Veritas Vos Liberabit [Drarry Fanfiction]

No Memories

"Draco Malfoy, you will do as I ask or you are one foot in Azkaban! Do you hear me?!" the girl shrieked, making him wince a little.

Potter knew... Potter knew... He bloody knew...

This one thought was put on repeat in his mind, and he couldn't shake off the sense of impending doom. The git would probably refuse to speak on his mother's behalf after this, she would be sent to prison, she would die there.

Draco didn't care much what would happen to him, he had already given up whatever remains of hope he had left.

"Mister Potter has asked to speak to you in person. You will meet with him and you will behave!" the Auror said in frustration.

Potter wanted to meet him, after everything, after this twat had babbled all the information she ripped out of his memory.

"And what if I don't want to see him?" Draco spat. He was so tired of everything, he wished somebody would bribe this bint to throttle him already and put the end to his misery.

"I am afraid, you have no say in the matter." Baelish replied shortly.

Brilliant, just bloody brilliant...

Maybe Potter would actually want to smother Draco after all, that would be the least he could do.

* * *

He stumbled into the attic. It was filled to the brim with all sorts of magical curiosities, old furniture and suspicious objects that would feel right at home at Borgin and Burks. Harry thought of selling some Blacks' possessions, but he was afraid they would end up in wrong hands.

He veered around the piles of antique rubbish, trying to find what he was looking for. The stash of firewhiskey he moved upstairs in case Hermione found out about the cellars should have been somewhere in there, under one of the lamp covers or in one of the lopsided cupboards. He tripped over something in the dark and fell face down on the dusty floor. Harry groaned in pain. His head felt like an overripe watermelon that was about to burst. It was an old school trunk, not unlike his own, with letters S and B painted in silver.

The Blacks wished Sirius was sorted into Slytherin so much, they'd even gotten him a green and silver school suitcase.

Harry had found a lot of his godfather's things over the weeks he spent renovating the place, but he saw this old case for the first time. He lit the gaslight as an afterthought and tried to open the trunk. Potter cast all the spells he knew, but the stupid thing would not budge.

He kicked it in frustration and the trunk flew open like it had never been locked in the first place. It was empty. He let out a frustrated laugh. What a letdown. And he naively thought there would be something of value inside. He stood up, shaking dust off his clothes, and then he paused for a moment. There was something inside the trunk, hiding behind the tattered lining. It was an old muggle photo-booth envelope. "Take your photo only for 30p." it said on the front in washed off blue letters.

Inside Harry saw what he assumed to be photos taken during one of the drunk shenanigans in muggle London. He saw his father, young and disheveled, his spectacles askew and a wide grin on his face. He saw Sirius, long dark hair, leather jacket and a confident smirk, hugging a bottle of muggle whiskey. There was Remus Lupin in an unusual flowery shirt, smiling shyly next to his godfather. But the next strip of photos made Harry's hands shake.

There they were: his young godfather and the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher kissing passionately captured by a grainy muggle camera.

Sirius Black, the person he admired, the person he wanted to be more like, was a bloody poof...