exhausted and weary, eyes slightly bloodshot, but his haggardness was nothing compared to Draco’s. He was distracted, silent and sullen, and his eyes were puffy and red. His skin was a sickly shade of white, and every time Harry looked at him, he was struck by how much Draco looked like a corpse. 

 

To Harry's immense surprise, Draco didn't once beg Snape to be allowed to go to the trial. After at least a fortnight of constant nagging, Harry would have expected Draco to be insufferable today…

 

But Harry almost would have preferred those mean-spirited, cruel comments about the Dursleys to Draco's silent misery. He wished that there was something he could do to make it better, but Harry knew it was hopeless. 

 

Snape was in a similarly grim mood. He was fully dressed in a travelling cloak when he sat down at the table, and ate briskly and efficiently. He rose to his feet before Harry and Draco were even halfway finished eating - not that Draco had consumed a bite of breakfast, of course. He'd spent most of the meal stirring a bowl of porridge without speaking.

 

“I'll be back as soon as I can be,” he promised. “Remember, I’ve left that Floo powder on the mantelpiece. Goodbye.”

 

He paused for a moment, like he was waiting for someone to reply. Harry quietly bade him farewell, but Draco didn't say a word. Snape just sighed and walked over to the fireplace, where he threw in a handful of Floo powder and called out, “Ministry for Magic Atrium!”

 

Harry worriedly watched Draco as Snape vanished in a whirlwind of green flames, wondering what he was thinking. Draco was staring into the fireplace with a crease between his eyebrows.

 

“Severus doesn't normally leave the Floo powder out here, does he?” he said quietly. “He keeps it in his office with him, and uses that fireplace if he needs something.”

 

“Oh. Yeah, I think he wanted us to have some in case we needed to call someone,” Harry shrugged. 

 

“Hmm.” Draco continued to stare at the fireplace, then abruptly got to his feet and walked into the bathroom without saying another word. A minute later, Harry heard the shower splutter to life. He sighed to himself, retrieved his Divination textbook from his bedroom and settled back down at the kitchen table to attend to his schoolwork. Somehow, Harry didn't get the sense Draco would be joining him.

 

---

 

When Draco finally came out of his room three and a half hours later, a strange feeling of apprehension curled up in Harry's stomach. Something was off about Draco's appearance. 

 

He was generally a well-groomed person, but Draco had put even more than his usual effort into his hair and face, which didn’t look nearly as gaunt and haunted as it had that morning. Even more unusually, he was wearing a cloak over his robes, like he was prepared to go out. 

 

“Are you cold or something?” Harry asked.

 

“What?” Draco said distractedly.

 

Harry gestured to him. “You're wearing your cloak.”

 

“Oh.” Draco looked down at himself, like that news had come as something of a surprise to him. “Right. I am, yeah. Excuse me…”

 

He walked past Harry and down the branching hallway which led to Snape's bedroom. Suspicion began to worm its way through Harry's gut. What on earth did Draco need from there? Both of them very rarely entered Snape’s room…

 

Something was definitely wrong. Since Snape had put Harry in charge of keeping an eye on Draco today, he knew he had to intervene in whatever this was. Harry quickly got to his feet and made a beeline for Snape's bedroom.

 

And the minute he entered, he was met with the sight of Draco pulling down the Invisibility Cloak from the top shelf of Snape's wardrobe. 

 

When he heard Harry push the door open, Draco froze in place. He looked as though he'd just been caught stealing from the cookie jar.

 

“What are you doing?” Harry demanded.

 

“Er - nothing -”

 

“How is nicking my Invisibility Cloak from Severus' room nothing?!” he said loudly.

 

“I need it, okay?” Draco snapped, tucking the cloak under his arm. “Please don't make this difficult, Harry -”

 

“You tell me what you're doing right now!” Harry said, folding his arms and glaring. 

 

Draco hesitated for a moment, then sighed defeatedly. “I’m going to the Ministry."

 

Harry scoffed. “The hell you are!”

 

“I'm going.” 

