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It’s nothing.
It’s something.
It’s a calling, I suppose you could call it, if you had to put a name to it.
Someone has to do it - the Ministry is corrupt. They don’t do their jobs.
If they did, there’d be a lot more people in Azkaban. A lot more regulations and control; protection for those who are being hunted.
Fear not, for it is I who picks up the pieces.
They don’t know it’s me, of course.
Who’d suspect the Saviour, the Boy Who Lived Twice, the Ministry’s Golden Boy, Harry Potter?
I could only handle being an Auror for so long. Everywhere was corrupt. My partners were corrupt. Ron was corrupt; though who could blame him? He lost so much in the war.
We all did. Some of us handled it better than others.
I left, and kept myself out of the public eye, for the most part. Sure, catch me coming out of the Leaky or the Hogshead; normal night for the Saviour of the Wizarding World, right? Drinking away his fortune, keeping his disgraced head down.
The article Rita ran through The Prophet when I quit was supposed to dethrone me - but it did exactly what I wanted it to - it helped me to become a relatively normal celebrity.
It’s easy to blend in when you know where the paps all hang around, yeah?
So let them see me coming out of the bar, out of my home, going for a walk in the park. What will they say? ‘Saviour Stops to Smell Silver Sage’ - headline news, let me tell you.
Thankfully, it keeps my other hobby on the back-burner.
There are perks to being famous, after all.
I shut out my friends. Ron and Hermione got married and wanted to start a family - I wasn’t about to stop them, and they truly deserve all the happiness in the world after what they went through.
After what I put them through.
My other schoolmates, they’ve got their own lives, and I was never really close with them anyways - some of them went through Auror training with me, and they allowed themselves to be corrupted by the ideals of the Ministry.
I’ve always been good at following the path less traveled, if I do say so myself.
I’m the one who protects the ones who need it most. You’d be surprised at how much violence Voldemort left in his wake.
Maybe you wouldn’t.
The Aurors rounded up the rest of the Death Eaters. I was in on that, when I was bright-eyed and ready to do what I could to rid the world of the last of the vermin.
The problem began when my assignment included Draco Malfoy.
I argued with anyone who would listen; Draco wasn’t a Death Eater, not truly. He never killed anyone. He was a child when he took the Mark. He was pressured by his father; his father who was currently sitting in a cell in Azkaban, awaiting the Dementor’s Kiss.
They told me that he deserved the same fate as his father.
I disagreed.
Very, very strongly.
It turned into a big ordeal; took over a year for the trials to go through, with me vouching for Draco every step of the way. I provided Memories - the Astronomy Tower when he couldn’t kill Dumbledore; when he refused to identify me at the Manor; when I saw him through Voldemort’s eyes, defying his orders while being tortured.
Some people were on my side.
The majority weren’t.
In the end, they let him go with probation - the threat of Azkaban if he set a toe out of line.
They took away his future, and put a target as big as Nagini on his back.
I watched the Manor for weeks after the trial, watching as person after person tried to get through the wards and ‘take out’ what they considered to be a big, scary Death Eater.
I mean, have you seen Draco? Tall and skinny, pointy face, looks like he hasn’t had a full meal in years.
Big, scary Death Eater my arse.
In fact, it was while I was staking out the Manor that everything became crystal clear to me - about the Ministry's corruption, and about how I was still simply a pawn to them.
The seething rage that I usually kept buried began to surface the longer I stayed around the Manor.
I spoke to Ron about it, once. He wasn’t understanding at all. He thought Draco deserved to rot in Azkaban.
That was the last time I talked to Ron, and the day I quit being an Auror.
The day I killed a man.
He managed to get through the wards. I could feel him; he was under a Disillusionment charm, a strong one.
Coward. Couldn’t even show his face.
I knew how the Aurors operated when they found a body. Check for Magical Signatures, check for the trace of magic in the air.
That’s why I couldn’t use magic to do what I did.
