Evil Author Day 2017 (And When The Battle Was Won) 1/2

Evil Author Day Excerpt

Hello All. This is an excerpt from one of many WIP's I have in my folders. Like all of my HP work it's an eventual Harry/Draco. This IS Evil Author Day so I won't give a set date on any of my post just that I'm working on it. This is a rough draft, several years old and unbetaed. Both my writing style and thoughts on the work have changed. The final version is subject to serious rewrite.

Title: And When The Battle Was Won

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Rating: NC-17

Time Period: Post-War, Post-Hogwarts

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence and illness, Strong Language. Some Weasley-bashing

Tags: Bad Post-War Relations, Poor!Harry, Hurt/Comfort, Disabled!Harry, UnusualCareer!Draco, EWE.

Plot: The aftermath of the war is not kind to Harry, his refusal to be used as a pawn of the Post War Ministry has made him persona non-grata in the Wizarding world. Beaten and brought low he is left for dead until Draco, a “Volunteer” Health Service Worker, who had been tasked with providing free general health services to the high number of disenfranchised wizards & witches left in the aftermath of the war. His job is dangerous and puts him in contact with the seedy underbelly that tends to victimize and cluster around those society turned its back on. Draco, when not doing his work spends his time nursing Harry back to health. Whether Harry likes it or not.

The Entire excerpt is available on my Wordpress https://brokenamethystwrites.wordpress.com/2017/02/15/ead-2017-and-when-the-battle-was-won/

“And When The Battle Was Won”

By Broken Amethyst

The alleyway was dark, the neighboring houses long since abandoned and used for purposes by people who would rather not be disturbed. The House or what was left of it slanted and slumped in on itself made of slick stone walls that were slimy to the touch and obviously never known care nor cleaning. It sat in the Alley almost as long as there was an Alley and had paid witness to so many atrocities that the building itself became sentient with its own dark aura.

The roof was downward sloping from disrepair and its shingles and wood parts littered the alley below. The alley itself was dark and had an over powering stench of urine, blood, decay and just general filth that permeated throughout. The chipped cobblestones were wet and slick with some unknown but undoubtedly distasteful substance and were full of abandoned furniture, crates and bins that stacked up and sealed off its entrance from the artery of the main road of even greater ill repute.

There was only one other tinier entrance to the small side street; made by two abandoned store fronts barely large enough to fit a small adult woman but impossible for a fully grown and healthy male to squeeze through. For the pitiable huddling mass of tattered cloth leaning against the side of that small dark house, it was enough to allow it to stay in relative safety from the neighborhood's organ dealers and thieves as there was always much easier prey to be found.

The mass of skeletal flesh was a man, or what could have once been taken as one. His curled body resembled more corpse than man, his eyes deeply sunken into their sockets from prolonged exposure to the elements and from severe lack of food for months on end. Every spinal knot was visible through the thin, stiff and filthy hole-ridden sheet wrapped around his constantly shaking shoulders. His cheeks jut out sharply, painfully, against his skin which was riddled with gaping open sores many of which oozed puss and blood. There was a milky substance dripping from his eyes that couldn’t see more than an inch ahead of him. Though his body is constantly shaking he himself can no longer lift his arms to shoo away the nesting rats, his only company in this desolate place besides the spiders and roaches, which had been nibbling bites of flesh from his legs.

His legs could barely be called that anymore, his skin is practically decaying in on itself with whole sections grotesquely displayed to the dirt and grime that caked deep into the open wounds. The constant sick moisture of the cobblestone and not moving because of weakness had left the muscles and bones in his legs absolutely useless. The mere fact the he was still slouching up against the wall of the house is only because when he weakly dragged himself there two weeks ago and he was too weak to move once he was planted. This horrid shell of a man, this paradigm of human suffering once went by the name of Harry...


'The Ministry hasn't changed much' Draco sneered inwardly at the huge ostentatious and gaudy decorations lining the ministry's main corridor. He silently wondered how much of his family's gold he was walking on and passing in the expensive marble and jade corridor that was identical to almost all of the corridors in the rebuilt Ministry; it was purely a cocky display of wealth on the English ministry's part, wealth that was collected from the English coffers of Dark, undesirable or just plain disliked families. Draco no longer wore the comfortable cashmere of his youth, the man he was now made sure never to live above his means or purchase anything without a strong daily use, he simply couldn't afford it. He wore a thick cotton sweater purchased from a thrift shop in muggle London, it was a nice shade of grey; being damn near destitute was no excuse for bland colour taste if avoidable in his opinion, and dark grey denim trousers he used for his -mandatory- volunteer work, an oxymoron if he could say so himself.

