The war caused chaos at the Ministry when Death Eaters infiltrated it. Kingsley Shacklebolt immediately took control as Minister for Magic, working tirelessly to restore order. His exemplary leadership and ongoing efforts to capture Death Eaters and their supporters brought much-needed peace to the wizarding world.
Inside the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, Arthur fidgeted as he sat down at his desk, glancing repeatedly at the clock. His impatience showed on his face as he worked, awaiting Kingsley’s response to the urgent request he had sent days prior. Kingsley had promised to visit after concluding some interrogations in the courtrooms, but the delay troubled Arthur.
He stood and paced, stroking his chin in thought. Who was Kingsley questioning that it was taking so long? Arthur needed to speak with him immediately about Harry’s declining health - they had to act fast. Unable to wait any longer, Arthur strode out of his office toward Kingsley’s.
Arthur was greeted by a crowd blocking the entrance to the Minister’s office. Cursing under his breath, he headed to the courtrooms to see if Kingsley was there. The underground hallway leading from the lifts to the courtrooms had become eerily cold and quiet. Seeing the Auror guards ahead, Arthur picked up his pace until he reached a door on the left. Just as he raised his hand to knock, the door opened and a weary, irritated Kingsley stepped out. Before the door swung shut, Arthur caught a glimpse of Lucius Malfoy’s signature silver hair, along with his family.
“Kingsley,” Arthur wearily greeted with a nod.
Kingsley nodded in return and said in his deep voice, “My apologies for taking so long to get back to you, Arthur. I was interrogating Lucius Malfoy and just finished.”
“No need to apologize, think nothing of it,” Arthur chuckled, his tone turning serious as he whispered, “Did you finally get Lucius Malfoy to talk?”
“Yes,” Kingsley replied, moving farther from the door. “He claims he wants to join our side.”
Arthur scoffed, “He’s likely bluffing. It wouldn’t be the first time. He just doesn’t want to return to Azkaban.”
“I agree,” Kingsley responded. “Yet something in his tone convinced me he spoke the truth.”
“He only wants to escape. Deception is his strategy. We know he’s adept at misleading Fudge.”
“Let him try his tricks on me. He’ll quickly learn they are futile and find himself in prison.” Kingsley pondered for a moment. “But prominent purebloods like Malfoy on our side would be an asset.”
“Hard to imagine that occurring… did he reveal his plans since he claims he wants to defect?” Arthur inquired curiously.
“He offered to disclose the names of all Death Eaters and assist in pursuing them, in exchange for clearing his name and family of all charges.”
Arthur snorted in exasperation. “That sounds like a well-rehearsed excuse we’ve heard a million times before. Some helped greatly, but most didn’t, so why should his be any different?”
Kingsley smirked. “I simply threatened him. I said I’d smear his family’s name in the Daily Prophet and hand over all his wealth to the Ministry if he lied. That put him in his place. I saw his face pale at the thought of adoring fans on his doorstep and not a single knut in his pockets. He wouldn’t want that, now would he?”
Arthur couldn’t help but laugh at the idea.
“It won’t be long before all the Death Eaters are in Azkaban,” Kingsley said with excitement.
“Don’t celebrate yet,” Arthur cautioned. “Lucius will drag this out, but it’s irrelevant. We have more important things to discuss.”
The door of one of the courtrooms opened and the Malfoy family emerged, shadowed by Aurors. Lucius and Narcissa whispered urgently, while Draco trailed behind. The Ministry would detain the parents pending investigation. Draco would undergo tracking and disciplinary hearings.
Kingsley’s face abruptly became grave when he saw them, but he swiftly refocused on Arthur. “Harry,” he murmured. “What is his condition?“.
Arthur fidgeted uneasily. “He’s persevering,” he responded somberly. “But he remains very ill.”
Draco peered up at them.
“Your request for a fragment of the Veil stone struck me as peculiar,” Kingsley remarked.
“I hope it won’t be too difficult to obtain this substance,” Arthur said, a note of concern in his voice.
“I will have the Unspeakables obtain it immediately. Still, how will the stone aid Harry?”
