(980 words)
From the sound of things, Malfoy's trashing his room.
Pansy and Blaise are both in the corridor, Pansy is ashen white, Blaise sitting on the floor nonchalantly lazing against the wall, though Harry notices he's wringing his hands together in a tell-tale sign of anxiety.
'Ah, Potter,' Pansy screeches when she sees him. 'You might be the ideal one to sort this out.' And she grabs Harry's arm and thrusts him towards the door, pushing it open before him, before giving him a shove inside and slamming it firmly shut behind him.
Harry gulps.
He really doesn't know why she would think that.
'GET OUT!' Malfoy screeches. His face is blotchy, his eyes red, he's obviously been crying. 'GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!' he yells.
Harry is all for fleeing in the face of fury but it seems Pansy or Blaise have cast a locking charm on the door. Harry isn't so keen on getting his wand out before a furious man who is brandishing his in a manner that looks like he's going to spear Harry if he so much as moves. So, Harry leans against the doorframe instead, surveying the room.
It looks like Malfoy has used his desk chair to impart considerable damage and when that splintered into unusable pieces, he's used the 'Sectumsempra' curse on anything in his path. There are torn papers everywhere, a desk leg is broken, his duvet is shredded, his curtains ripped down, there are big raw gashes in the wood panelling and the bed frame.
'It looks like your room has been attacked by Fenrir,' Harry says.
'AAAGGGHHHHH!!!' Malfoy runs at him, his wand discarded, hands outstretched and looking, for all the world, as if he might be about to throttle Harry.
Harry catches him by his wrists.
'Stop!' he says quietly but firmly, mimicking a way that he'd heard Remus speak to a frustrated Sirius in the past. A way that held calm authority without being challenging.
Malfoy falters and looks at Harry. There's fear in his grey eyes. Harry releases his wrists and can't help reaching forward to brush the tear tracks from his cheek. Malfoy's legs buckle beneath him and Harry catches his fall so the blond man crumbles against him. Malfoy buries his head into Harry's neck and lets out a broken sob, his shoulders wracked by the pain he's releasing.
Harry's rubbing soothing small circles at the nape of Malfoy's neck, his fingers brushing slightly into his soft blond hair, and he waits.
When he knows the other man has calmed a bit, he whispers, 'what's happened, Malfoy?'
'The Manor...' Malfoy's voice is so quiet against Harry's neck that he's hard to hear so Harry wraps his fingers around his wrist and leads him to the bed, picking his way through the debris.
'What's happened?' he asks again.
As they sit side-by-side, Malfoy is unconsciously playing with the cuff of Harry's navy jumper, it's fine-knit cashmere is incongruously luxurious against the harsh damage surrounding them.
'Some bastards wanting retribution...' Malfoy mutters.
Harry doesn't want to hear what's coming next.
'It's been burnt to the ground...' tears start to tickle down Malfoy's pale cheeks again.
'Your parents...' the question goes unfinished. The horror can't be put into words.
'Mother is safe but father... he was trying to rescue one of the house-elves.'
The tears are flowing freely and Harry pulls Malfoy in against him once more. It's too awful to comprehend. Harry may not have liked Lucius in any sense but no one deserves that. They stay sitting like this for what feels like hours, wet seeping into wool, Malfoy clutching Harry's shoulders as he sobs in grief.
Eventually, Harry hears Headmistress McGonagall outside the door. He can't hear what she's saying but her voice is unmistakable.
The door clicks open and she takes in the scene before her, her eyes only resting momentarily on Harry and Malfoy but her face doesn't show any emotions beyond concern.
'Mr Malfoy,' her soft Scottish lilt gentle and coaxing. 'Your mother is in my office with Head Auror Robards, Minister Shacklebolt, and Professor Slughorn. Mr Zabini will take you.'
Malfoy pushes himself off Harry, not looking anyone in the eye. His mask slipping into place despite the obvious puffiness and redness around his eyes and all Harry wants to do is carry on holding him and protecting him from what is coming. He's sure it can't be good.
He watches Malfoy leave his room, the door closing softly behind him, and suddenly finds himself under the scrutiny of McGonagall's all-seeing gaze.
'Narcissa is being sent to France with immediate effect to complete her house arrest,' she says. 'Draco and Andromeda Black will be allowed to visit, with prior notice, but the location is to be kept a secret.' She purses her lips and Harry knows she doesn't approve. He, too, thinks the punishment severe. Narcissa has just lost her husband under awful circumstances, it doesn't seem fair to immediately isolate her. 'The Minister thinks it will be better, for her own safety.'
Harry doesn't say anything. Instead, he withdraws his wand and points it at the desk and mutters, 'Reparo.' He repeats the exercise time and time again. Splinters of wood pull back into recognisable furniture. Paper and books become whole again. The wood panelling and the bedframe lose their unsightly gashes. The bedding and curtains fixed. The room is repaired so you can't tell any damage had been inflicted upon it.
McGonagall watches him closely.
'Pansy thought I would be the ideal person to sort this out. It seems a bit of a tall order.' He knew McGonagall would understand that he wasn't referring to Malfoy or his bedroom. 'I hope they catch the bastards.'
'They have already.'
'Good.'
He gets up with a heavy heart, knowing the fight has barely begun despite the war being over.
*****