He was roused from his thoughts by the sound of someone roughly pulling phlegm and saliva from their throat and into their mouth; he barely had time to stop walking before the disgusting mucus mixture landed with a sick splat onto his shoes. He turned to face the culprit who was a young probably barely 18 year old brunet man, tall and lanky with an unfortunate pox marked face and a filthy yellowed grin as he walked past him muttering about the “filthy pig fucking Death eater sullying his presence”. With patience a younger him would never have had Draco turned away to continue on his way, with no comment nor retaliation.

‘...And the people in the Ministry haven't changed much either.’ he thought.

Not that it mattered much since those shoes had sloughed through and been in contact with far more distasteful things than the pitiful insult the young pillock thought he had dealt him. He continued on into the lifts taking them up to the seventh level of the Ministry where he walked down the less opulent and certainly less clean floor of the Volunteer Services, ignoring the looks of shear disgust and loathing shot at him as he passed the cubicles of many lower level workers to stop outside the door with gold plated lettering proclaiming it to belong to


Draco inhaled a steadying breath outside the door, pausing for barely a moment to get his bearings while still being sure not to look weak in front of all of the sadistic vultures in the department just waiting to watch him fall apart. Finally as calm as he was going to get he knocked on the door and entered for his bi-weekly dose of Ministry appointed torture.

Augustus Barge was an ugly man.

He was a stout little man with a large gut from years of alcohol and general laziness. His chubby legs were stuffed in expensive Italian loafers and his poor pants were constantly in danger of falling and giving Draco a view he may have to obliviate himself for, only hanging on by suspenders that were fit to giving up as well, stretched way past the point any tailor would recommend by the bulbous belly of his superior. Barge's face was one of the most unfortunate things Draco had seen in his life -and he had spent years in Hagrid's class with his love of truly horrifying animals-Augustus Barge's face has huge globs of flesh hanging down like the jowls of a massive dog, his eyes themselves were reminiscent of a pug's with how huge they sat on his sizable head. The man was hairy as well, sporting a full head of dark hair which any man at his age would be proud of except for the fact that it was absolutely riddled with flakes of dandruff. While he keeps a hairless jaw line his eyebrows had become one entity; the shear thickness of it and its expansion into most of his forehead made him look even more animalistic than the rest of his appearance suggests.

All of this Draco could personally ignore if –

“Come in you nasty piece of shit!” Barge snarled as he waddled over to the large chair behind his desk and sat heavily behind it.

--If Augustus Barge wasn't as ugly on the inside as he was on the out. Draco came fully into the room closing the door behind him to stand in front of Barge's absolutely massive desk ignoring the two very comfortable chairs knowing full well that they weren't for him. Barge's chair must have been enchanted because even sitting down behind such a large desk the man was almost level to Draco's chest. In actuality the man barely reached his chest when standing, something that must irk him in no small amount but then again Draco being alive irked the man.

Barge scrunched up his pimply nose as he approached as he often does when Draco makes his mandatory visit. “Do you not know how to bathe you filthy Death Eater?! You fucking stink, your whole kind stinks and your fucking smell lingers every time you drag your lazy ass into my office!” He leaned forward arms resting on his desk with his heavily ringed fingers laced. He glowered at Draco's impassive face.

“You all should've been given the Kiss and called it a day, but I guess your family's gold still holds weight eh?! Slimy piece of shit.” He muttered. It was a pointless statement since they both knew that the Malfoy family doesn't have enough gold to buy a good owl let alone a Ministry official. But this was business as usual with Augustus. He would come in, Barge would verbally abuse him and he'd be given his weekly assignment and leave. Rinse, Lather and fucking Repeat for the past three years; Draco has been called everything from a slime covered son of a whore to the cream of Voldemort's ass.

Barge seemed fond of slime comparisons.

This twice weekly abuse was all part of his sentence from the Wizengamot which, while not being able to give him the Kiss like his father though not for a lack of trying but when you have the Wizarding World's Golden Boy giving evidence for a prisoner it would be political suicide to refuse it. Given no choice of a harsher punishment they sentenced him to two years in Azkaban, a term during which he often prayed for death and would’ve cursed Potter’s name if not for the fact that his mother was basically granted provisional clemency as a consequence.