“His friends are going to brew a potion using that stone as one of the ingredients. I don’t know how it will work out. In my opinion, it seems rather unappealing.”
Kingsley grimaced. “And Harry needs to drink that?”
“I suppose so.” Arthur sighed.
They stood in silence until the Aurors escorted the Malfoy family past them. Draco’s gaze lingered on Kingsley and Arthur as he trailed behind his parents.
Arthur raised his eyebrows at the boy.
Once the Malfoys disappeared around the corner, Kingsley turned to Arthur. “To ensure Harry’s privacy, I want to personally give him the stone once we obtain it. Is he well enough?”
“I hope so. He trusts you in the Order anyway,” Arthur added swiftly. “He looks up to you as a former Auror. I believe he wants to be one as well.”
Kingsley smiled. “Well, I look forward to seeing him at Auror Headquarters soon. With his impressive skills, he could probably become the next Head Auror, even at his young age. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“He would certainly feel flattered by the praise. Like many others, I eagerly anticipate how he will benefit the wizarding world.”
Kingsley’s eyes lit up as a thought came to him. “I could see him becoming a minister someday,” he remarked.
Arthur laughed in response. “I’m not so sure Harry would want that. He hates being famous and doesn’t like attention to himself. But I suppose it’s possible,” he conceded.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves then,” Kingsley said with a chuckle.
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Mr. Weasley was preparing to leave work that afternoon when he noticed Draco Malfoy lingering outside his office. The boy appeared thin and sickly, with dark shadows under his eyes and grayish skin. Though seemingly reluctant to be seen there, Draco looked up and met Mr. Weasley’s wary gaze.
“Do you need help finding your way out of the Ministry?” Mr. Weasley asked.
“No,” Draco muttered in reply.
Draco’s eyes surveyed the Muggle artifacts cluttering the cramped office. Mr. Weasley sensed Draco’s disdain in his gaze and sighed. “Speak up if you have something to say. My workday is done and I’m heading home.”
“Is Potter really ill?” Draco finally spat out.
Mr. Weasley froze, eyeing him sharply. “Were you eavesdropping outside the courtrooms earlier?”
“I would not have known if you had not said his name so loudly, would I?” Draco retorted bluntly.
“It must be nice to eavesdrop,” Mr. Weasley shot back. “I should say I’m not surprised.” Although he disliked speaking to a child in this manner, Mr. Weasley found it difficult to ignore that Draco was a Malfoy, a family known for supporting the dark side.
“I’d only like to know if he is unwell,” Draco said coolly, “because it seems unlikely for Potter to fall ill when he’s always looking for trouble.”
“This is not your concern, so I suggest you take your leave,” he dismissed.
“It is now,” Draco said coldly. “I want to see him in person.”
Undeterred by Draco’s demand, Mr. Weasley asked in exasperation, “Didn’t you hear what I just said?” His temper was rising quickly.
Draco stood his ground, firmly blocking the doorway to prevent Mr. Weasley from leaving.
“I owe him,” Draco muttered regretfully, holding Mr. Weasley’s gaze to convey his sincerity.
“And why should I believe you?” Mr. Weasley challenged.
Draco set his jaw and narrowed his eyes, making his best effort to appear undeterrable as he stated, “He saved my life, and I’m only asking for that favor to be returned—nothing more.”
Mr. Weasley contemplated the sincerity of his words. Bringing him to the Burrow was far too risky and both their families would surely not take it well, but if the Malfoy boy really did need to pay off a life-debt then he had no choice but to let him talk to Harry.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“I will let you see Harry, but only under one condition,” he said firmly. “No matter what you see or hear, you must not speak of this to anyone. I will know if you do. Do you understand?”
“And what will happen if I do tell?” Draco challenged.
Mr. Weasley smirked and said, “Well, let’s just say your family would be under heavier suspicion and have all privileges suspended.” Draco gave him a noncommittal look and stepped aside, allowing Mr. Weasley to pass through to the Atrium.