The Invisibility Cloak has been a key component, obviously - if I cast my own Disillusionment charm, my signature would be all over.
But my hands…
I usually hate doing things the Muggle way, thanks to how I was raised - but this was different. I prepared myself. I have a whole kit, now.
At that time, I only had my rubber gloves.
As he approached the front door, I was waiting in the bushes.
He raised his wand to blast through the door - and I was on him in an instant. I pushed him down and back, my knee digging into his sternum, my hands at his throat. He choked, and couldn’t keep his charm up. It dropped -
Zacharias Smith, one of my old Auror partners.
I should have known.
I watched, as his face turned from red, to purple, to a bluish-grey - his hands scrabbled at my invisible ones, trying to pry me off, but to no avail - I had the same training as him, after all - I knew the counter-moves.
I won, and he breathed his last breath.
Now, I couldn’t very well leave the body on the Manor grounds, could I?
No. They’d blame Draco; anything to blame Draco.
I couldn’t let that happen.
Apparating leaves a trace, too, so I picked up Smith’s body and carried it a mile or so and threw him off a bridge.
No Magical Trace, no Magical Signature.
It was, for all intents and purposes, a muggle murder.
Draco was safe, and my heart soared.
I protect those who need it the most.
The one who needs it the most.
There were more, absolutely, there were more. The first few I just strangled; it seemed to be the easiest. After a while, they caught on and began casting protective charms on their necks.
Like that could stop me.
I had a Muggle arsenal - gloves, knives, ropes, plastic sheeting.
I could have gotten a gun or two, I suppose, but that just seemed so… impersonal.
The first time I saw Draco in person after the trials and after several murders, I should have died.
Probably was right on Death’s door, when he found me.
It was a fight gone wrong - this one wasn’t fucking around. Protective spells out the arse, all over his body.
Easy for someone like me to untangle, if I was able to use my magic.
In my defense, I had just sharpened my new machete and I was being rather reckless - trying new things.
Can’t let it get stale, you know? Have to keep The Prophet and it’s reporters on their toes.
As he was bleeding out, he sent a Wingardium Leviosa at my knife and dropped it right onto my leg. The blade embedded itself into my femur, and nicked my femoral artery.
He was dead. I was well on my way to being dead.
Draco found us as he was taking his nightly walk.
He wanted to Apparate me to the Manor - I told him it would leave a Magical Trace, and just told him to leave me. He gritted his teeth and removed the knife, wincing as a stream of blood shot out. He tore a piece of my shirt off to press against the wound. “Pressure, Potter.” He muttered before scooping me up and carrying me back to the Manor.
He may be emaciated, but he’s stronger than he’s given credit for.
I’d have died that night if it wasn’t for Draco and my ‘Powerful Magical Core’.
Having a part of Voldemort’s soul embedded into you for years will have that effect.
Can I have that trademarked? I’ve read it often enough in the papers.
Draco hauled me into the manor and cast a lightening charm on me as he carried me up the stairs and to his bedroom. He took me into the ensuite and set me in his bathtub, pulled his wand and pointed it at me. His eyes were bright; with exhilaration or fear, I wasn’t sure. A single whispered word…
“Why.”
It was barely a question, but it held so much emotion. I knew he knew about the other murders; The Prophet had already begun referring to me as The Veiled Vigilante. He was smart; top of our year behind Hermione. He had obviously put it together. The edges of my vision were going black, and the hand I was using to put pressure on my wound dropped. I was fading fast, but I had to say it - he had to know.
“It’s always... been you.”
The words had hardly escaped my mouth before I passed out, and I knew that this time, it wouldn’t be a choice. I wouldn’t be at King’s Cross Station with a kindly Albus Dumbledore waiting for me with a smile. I was gone, gone, gone…
~*~*~
I woke up three days later, in Draco Malfoy’s bed, surrounded by pillows. Draco was asleep in an armchair next to me. I pressed down on my leg and felt the bandages there, but the pain was merely a dull ache. He must have healed me.