Not that it did her much good because during his two year sentence his mother was brutally murdered in their weakly warded family home. The Wizengamot also gave the Ministry full discretion with what to do with him after he was released from his prison stay, Something which the Ministry took great pleasure in by making sure his family home was sold off while he was in prison and his inheritance subsequently seized for “war penalties” which was code for padding many higher ranking officials pockets, and rebuilding the mostly destroyed Ministry bigger and gaudier than ever; the all enduring fuck you to himself and the other families whose money was stolen to build the monument of their persecution whether they did wrong or not. Two years in prisoner for blindly following his father and kneeling at a madman’s feet had quickly stripped him of all illusions of both himself and his family. It was a long time for self reflection and the conclusion was easy to come to though still a bitter pill to swallow: They had did a lot of wrong.

He zoned out Barge as he brought his diatribe about everything from his stench to the disreputable-ness of his mother into full swing. Draco had gotten quite good at appearing unfazed by the insults and glares he received from not only Barge but everyone he comes across....everyone except most of the people he helped. It was they that made his punishment worth it, people that mainstream society forgets; the junkies, whores, homeless and most heart breaking of all: the children. All of whom he had run across and helped. His three years spent trying to make a difference just cemented a fact that he'd experienced firsthand; that the Wizarding world is not kind to those without money and who has kept “undesirable” company. They are the ones who see past the mark on his arm and just see the man; the man handing them a bowl of food, a packet of clothes or pointing them towards a help center. His last name is never sneered at; all of the people he helps just call him Draco. Just Draco.

“Are you listening to me you fucking gaping asshole!?” Barge slammed his fist onto his desk knocking over his quill holder while bringing Draco back to the room and present distasteful company he's in. He wondered briefly if he should be concerned about Barge’s fixation on him and arses. He lied and nodded not that Barge would really care since he'll still accuse Draco of drifting off. “Here's your next assignment you slimy fuck.” Barge said, sliding a thin folder across the desk. Draco picked it up and quickly read the few lines on the paper. The paper that condemned him to a suicide mission.

Despite himself, he looked up quickly at Barge who was sporting the most satisfied malicious smirk Draco had seen in a long while.

'Bastard' Draco thought, the newest assignment is to patrol Nightshade-Upon-Knockturn for those in need of assistance. What a joke! Everyone in Nightshade-Upon-Knockturn is in need of something.'

Nightshade-Upon-Knockturn was at the furthest reach of Knockturn alley, an area so entrenched in dark magic that even in full daylight it was almost always covered in dark cloud cover at the least. Even Aurors wouldn't dare pulling raids there unless an extremely high profile case is putting pressure on the higher ups. Borgin and Burkes looked as clean and legitimate as a 5th avenue shop compared to the wares to be found in any shop within Nightshade. Notorious for the sale of human body parts and slaves, Nightshade was fully swathed in illegal trade of all kinds, even the darkest of dark wizards tread carefully within its bounds. With the end of the war, it was the only stronghold of the Dark Arts that continued to flourish, a veritable no-man’s land of anarchy thriving in the heart of Wizarding London.

Draco would be far more likely of becoming another unknown victim of Nightshade than to help any one of the “needy miscreants” he's supposed to find. Barge had sent him into tough neighborhoods in the past, understandable since those who need his help are often found there but he had steadily escalated to neighborhoods he wouldn't send any other volunteer to especially alone but this; this is was an attempt at murder pure and simple. Barge absolutely despised Draco from the moment he first stepped into his office and had no problem proclaiming it to all who would listen especially the object of his ire, Draco knows there's nothing Barge would like more than to see him dead and this was finally it.

‘That son of a bitch means for me to die today’ Draco scowled ‘and I can't refuse this order either' Draco clenched his hands into fists and for the first time openly scowled at Barge who showed him his teeth in return, knowing that he's won.

“Your dismissed Death Eater scum”

Draco glared at the man one last time before turning towards the door but a call from Barge had him pausing “Oh and don't forget to hand out plenty of help wanted ads on the way there!”Draco slammed the door behind him on his superior's loud cackling. Stomping his way past the smirking cubicles he stabbed the button for the lift and cast up a silent prayer to the Goddess for safety, because really he was going to need it on his descent into the pits of hell itself.

“Abandon all hope ye who enter here” Draco snorted with a scowl


He had really thought once the war had ended that he could finally live his life as just Harry. That when the dust finally settled he'd have his friends, his family ...and he'd have Ginny. He had really believed that, that he could live a normal life without Death Eaters or Voldemort or Rita Skeeter and enormous expectations. That the Wizarding world would calm down once it was finally safe and let their reluctant hero alone to live in peace with his loved ones. That the people he loved would always feel the same way. His level of naivety shocked even him when he thinks back.