 

Draco's tone was dangerous. It was only then that Harry noticed the wand in Draco's trembling hand, pointing straight at him. A breath caught in the back of Harry’s throat.

 

This was not good.

 

“Imagine what Severus would say if he knew you were doing this,” Harry said in a quiet, level voice. He felt like he was trying to soothe some sort of feral animal before it lashed out with a clawed blow.

 

“Severus isn't going to know.” Draco’s voice was thick with emotion. “You don't understand, Harry, I - I have to do this. I have to be there!”

 

“What's even the plan here, Draco?” Harry demanded angrily. “How are you even going to get there?!”

 

“Severus left that Floo powder out, and I'll use it to go to the Atrium,” Draco said, refusing to meet Harry's eyes. “I know the Ministry well - Mother and Father used to take me sometimes, when they met with the Minister and his wife. I know that no one’ll be around at this time, and if they are, I'll make up some kind of excuse. It’s going to be fine! All I'm going to do is sit under the Invisibility Cloak in the courtroom viewing area, Harry -”

 

“But I don't understand the point!” Harry said, pressing a hand to his temples. He felt a migraine rapidly developing from the strain of the situation.

 

If they lock my father up in Azkaban for the rest of his life, which I bet they will, then this is my last opportunity to ever see him, Harry!” Draco shouted. His grey eyes were glittering with unshed tears. “He’ll probably be dead before I’m seventeen!”

 

“But Draco -”

 

“I have to sit there, and I have to hear for myself what he's done, so maybe I can start to understand what kind of man my father truly is!” he added, hands curling into fists. “I don't know how to explain - and I don’t think you could understand, anyway. I just need to be there, Harry!”

 

“Severus told you not to!” Harry protested.

 

“And Severus isn't going to find out,” Draco growled. He hitched the cloak further up under his arm and took a step forward. “I'm going, and you're not going to stop me.”

 

He went to go past Harry, but he stretched his arms out to bar the exit.

 

“The minute you go, I'll tell McGonagall,” he threatened. “Severus will find you after, and you’ll be in so much trouble. It won’t be worth it.”

 

A twisted look of pain crossed Draco's face. “I don't care what happens to me after - I just need to go!”

 

“I can't let you!” Harry said loudly.

 

Draco roughly shoved through him, and started hurrying towards the fireplace. Harry sprinted over and blockaded the fireplace with his body, instead. He tried to grab the Floo powder off the mantelpiece, but Draco snatched the jar up as Harry's fingers just barely brushed the sides and hugged it closely to his chest, where Harry couldn’t snatch it away.

 

“Go away!” Draco said angrily.

 

He knew he looked a bit stupid, stretched out in front of the fire as he was, but Harry refused to move, even if he was getting uncomfortably warm. “Draco, this is a really bad idea, and you know it!”

 

Draco could hex Harry, or even shove him, but Harry didn't think Draco would do that. He hoped not, at least. It was hard to be certain when Draco looked so furious. His face had flushed a deep pink, and his chest was heaving.

 

“I want to see my father one last time, and if you keep trying to stop me, Harry, I will never forgive you!” Draco shouted. His eyes were like deep, frozen pools of fury. “I will hate you, and I will not stop hating you for the rest of my life.”

 

It was like he’d sucked all of the oxygen out of Harry’s lungs, leaving him lightheaded and reeling. That comment cut deeply, because Harry knew Draco meant it. He was looking at Harry with an expression of true loathing, after all. If he stopped Draco from getting to his father today, Harry would never be forgiven for it. Everything they’d built would be destroyed.

 

It was like Harry had been gifted with clairvoyance. He could just picture the way the rest of his future would unfold… Draco would despise him, and everything would go back to the way it had been before August. and it would hurt a million times more than it had before they had cared about each other. Worst of all, Draco would make that hatred known. It would be like living with the Dursleys all over again… summers of torment with someone who truly detested him.

 

And Harry knew he couldn’t bear that. He couldn’t lose Draco.

 

“You said we were brothers, Harry.” Draco said, a slight tremor in his voice. “If that meant anything to you, then you’d prove it and let me do this. That’s what family does - they help each other. Please, Harry.”