As though he could sense that I was awake, his eyes shot open and those cinereous eyes found mine. I knew the next question he would ask, before the words even left his lips.
“How many?”
How many was it now? I thought back to the numerous people, the articles in The Prophet, the ones whose bodies I hid so well that they’d never be found.
“Not enough.”
His eyes fluttered closed and he shifted in the chair, crossing his long, elegant legs beneath him. I watched hungrily; it had been a long time since I had seen anyone - or anything - so beautiful. His platinum blonde locks had grown, and I longed to push a stray strand behind his ear, but I held back.
What I do is righteous, but I would never force myself on anyone, no matter what they did to me.
“Just me?”
I nodded, not trusting my own voice for the moment. I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as I put weight on the injured leg. He sat up, startled at my sudden movement.
“Do you need help?”
I stood and swayed, but whatever he did to heal me seemed to have taken. I was a bit light-headed, but it wasn’t unbearable. I took several slow, shuffling steps towards where I remembered the ensuite being, before the blackness started creeping into my vision again. I reached a hand out to steady myself on the bedpost, but found Draco’s arm around my waist before I could grip anything.
“You insufferable prat.”
He huffed, but allowed me to rest my head on his shoulder before walking me the rest of the way to the loo. He paused, seemingly unsure of what to do now that we were there, but I took the initiative. I pushed myself away from him and made my way to the toilet, yanking at the pajamas he must have dressed me in, and sat down heavily.
No way I would risk passing out while taking a slash in front of Draco.
“You need a blood replenishing potion.”
I raised my eyebrows and made eye contact as I used the toilet. Asserting my dominance? I don’t know. His cheeks flushed but he didn’t look away.
“I made one for you. I can go get it once you’re… finished.”
I was. I shook myself and stood, tugging the pajamas back up as I nodded. I managed to get to the sink and rested my palms on the cool marble, taking several deep breaths before I washed my hands.
I may kill people, but I’m not a barbarian.
He hooked a hand behind my elbow when I turned off the water, not waiting for me to dry my hands. Maybe he also noticed how pale my face was getting. I certainly did when I glanced into the mirror.
He steered me back to the bed - his bed - and all but pushed me into laying down. I tried to glare at him, but I really didn’t have the strength. How much blood had I actually lost?
“Stay there like a good Saviour and I’ll be back with the potion.”
I huffed out a laugh and watched him leave the room before easing my head down onto the pillows. I had almost fucked this up. I had almost died…
I needed to be more careful next time.
Because there would be a next time.
There would always be a next time.
That bloody fucking prat.
That incorrigible idiot.
Harry Fucking Potter.
Of course he’s The Veiled Vigilante.
I had my suspicions; no doubt this person had to be righteous, because they only went after those who meant harm to others.
To me.
I don’t remember when the pattern clicked.
A pattern only I could discern, because all of these people were after me.
My wards were constantly being battered; but that didn’t signify a murder.
When my wards were breached, however… I could expect a new article in The Prophet the next morning.
How he was never caught, I didn’t understand until I found him after an almost-botched attempt.
The idiot was using Muggle techniques to kill them, and had gotten himself sliced up.
He told me not to use magic, because it would leave a Trace and then I’d be the one getting in trouble.
So that was how he was never caught.
He told me to leave him; leave him with the other wizard who was lying dead in a pool of his own blood.
As if I could do that to him, when…
I ripped off a piece of his shirt and told him to apply pressure to his wound. He had already lost quite a bit of blood; I didn’t have time to tie a tourniquet. We were just outside the Manor; I couldn’t go that far but I was able to leave the grounds to a certain radius. I got him within the wards and into the house before casting a lightening charm on him - curse my room for being up the grand staircase.