After all of the funerals and celebrations, Ginny had finally approached him about getting back together and with the weight of the world finally off his shoulders Harry eagerly kissed her his answer. He can still remember Molly's proud and happy look even while she nagged them about impropriety. Ron and Hermione's knowing looks sent to them even while they themselves entwined their hands. Ron's playful growls of “keeping his mitts off his sister”. The family getting together and laughing and having a good time for the first time since they’d buried Fred. He had been happy then, he had finally felt like he truly belonged at their table and everything was so perfect.

He was so blissful and secure in his reclaimed role as Ginny's boyfriend, Ron 's best mate and just another son of Arthur and Molly Weasley ; that he thought nothing of the tightened looks he received when he told them he didn't want to become an Auror, at least not so soon after all that had happened. He shrugged off the glares he received from everyone when he spoke up for Narcissa and Draco Malfoy at their Wizengamot Trial, the only time he paid attention to anything that was going on outside the haven of the re-fixed Burrow.

“How could go out and defend those slimy gits! Malfoy's a fucking Death Eater! How could you choose them over us?” Ron screamed at him turning an awful shade of puce. He had hardly made it into the room that night when he came back from the Ministry and trudged up to the room he shared with Ron passing a stony faced Molly and Bill on the way before Ron had started in on him.

“What are you talking about Ron? I couldn't let them get punished unfairly because the whole story wasn’t known!” Harry replied while changing into clean trousers readying for bed. “Look, I know you hate Malfoy and all that, Hell so do I! He's a git we both know that! But I want a clean conscious Ron, and I owed Narcissa a freaking life-debt for lying about me to Voldemort. Now we're even-”

“Yeah she and her snobby son get to skate on getting people killed!” Ron yelled.

“Ron they didn't kill anyone!” Harry yelled back getting impatient, but apparently it was the wrong thing to say because the way Ron looked at him, even back then he should've recognized it because his normally cheerful eyes were a heated cold, like the hottest blue flame holding intense anger for him.

Really, he should've known.

“So I was right you are choosing them! What about my brother! Look at what they did to him!” Ron kicked the trunk at the foot of his bed hard enough to put his foot through. He went back to pacing the room, swinging his arms violently. Harry turned to face him feeling unease with having his back to him.

“Ron, I'm sorry. I really am mate. You know how I feel about you and all of your family. For Merlin's sake you’re my brother! I just- I just felt that it was something that I needed to do. It wouldn't have been right not pay her back.” Harry said earnestly, begging for him to understand.

“It's always about the fucking saviour so who cares how everyone else felt.” Ron replied angrily shoving back the covers to climb into his bed with his back facing Harry. Harry sighed knowing that there was no use trying to talk anymore tonight he crawled into bed, whispered a mumbled nox to extinguish the lights and went to sleep unsettled. By morning all was still tense but appeared to be on the mend but it was the calm before the storm, the calm before his new found happy life was ripped to shreds.

He eventually moved out of the Burrow and got his own flat in Hogsmeade and after finally getting settled he opened his front door one Saturday morning to find Ginny at his door with what appeared to be an entire bedroom's worth of suitcases. She gave him two quick kisses on the cheek then flounced into his apartment floating her bags behind her.

“I've moved out.” she said spinning around happily to face him. He feeling a bit floored asked confusingly

“Moved out? Out of the Burrow?”

“Duh, silly. I'm moving in so we can finally be a real couple! No more sneaking around or silencing charms!” she said exasperatedly with her hands on her hips. Shaking her head at him because he just stood there staring, she began to set about moving around his decorations to make room for her stuff. Once she had the living room the way she liked it she moved on towards the bedroom and out of sight, leaving him still rooted to the same spot. As thumps and bumps were heard from draws opening, closets rearranging clothing and just general reorganization, Harry finally came out of his stupor and irritation set in as he took in the changes she made to his place.