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Mr. Weasley stepped out of the Burrow’s kitchen fireplace one afternoon to find Ron, Ginny, and Hermione sitting solemnly at the table, distress evident on their faces. Taking in their worried expressions, Mr. Weasley deduced that Harry was struggling again, though the children had yet to speak. Before Mr. Weasley could consider broaching the subject, Draco Malfoy arrived via the fireplace. Ron shot to his feet, glaring at Draco with intense hatred as Hermione and Ginny stared at the unexpected guest with slight annoyance.
Ron’s icy tone sliced the silence. “What are you doing here?” Before Malfoy could respond or the tension escalate further, a faint scream sounded above. All eyes lifted to the ceiling.
“What was that?” Malfoy’s brow furrowed with concern. “Is someone being tortured up there?”
Scowling, Ron glared daggers at his nemesis. “I’ll ask one more time. Why are you here, Malfoy?”
Mr. Weasley placed a gentle hand on Ron’s shoulder. “Sit down, son. Draco is here to speak with Harry.”
“But he’s not welcome here, dad!” Ron said fiercely, sending another dark look at Malfoy. “And besides, Harry’s not in any state to talk to anyone right now.”
“Is he in his room?” Mr. Weasley asked, concern etched on his face.
“Yes,” replied Ginny, eyeing Malfoy warily. “Mum’s with him.”
Mr. Weasley nodded, worry clouding his features.
“I’m going upstairs. I expect civilized conversation in this house while I’m gone,” he directed at both Ron and Draco, though the latter only eyed him dully in response. Without another word, Mr. Weasley departed.
Ron, Hermione, and Ginny glared at Malfoy, exchanging furtive looks as if silently strategizing. They watched Malfoy survey the room. Another scream and sob pierced the air.
“Blimey, they ought to lay off torturing whoever that is,” Malfoy said.
“That’s Harry, you idiot!” Ron snapped. “And he’s not being tortured, he’s—”
“Sick, I know,” Malfoy said in a bored, drawling voice as he leaned against the sink. “So why aren’t you with Potter if you’re such good friends?”
“Don’t you dare question our friendship,” Ron spat angrily. “You know nothing about it!”
Malfoy just sneered in response. “If I were sick and my friends abandoned me, I’d be furious.”
“You have no right to judge us, Malfoy,” Hermione retorted disdainfully. “You’re clearly ignorant of Harry’s situation.”
Ginny spoke coldly, “You show up here without an ounce of respect for those who live here.”
“How can I show respect when I wasn’t even offered a seat?” Malfoy retorted. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny flushed with anger. Malfoy whispered disdainfully as he looked around, “You call this a house?”
Ron shot him a nasty look. “You don’t deserve a seat here. If you want one, go buy your own chair.”
Malfoy laughed mockingly. “Aren’t we feisty?”
“You have no reason to be here, Malfoy. Leave now,” Ginny said firmly.
Malfoy looked at her with detached amusement. “Didn’t you hear your father? I’m welcome here, Weaselette.”
“Didn’t you hear Harry screaming?” Ron snapped. “He’s ill and wouldn’t speak to you even if he weren’t.”
Malfoy folded his arms across his chest. “I’ll determine that myself.”
Ron, Hermione, and Ginny glared at him distrustfully.
Upstairs, Harry’s muffled screams cut through the tense silence that had fallen over the Burrow’s kitchen. The screams ended abruptly, replaced by the sound of footsteps clomping across the ceiling.
Downstairs, Mr. Weasley reappeared looking distressed. “Harry’s stable now,” he announced, easing the tension in the room.
“Is he asleep?” asked Ginny, as if hoping Draco would be sent away.
“No, he’s just resting,” replied Mr. Weasley. “And he’s agreed to see Draco.”
Ron was surprised. “Harry’s alright with this? He’s been through an ordeal for hours, Dad. I’m sure he’s exhausted. Can’t Malfoy just come back after Harry’s had some rest, if at all?” He shot Malfoy an irritated look. “Harry would be sleeping now and regaining his strength if you hadn’t come to bother him.”
“It seems he’s fine with it,” Mr. Weasley said calmly to his son. “He didn’t say anything, just nodded briefly to me.”
“I’d better go ask him myself then,” Ron said, starting to move, but his father held him back.