 

His resolution broke. 

 

“I’m coming with you,” Harry said abruptly.

 

Draco scowled. “As if -”

 

“No, hear me out.” 

 

If Harry couldn’t stop Draco from going - and he certainly couldn’t, if he wanted to salvage their friendship - then he had to try and minimise the damage Draco was going to do by heading into the Ministry. So, he began to do some very quick thinking.

 

Harry highly doubted he would be able to hold Draco off. He didn’t want to hurt Draco, but the other boy would be more than willing to hex him right now, as painful as that was to realise. Draco was going to go to the Ministry no matter what Harry did, and he couldn’t think of a single way to stop the other boy. By the time Draco Flooed away and Harry got ahold of Professor McGonagall, he would be hidden under the Invisibility Cloak and impossible to find in the Ministry for Magic. 

 

Snape might have his own special way of finding Draco, but he was also in the Ministry, completely out of reach in the courtroom. Harry had absolutely no one to turn to, except for himself.

 

Draco was volatile. Harry still vividly remembered the shopping incident from his first days at Spinner’s End, where Draco had thrown ornaments around Snape’s living room, or the violent fit of rage he’d had after his father had been charged in September, or the fit of temper from just two days ago when he’d argued with Snape. When Lucius Malfoy was sentenced to life in Azkaban, as it seemed likely he would be, Draco was going to react, and he was going to react badly. Someone needed to know where he was, and needed to be there to pick up the pieces…

 

And even if Draco couldn’t stand Harry right now, he cared enough about Draco to want to protect him. Right now, that seemed to mean protecting him from himself, and mitigating whatever damage he was about to cause.

 

“I’m not going to let you face this alone,” Harry said softly. “Like you said - we’re brothers. If you’re going to do this, I’m coming.”

 

“How do I know I can trust you not to grab someone in the Ministry or something?” Draco’s angry expression had softened slightly, but he still looked suspicious. “You obviously don’t think this is a good idea…”

 

“No, I think it’s bloody stupid, but I’m not going to stop you,” Harry sighed. His heart had started to thud horribly. “And I’m not going to try and sabotage you while we’re there, either. I’d be in just as much trouble as you if I get caught in the Ministry, right? Why would I try to get us found out? But look - I’m coming, and you can’t stop me.”

 

There was a moment of terrible tension as the two of them stared at each other, not knowing what would happen next.

 

“Okay,” Draco whispered. Harry’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Harry, I - thank you. Just… thank you.”

 

He looked so relieved, it was heartbreaking. At that moment, Harry felt at least a little more confident that he was making the right choice. It was obvious that Draco didn’t want to attend the trial alone, even though he was still so hellbent on going in the first place. This was going to be okay - Draco wasn’t going to hate him, and Harry was still making sure his brother wouldn’t get hurt going to this trial by accompanying him. 

 

Harry just hoped Snape would see things that way.

 

Good God, Snape. The prospect of the man finding out that they were doing this sent a chill down Harry’s spine. He had to understand that Harry didn’t have a choice - Harry couldn’t face the prospect of Draco hating him, he just couldn’t. Even thinking about it was unbearable. Hopefully, if Harry was there to look after Draco while he did this stupid thing, he wouldn’t end up with Snape hating Harry for mismanaging this situation so horribly… he just didn’t know what else to do! 

 

Breathe, a harsh voice in the back of his head reminded him.

 

Harry pressed his lips together and sucked in air through his nose, then pushed it out of his mouth. Snape was a reasonable person. If he found out, then Harry could at least explain where he was coming from… but no matter what explanation he gave, no matter how good it was, Snape would be furious. Harry would certainly be in some sort of trouble, but precisely how much was still to be determined.

 

So Harry just needed to make sure Snape didn't find out.

 

After one last tense breath, Harry turned back to Draco. He settled for giving Draco one last furious look, hating him for putting Harry in this position, before he pushed everything down and away.

 

“Right, then.” Harry crossed his arms. “Fill me in on the plan.”