Her own personal mark, many of his small trinkets and bargain brand utilities were moved to some unknown place or just blatantly thrown in the trash. His then mild anger became boiling when he found the Snitch from Dumbledore and the odd little hand-made presents Hagrid had made him tossed carelessly onto the pile of “unnecessary” things. He rescued them from the rubbish bin before he stomped his way into his bedroom ready to let her know how much he didn't appreciate her picking up and taking control over his place. He burst through the bedroom taking in all of the changes from the carpet colour to the bed sheets themselves. What he noticed the most was Ginny, laid out on those unfamiliar bed sheets in the palest, laciest lingerie he'd ever seen. Her fiery red hair standing out in sharp contrast to her pale skin. Most of his protests died on his lips as his brain tried to catch up to the violent shift from anger to arousal in less than five seconds. Apparently his shift wasn't fast enough because Ginny lightly furrowed her brow sitting up.

“What's wrong Harry?” she said, trying to purse her lips cutely. Harry, remembering the reason why he was there in the first place, scowled slightly.

“Ginny, you can't just come in here and rearrange my things! You tossed in the trash some really important things of mine and I don't appreciate it.” he sighed. Ginny finally stood up, her cheeks blushing red in anger instead of arousal.

“So what?! You don't want to live with me is that it!?” The hurt and betrayal was plain to see on her face.

As angry as he was at her intruding without asking, as much as he was really looking forward to his independence; He really couldn't take the betrayed look she was giving him. He sighed, “Look Gin, I'm sorry. Of course I want to live with you; I just didn't think it would be so soon. I mean we just graduated you know?” He tried to ignore her increasingly red complexion “But you’re right, I do want to be with you”.

She huffed, still a little angry “Harry, I love you; you love me. There's nothing more to talk about, now come here” Even though he felt there were many things that did need talking about as she wrapped her arms around his neck and their clothes began to disappear, he really for the life of him couldn't remember a single one.

Things were going great.

Months went by before those small incidents of disapproval became the full disintegration of his contented life. It was innocuous; it seemed a completely innocent thing. He thought nothing of it when the Minister himself came to his flat after his third written refusal to be inducted into the auror corps. The new minister was a big man, almost Hagrid’s stature in height but muscled like a rugby player. His eyes were a beguiling blue reminiscent of Dumbledore and he spoke with a quiet assurance as if already confident that whatever he asks of you, you’d be quick and happy to comply. Harry stared up at the tall powerful man in his doorway before upon realizing that he'd left the Minister of Wizarding Britain standing outside his door for the full two minutes he’d been staring at him.

“Um-hi, Minister. How are yo- I mean please come in.” He moved out of the way to invite him in, flustered. In blatant contrast to his previous experiences with the Minister of Magic he had no true ill feelings towards Minister Delancy, a careful wariness as while the Minister seemed to not be obviously corrupt or malevolent he was still a politician, at this point in his life Harry knew there to be one thing in common of all politicians: they all have agendas.

Marco Delancy had won the Ministerial election by a landslide.

Kingsley, who had been elected interim Minister in the wake of Scrimgeor’s untimely death during the war had wanted to retire for over a year by that point but with reconstruction still in full swing and the Ministry in need of a massive overhaul due to the broad scale corruption among the ranks he was forced to stay on. But at the beginning of the New Year he had announced that he would be retiring as Minister and wouldn’t be retaking up his old helm as Head Auror. It soon became obvious early on in the race that despite all of the incumbent Wizengamot judges vying for the vacated position, that it was the relatively young Wizengamot member that would win.

The public was enraptured with him.

He spoke of a new Wizarding England, a better Wizarding England. One where there are no dark lords and needless divisions. He said all of the right things, was seen with all the right people. It was clever.....almost too clever. But he had charisma and a clean sheet as far as the public was concerned. He dazzled those purebloods that were still favourable in public opinion, with his talk of preserving important Wizarding traditions, he enamoured the half-bloods with promises to broaden the topics taught in class to encompass how to survive in the muggle world , muggle culture and a promise to fairly get more non-purebloods on the Wizengamot. He was the messiah of the Muggleborns still sore from the Ministry's sanctioned breaking of their wands and murder of their peers. He spoke of a more integrated Wizarding World with a promise of equality for all regardless of blood status. He set in motion plans to be in constant communication with the Muggle Prime Minister and those within the higher echelons of Muggle government who are aware of the existence of a Wizarding world and ensure that children who began to show magical abilities in Muggle families are ensured to be properly taken care of and should abuse be suspected taken away.(He unflinchingly used Tom Marvolo Riddle as an example of what can be the result of abuse at the hands of those who do not understand which earned equal parts admiration and respect among the public). The other runners didn't have a chance, the votes were almost unanimous in his favour and he took up the post exactly a year from when Kingsley first put in his intent to retire papers.