“No need, son. I’m saying only Draco should come up there—and you’d better stay down here when he does.”
Ron’s eyes widened in surprise, and even Hermione and Ginny gazed at Mr. Weasley with disapproval. “But, dad,” Ron protested, “he—”
“It’s not our place to speculate about Draco and Harry’s private conversation,” Arthur said firmly.
Ron glimpsed Draco smirking arrogantly behind his father and shot him a threatening glare.
“You try anything with Harry and you’ll regret it,” Ron warned.
“You must think I’m an idiot if you believe I’d attack an unarmed opponent,” Draco sneered disdainfully. “He’s far too feeble to be a threat, even with a wand.”
Ron lunged at Draco, but Mr. Weasley grabbed Ron’s arm to stop him before he could throw a punch. Mr. Weasley gave Draco a reproachful look.
“I have given you the chance to speak with Harry properly and respectfully, especially considering he is ill,” Mr. Weasley said resolutely. “If you do not, I will end this conversation and send you back to the Ministry. Do you understand?”
Draco looked away and avoided his gaze.
Mr. Weasley repeated his question more firmly this time, “Do I make myself absolutely clear?”
“Yes,” Draco replied blandly.
“Good. Now up you go.”
Malfoy glared maliciously at the four as he ascended the stairs. Ron glimpsed the spite in his eyes before he vanished from sight, longing to eavesdrop on their conversation. An Extendable Ear could allow him to listen in, Ron mused, but his father would doubtless notice it. He cursed under his breath and heaved a sigh of frustration.
Malfoy quietly entered through the open door to what he believed was Harry’s room, not bothering to knock. Inside, Mrs. Weasley stood up abruptly when she saw Malfoy and left without a word. Malfoy turned to the bed where Harry lay sickly, eyes closed and breathing heavily. Clearing his throat, Malfoy announced his presence. “Potter.”
Harry opened his eyes and blearily looked up at the silver-haired figure in front of him. Even without glasses, he could make out a sneer on the face. Reaching shakily for his glasses, he put them on and saw the sun setting outside his window. Then, addressing the last person he expected after the war, especially here, Harry slowly said in a hoarse, scratchy voice, “Malfoy.” Screaming had left his throat sore, and he thought his voice was gone, but some remained. With little energy left, even sitting up was beyond him now.
Malfoy chose to keep standing, though his feet already ached from having not sat down since his family’s interrogation at the Ministry. He had no desire to let any part of himself touch the Weasleys’ home.
“What happened to you?” he asked coldly, his icy gaze taking in Harry’s sickly state. “I expected to see the proud hero who defeated the Dark Lord, not this.” He waved dismissively at Harry’s prone form.
Harry’s voice was quiet despite his desire to shout back at Malfoy. “Sorry to disappoint you, then. You don’t look so good yourself. Did Voldemort’s death ruin your looks? Do you miss him that much?”
Malfoy chuckled mockingly. “Hmm... you can still spew such nonsense in front of your superior?”
Harry snorted in disgust. “My superior? All I see is a coward.”
“You don’t know me, Potter,” Malfoy shot back. “I’ve accomplished great things.”
“Great things according to who—Crabbe and Goyle?” Harry retorted.
“Even without their help, I’ve managed on my own, you know.”
“Has the great Malfoy lost his way without his goons to back him up? Is that why you’ve come crawling here?”
Malfoy glared at him, his laughter harsh and biting. “Don’t think so highly of yourself, Potter,” he barked.
“Speak for yourself, Malfoy,” Harry retorted in frustration. “Aside from insulting me, why are you here? I don’t need to hear any more of your rude comments. I’ve had enough.”
Malfoy’s glare intensified. “Let’s get one thing straight. You saved my life and as much as I hate owing you, I do. I’m only here to return the favor, nothing more.”
Harry smirked. “So you treat your savior with disdain, despite owing him your life?”
“Be quiet, Potter,” Draco spat bitterly. “Just tell me how to repay you so I can be on my way.”
“Repaying me seems like punishment to you,” Harry noted. “As if you’d rather owe anyone else.”
“Yes, quite right,” Draco replied resentfully. “I’m certain you’ll devise some impossible task just to torment me.”