I carried him through my room and into the ensuite, setting him down gingerly in my bathtub before unsheathing my wand and pointing it at him. I needed to cast the spell; I needed to heal the artery he had to have hit, but I couldn’t. All I could think when I looked into his bottle green eyes was a singular word.
“Why.”
I know it wasn’t really a question, because I felt like I knew the answer before he opened his mouth to answer. I braced myself for the usual ‘saving the world’ speech, but it didn’t come.
“It’s always… been you.”
He passed out - I saw the light going out of his eyes as they fluttered shut.
“Oh no you don’t,” I growled under my breath, stripping off his bloody trousers to get a good look at the wound.
Fuck, the femoral artery.
I cast a stasis charm around the laceration and took a deep breath.
I bought myself minimal time, but it was better than nothing.
Vulnera Sanentur would fix this; my mind worked in overdrive. Vulnera Sanentur, and then Dittany. He’d most definitely need a blood replenishing potion…
I got to work. I removed the stasis and began the haunting melody of the Vulnera Sanentur healing spell; once to slow the blood flow, twice to begin healing, and thrice to knit the wound together.
He was pale, so pale, and his breathing was shallow, but he was alive. He was no longer bleeding out.
A life debt repaid in full.
So why did I feel so empty?
I removed the rest of his clothes and turned on the tap for the bathtub. I had to wash the blood from him - had to clean him up.
I grabbed a flannel, dipped it into the tepid water and began to rub at the dried blood on his body. He was covered with blood - be it his own or his… I struggle to say ‘victim’ because I’m sure if Harry deemed it necessary to end his life, then his life wasn’t worth living. He needed to be clean, to be cleansed of this...
When did it become Harry and not Potter?
Probably once I put two and two together and figured out he was doing this… this righteous Saviour shit for me and me alone.
Once he was clean, I lifted him out of the bathtub and wrapped him in a fluffy towel. Casting another lightening charm, I carried his limp body to my bed and set him down gently, tucking the towel around him before hunting down something to dress him in. I found a pair of loose pajamas, something I could easily slip onto him with minimal jostling - I didn’t want to risk bumping his wound and opening the newly-joined flesh.
That thought reminded me that I needed Dittany, and I stole one last glance at Harry before leaving the room to raid my potions. I grabbed the vial of it, and gathered some Muggle gauze I had on hand to wrap around the leg for protection.
He had moved slightly while I was out; from his side to his back, the towel underneath him and leaving nothing to the imagination. I could feel my cheeks heating up as I reached out to cover his modesty with a corner of the towel. I had seen him naked in the bath as I was cleaning him up, but seeing him this way in my bed seemed so much more… personal.
I wasn’t about to risk the wrath of The Saviour if he woke up to me staring at him.
I made quick work of the Dittany, three drops on the wound before wrapping it in the gauze and tugging the pajamas I found up his legs. I tucked him into my bed and pulled an armchair to his side, feeling suddenly exhausted.
I had Harry Potter in my bed.
Harry Potter was The Veiled Vigilante.
I was harbouring a criminal, and if I was caught, I’d be sent to Azkaban…
No.
If HE was caught, HE’D be sent to Azkaban.
IF he was caught… which he wouldn’t be.
Because he’s Harry Fucking Potter, and he knows as well as anyone how corrupt the Ministry is, and how to exploit any and all loopholes they had.
The thought made me giddy; though it could also have been the exhaustion.
All for me… he did this all for me…
I fell asleep smiling.
~*~*~
It took two days for the blood replenishing potion to brew, and three for Harry to wake up.
I kept him nourished with the same potions you’d give to someone on their deathbed, people who couldn’t or refused to swallow. They tasted nasty, I know - there was a time when I survived on only those potions.
At least he was unconscious for the consumption.
I was asleep when he woke up, nestled in my armchair next to the bed.
I felt it inappropriate to share a bed with Harry Potter - The Veiled Vigilante - when I didn’t know what his intentions were.