As Minister Delancy sat down on Harry's milky beige couch that he hated but there was no arguing with Gin, he glanced furtively at him observing him as he took in the décor of his-Ginny's- home. Harry watched as the Minister's eyes roved over everything from the expensive kitchenette, the ridiculously large plasma screen TV as well as the large portrait of Harry and Ginny resting over the fireplace along with over thirty photos of either Ginny or Harry and Ginny together, the hand woven imported carpet. Harry blushed at the thought of him assuming that he was a frivolous and material man. Then shrugged it off because why should he care about other’s opinion of him? Finally after minutes of Harry observing the Minister and the Minister observing everything else he finally spoke. “Is there a reason you've come Minister?”

Minister Delancy leaned back into the couch, seemingly completely relaxed and at home before a slight furrow of his brow and a slight downturn of his mouth marred his face. “Mr. Potter, for the third time in seven months I've had the unfortunateness of having a written refusal to join the auror corps delivered to my desk from Head Auror Gawain. And each time that written refusal came from you.” he sighed, pinning Harry with a blue eyed stare.

Harry leaned against the wall and returned the Minister's stare. “Wouldn't that tell you guys that I don't want to join the Auror corps? Look, I'm done with that, I've spent my entire life since I first stepped into the Wizarding world fighting. I'm not going to sign up for a job that's going to have me doing the exact same thing. And besides if I were to sign up I wouldn't be able to do my job correctly anyway, with the media and my face being so recognizable I wouldn't be able to perform the basic duties of an Auror like interviewing witnesses, going undercover or investigate leads without being front page news. I'm sorry Minister but I've had my time in the lime-light and it's a bit too bright for me. My fame and the attention I would bring isn’t what the Ministry needs right now.

“On the contrary Mr. Potter, it's exactly what the Ministry needs right now” Minister Delancey replied, Harry's face hardened

“So what your telling me is that the Ministry needs me on, not as a normal hard working Auror but as a poster boy. I don’t know if you hadn't heard Minister Delancey” Harry sneered “but Scrimgeor tried to make me the Ministry's bottom-boy during the war, I didn't agree then and I’m sure as hell not agreeing now!”

The look the Minister gave him as he finished made him reflexively reach for his wand. Those normally unreadable blue eyes were ice chips boring into him and making it impossible to look away.

“Mr. Potter, the work you've done for Wizarding Britain--- no, for the world, was a grand and selfless deed. But, the Wizarding world is currently in a power vacuum as well as a state uncertainty. Now the Ministry has done a decent job of appearing to have a perfect handle on everything but they don't. The Wizarding world needs to come back and rebuild itself from the ashes of its former self. I won’t just fashion out a replica Wizarding Britain, I will remake it as it should have been.' The Minister leaned forward his deep voice holding a tone that made Harry's already tensed muscles clench in anticipation of combat.

“Mr. Potter, whether you realize it or not you are already the figure head of a new Wizarding world, one without the threat of Tom Riddle. You hold power, a sway over the people of this land that could propel you into any official seat of power should you even hint that it might interest you. That power makes you a great asset to not only the Ministry Of Wizarding Britain but to every Ministry in the Wizarding world. With that ability you could do great things for your people but that power is dangerous unsupervised. I am not a person to cross Mr. Potter. With me, with the Ministry; you could do great things but if you go against me, you are not only going against the Ministry but the Wizarding people. My advice to you is to join me and perform your duty to the Wizarding World, the consequences of not doing so will be ...unpleasant. I shouldn’t have to tell you how fickle peoples loyalties are.” With that the Minister stood from his seat, fixing his coat and gathering his hat as he made his way to the door. Just before leaving he paused with his back still turned to Harry,” I'll expect to see your application to join the Auror Corps across my desk by tomorrow evening. Do the right thing Mr. Potter.”

Harry stood rooted in place, hands and jaw clenched. “Do the right thing?! For whom you fucking bastard!” He slammed his fist through the dry wall. As the mirror crashed to the floor with a satisfying crunch, he walked into his bedroom to flop down. He laid there, arm over his face just thinking; thinking about how after everything changed nothing changed. There's still some battle to fight, an enemy to overcome and a powerful man trying to force him to do something he doesn't want to do.