“Your absence is repayment enough, Malfoy,” said Harry. “That’s the simplest favor I can conceive of, and the most welcome.”
“No,” Malfoy replied resolutely.
Harry frowned, puzzled. “No what?”
“I will not leave simply because you dislike seeing me,” Malfoy stated firmly. “You’ll have to accept my presence, Potter.”
Harry sighed wearily. “No, I refuse to tolerate you any longer. As you can plainly see, I’m drained and unwell.” Harry closed his eyes pointedly, hinting that Malfoy should depart, but he remained unmoving.
“Why are you sick?” Malfoy inquired, suddenly curious. “I heard you’re at death’s door.”
Harry tensed at his blunt words. “It’s none of your concern.”
“Judging by your screaming, it must be exceedingly painful,” Malfoy said melodramatically.
“Really, Malfoy?” Harry said sarcastically. “I have no idea.”
“So what is it, then?” Malfoy pressed.
“Will you please just leave?” Harry replied wearily.
“No.” Malfoy crossed his arms and planted himself firmly where he stood. “Tell me how you got sick, and then I’ll leave.”
Harry sighed deeply once more. He had no desire to let Malfoy know the true cause of his illness. In fact, he wished that no one else would pry into the matter, as it was growing quite tiresome. Given that Malfoy’s family were known supporters of You-Know-Who with ties to the Dark Arts, Harry thought it unwise to disclose the damage to his soul from the Horcrux and how it all began.
“I don’t know,” Harry lied, averting his gaze. “Besides, there’s already a cure, so you can just let it go.”
“Oh, is that the stone from what is it—” Malfoy’s face scrunched as he strained to remember the conversation he had overheard between Arthur and Kingsley. “The Veil?”
Harry recoiled, startled. “How did you know that?” he asked, eyeing Malfoy with suspicion.
“I have my ways, Potter,” replied Malfoy, his voice dripping with boredom. “So, care to tell me now?”
“No,” said Harry defiantly. Just because Malfoy owed him didn’t mean he could start confiding in him.
“Okay,” Malfoy taunted, “I could always ask the Weasel’s father about it anyway. I’m sure he’ll tell me everything if I mention the cure and the stone.”
Exasperated, Harry replied, “Let it go, will you?” He desperately wished Ron, Hermione, or any of the Weasleys would come and take Malfoy away from him.
“Potter, what about the word ‘no’ are you failing to grasp? I understand you’re ill, but you seem to have suffered a head injury that impairs comprehension.”
Harry was certain Malfoy took pleasure in tormenting him, but he was determined not to give in until he achieved his goal.
“Please...” Harry croaked, his throat aching. He had no fight left in him. Exhausted, all he wanted was rest. “Just let it go, Malfoy. I’m exhausted.”
“I’m tired too,” Malfoy retorted. “So do yourself a favor and tell me about this cure you’re after. Do you have it now?”
“I don’t, okay?” Harry snapped. “We’re still searching for the other piece.”
“Other piece?” Malfoy asked, intrigued. “What other piece?”
Harry paused, unsure whether to reveal more. But Malfoy was persistent, and clearly wouldn’t leave without an explanation.
“We need more than just the stone,” Harry began hesitantly. Perhaps Malfoy knows, he thought. Looking directly at Malfoy, he asked, “Do you know where to find a wild Thestral?”
Malfoy raised his eyebrows skeptically. “What do you need a wild Thestral for?”
“Just answer the question,” Harry insisted. “Do you know where to find one or not?”
“Interesting you should ask,” Malfoy replied coldly. “The Dark Lord was also searching for a wild Thestral. As it happens, he told me precisely where to find them.”
“Why was he looking for one?” Harry asked, wondering if Voldemort had intended to craft more powerful wands.
Malfoy shrugged. “The Dark Lord doesn’t share his plans. That mission was need-to-know.”
“So where is it?” Harry pressed.
“If I tell you, we’re square?”
Harry nodded.
“There’s a concealed cave in Ireland full of magical beasts,” Malfoy revealed. “I’d steer clear if I were you.”
To be continued...