I sensed him moving and opened my eyes, watching him warily. I wasn’t sure what kind of a mood he’d wake up in after being out for three days.
“How many?”
I couldn’t stop the words escaping my lips. I had to know; how long was he doing this, how long did he plan on keeping the charade going? His face screwed up as though trying not to let the words escape.
“Not enough.”
He gritted his teeth, and I closed my eyes, thinking about how to phrase my next question. The words he said before he passed out whirled around my head, giving me pause.
“Just me?”
He nodded and moved under the covers, sliding himself to the edge of the bed and standing. I schooled my features; that blank Malfoy Mask easily sliding in front of the worry I wanted to show.
“Do you need help?”
He ignored me, the sodding idiot. He began walking slowly towards the ensuite, but I saw how much it was taxing him; how he shook his head as though to clear his vision. I was on my feet in a second, my arm around his waist, guiding him to where he was trying to go.
“You insufferable prat.”
I couldn’t help it. He was being so very stubborn; he was out for three days, surviving only on nourishing potions. He needed a blood replenisher. He needed to eat real food to regain his strength…
I paused as we got to the tile of the ensuite, unsure if he needed my assistance to reach the toilet. He pushed himself away from me and shuffled to the toilet, tugging his pants down before sitting with a sigh.
At least he was smart enough to not try to stand, I thought wryly, watching him take several deep breaths.
“You need a blood replenishing potion.”
He raised his eyebrows and met my eyes as he began to piss. Was this a dominance thing? I felt my cheeks heat but held his gaze.
I wasn’t about to lose this battle.
“I made one for you,” I continued, “I can go get it once you’re… finished.”
He considered my words before shaking himself and standing, pulling the pajamas back into place on his hips. They were my old pajamas; slightly too small for him in the waist and too long for him in the legs, but they fit well enough for the time being. He turned towards the sink and walked carefully, holding himself up on the counter once he reached his destination.
At least I wouldn’t have to lecture him about cleanliness.
I strode over to him once he had finished washing his hands and nudged my hand behind his elbow - I had risked enough with my arm around his waist before. He allowed me to take him back to the bed, and only resisted minimally when I pushed him onto the mattress. He needed to be lying down. He needed to be healing, not exhausting himself, especially after everything…
“Stay there like a good Saviour and I’ll be back with the potion.”
He laughed and I shot him a look that I hoped conveyed how serious I was. I stalked down the hall to the sitting room where I set up my makeshift potions lab, and grabbed several small bottles of the dark red potion. He would need several doses over the next few hours, to ensure he recovered fully.
What the fuck am I doing?
I sunk down to the floor and buried my face in my hands.
Should I have just let him bleed out and die?
Should I have called the Aurors as soon as I knew who he was? What he did?
His words surrounded me.
“It’s always been you.”
Just me?
What did he mean…
I brought myself to my feet and made my way slowly back to my bedroom. He was snuggled into the pillows, his eyes trained on the door, as though waiting for my arrival.
I walked to his side and tilted the potion to and fro, showing him the liquid inside, the viscosity.
“Simple blood replenisher. You’ll need several doses, and you’ll need to eat.”
I uncorked the bottle and brought it to his lips. He drank it down, his eyes never leaving mine. A jolt rocked me to the core.
He trusted me.
Trusted me, Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater.
But…
“Why?”
I had to ask again. Barely a whisper, barely spoken in an outward exhale, but he heard me; of course he did.
His eyes brightened, and he looked at me with an undisguised hunger.
“You’re mine.”
I was expecting something, but not that. Those two words hit me harder than the Sectumsempra he marked me with in 6th year, but as I thought about it, I knew.
I knew he was right.
I swallowed thickly, and took a deep breath before responding.
“Who else would I belong to?”
My hand reached out tentatively, and closed around his. He looked at our joined hands and back to me, a smile beginning to form on his face.
That hungry look never left his eyes.
I don’t think I want it to leave.