“Do the right thing”, I will, I'll do the right thing for me for once, the war is over, Voldemort's dead but it's my turn to live. To live for me.” He murmured. He wasn't worried; he lived through a war, through dying and through machination after machination. He owed no one not a single thing and he had a right to live his life in peace should he choose. No, even when Ginny came back screeching about “what the fuck happened to the wall” he wasn't scared. When the next day's afternoon came and went without him picking up a quill he wasn’t scared. If he didn't fear Tom Riddle he certainly wasn't going to fear Minister Delancey. No, after patching up the wall and trying to appease Ginny, he went to bed with one sure certainty: He wasn’t afraid of Marco Delancey.

But he should've been


'This is fucking ludicrous!' Draco thought as he dodged the potion being flung at him. It landed on the wall near his head, the poison apple green giving off a sickening squelch as it fizzled and ate through the wall.

He jammed himself into an even darker nook on the darkened street. The crone that was chasing him hobbled further down the road, sniffing the air like a hound. “Where is he!” he heard her screech but in a way that it would still be almost inaudible if you weren't near.

When he first came across the old woman , huddled in a corner in dirt rags that smelled of moth balls he felt pity and immediately wanted to come to her aid-- but he wasn't stupid; there was no way he would get close enough to be grabbed. This was fortunate because even ten feet away from her, as he asked her if she needed any help getting to a shelter facility, she had jumped up with a speed of a woman less than half her age. She managed to get him to the ground her long black gnarled nails clawing for his face and reaching for his throat. Draco held her hands in a tight grip, the hag's knee pressed into his chest as she reached over, her toothless mouth snapping blackened gums at him as she struggled to reach him. Her fetid breath wafted over his face as a goopy pus yellow string of saliva landed on his cheek. “Mine, mine, mine, mine!” the woman chanted clawing at his face.

“Such pretty eyes, eyes, eyes. Fetch me a nice price.” Her eyes gleamed as she crooned in an almost croaking enticement. “Be mine ...perfect. Shiny teeth. MINE!!! Will be mine again!” Her eyes were rolling in the sockets. Her chanting voice abruptly stopped its mad rambling becoming lucid as she continued to fight. Her gaping maw opened in a poor gummy mimicry of a smile “Yes, those eyes and teeth will be mine but the rest will fetch a nice price” she cackled.

“Get off me now!” Draco grunted.

He managed to wedge his knee between them and shoved the hag off him. Her head cracked hard on the pavement and she let loose a haunting wail. He staggered to his feet and hurried away but skid to a stop as a glass projectile crashed in front of him. The potion gave off noxious fumes and he hurriedly brought his sleeve to his face less he inhale what he recognized to be a potion made from concentrated Grieswurzel. Had he inhaled at the least it would have immediately relaxed every muscle in his body paralyzing him but from the amount hurled at him he could tell that the dose was meant to kill without causing major damage to his organs. 'That miserable troll Barge' Draco swore as he dodge another potion. He ducked into an alleyway and watched as the dangerous hag continued looking for him in the opposite direction probably assuming that he apparated.

He breathed a brief sigh of relief before checking his surroundings. He was under no assumptions that the fight with the hag wouldn't draw unwanted attention to his presence there. While he was all for doing his job , he knew that what he was on was a fool's errand the chances of him finding the few individuals here not irredeemably tainted by destitution, almost perpetual darkness and the shear miasma of dark magic saturating the place were next to nil. But he came to help so that's what he has to do. If the situation hadn’t been so dire he probably would have laughed himself silly. Something about spending 2 years in prison and three on the redcross to wake up a blokes Gryffindor tendacies. Draco crept back onto the main road, avoiding the bleak candle lamps that irregularly dotted the area because no one wants to be seen down here.

He strode deeper into the area quickly but silently his boots making not a single sound on the cobblestone. The sound of haggard broken breathing mixed with pitiful cat-like mewls came to him on a putrid wind. 'It could just be a dying animal' he thought as he paused outside a small alley opening by the main road completely blocked with so much detritus that he could make nothing out in the gloom. His gaze shot to the looming decaying house cradling the alley, his magic could sense the malevolent aura it emitted. He shuddered to think of what unmentionable crimes had to be repeatedly committed on and in the house in order to give it an actual sentience which he could practically hear. Under no illusions that should he attempt to enter he would never make it back out he edged away slightly to look for a way around the clutter that blocked the alley up to where the living house and next shop's roof overlapped.

The low moan sounded again, this time distinctly human sounding, I guess that settles it, he thought mentally rolling his eyes as he edged his way around the shop to search for a way in. He had to walk seven shops down before he could slip down the adjacent alley; the connecting alleyways behind the shop were labyrinthine in size and complexity. He was just beginning to feel claustrophobic as the walkways became smaller and smaller but it was because of the dwindling space between him and the wall that allowed him to hear the rattling cough brought by the smallest draft of unclean air blowing directly to his left. Feeling his hands against the slick stones he felt the tiny opening less than a foot wide, as thin as he was he still had to limit his breathing while laying as flat to the wall as could to squeeze into the space. Even then, he bruised his shoulders and received heavy scrapes from the wall. His shuffle into claustrophobia was short, to his relief, as he came out into a slightly larger alley. A dim lumos revealed the teetering pile of trash and smashed furniture that blocked his way in from the outside. A stuttering breathe drew his attention back towards the house.

Draco took an unconscious step back as he brought his hand up to his mouth. Once the imminent urge to vomit left him, he took a cautious step towards the corpse laid out on the floor. Rats scurried away from where they were eating the flesh from the man’s legs. As he surveyed the corpse on the floor his eyes began to water, not just due to the obvious amount of suffering the pitiful soul had to have gone through it would be a blessing if it were a corpse but also because of the smell.

The small enclosed space reeked with a horrid combination of piss, shit, rot and Dark Magic. Had he not grown up in the Manor where every room had at least one antique infused with Dark Magic--- at least while the manor was still standing, he would have been immediately overcome. He kneeled by the man, who laid completely still slumped on his side against the sentient house as Draco pressed his fingers lightly to his throat to feel for a pulse point. He felt simultaneously relieved and saddened when he felt the faintest tell-tale flutter against his fingers. As he took his hand away from the man's neck, wiping the smelly mixture of sweat, oil and grime onto his pants, he grimaced. The man's, for indeed it was a man, hair was a long scraggly unkempt mess matted down with at least a month’s worth of dirt, oil , fleas, lice and -Draco unconsciously wrinkled his nose- shit. Most alarming of all was the shear amount of blood mixed in with his hair.

The hair was only the beginning; the man's face was covered with a multitude of gaping, leaking sores. The holes were wet with bloodied yellow pus that made the man’s face slick and sticky to touch. Draco saw the same types of open bleeding sores on every exposed inch of his body. Bruises and cuts littered his body as well as if he had been on the wrong end of a beating very recently and when Draco gently turned the figure onto his back he could feel every bone in that made up his ribcage.

Fucking hell Draco thought as he hurriedly reached into his robes to grab the emergency Portkey to St. Mungos. Rarely, when he would find people who had been left unattended for too long, he would have to key them away to the hospital as a last resort. He stays with them despite the glares he’d receive and the not so subtle hints about Aurors because he knew that if he left the person would be ‘persuaded to refuse hospitalization’. After all why waste good, expensive medicine on life’s throwaways. He’d stay and make sure that the potions they received weren’t watered down garbage and that the rookie doing the spell-work on them didn’t fuck it up. He couldn’t do anything about his people being used as training practice but he could make sure that the over-confident tossers don’t sever an arm while showboating for their first unmonitored healing.

Luckily he didn’t have to use St. Mungos facilities often; people on the streets tend to know how to take care of themselves in that respect when at all possible. They knew where they’re not wanted especially when it’s rumored that most of the spare parts used for the “actual” clients come from those from the streets that were purposefully kept waiting unattended in the hospital with serious time-pertinent medical issues until they just so happened to have expired. Of course it would be a shame for the healthy organs and tissue to go to waste.

Draco shuddered but prepared himself and the man to Portkey away. As he affixed the small necklace about the man’s neck he suddenly found himself staring into bloodshot and milky---yet still unnaturally green---eyes. He doubted that the man could actually see him but from the gasping that rattled in his chest he could definitely tell that someone was hovering over him.

“Sir, I’m with the volunteer health services. You’re safe, I’m going to Portkey you to St. Mungos and they’ll tend to your wounds.” The man began to thrash violently and strike, with a strength that his limbs shouldn’t have, at Draco’s arms and shoulders.

“Get OFF ME!!! No Mungos, nomungosnomungosNOMUNGOS!” the man was delirious and Draco struggled to keep him still so he wouldn’t hurt himself. He winced as blackened nails dug into his forearm, resisting the urge to vomit as three of the nails snapped off completely. The man continued thrashing without noticing. His eyes were bulging and foam formed at the corners of his mouth. His voice was hoarse and ragged but still too loud for comfort as the sounds of low murmuring reached Draco’s ears.

This man is going to get us both killed.

“You’ll kill me! You’ll kill me if you take me there!” The man screamed over and over to the point of incoherence.
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