Snatch

Snatch

Draco Malfoy was not a stupid boy, despite what rather a lot of people thought. So when he found himself face to face with Voldemort the summer before his sixth year, the decision he made was not a hard one.

"Will you fight for me, Draco Malfoy?" Voldemort hissed.

"Yes," Draco had said, with utmost sincerity. And then sent an owl to Dumbledore.

***

Two days later, he was sitting in the headmaster's office, trying to avoid Dumbledore's eyes, which kept twinkling knowingly at him.

Draco's letter lay on the desk between them. He was rather embarrassed to see that several lines were all in capitols, and quite a few exclamation points littered the page. The words "RED EYES!" and "SLITS FOR NOSTRILS!!!" jumped out at him and he winced. It had been written in the heat of the moment, but still... he couldn't help but think of what his father would say.

"I was very pleased, if a little surprised, to receive your owl, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore was saying. "There are several ways we could proceed from here."

"Indeed?" Draco said, drawing the word out and raising an eyebrow. He was conscious of the fact that he now looked every inch the Malfoy he was. His trembling fingers he hid under the rim of the desk. It was important to keep up appearances.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "Voldemort-" Draco tried and failed not to flinch at the name, "-will most likely know that you are here by now. I trust you've thought about this and what it will mean for you?"

Draco nodded. He knew what it meant. It meant he wouldn't be going home again as long as Voldemort lived; it meant every child in Hogwarts with a Death Eater for a parent would be told he was a traitor; it meant his father would probably disown him; it meant his life would never be the same again.

He didn't tell Dumbledore that it was only after he'd sent the letter that he'd thought of these things, sitting alone in his room with the door locked. He wondered if things would have been different if he'd thought of it all before.

But of course Dumbledore hadn't been thinking of any of those things when he'd asked the question. "It means I can't spy for you," said Draco with a sneer. "I wouldn't have wanted to anyway. I'm not one of your little Gryffindor pets. I wrote you because the Dark Lord is mad and I wanted to get away from him, not betray him where he could catch me."

He watched the headmaster for signs of disapproval or disgust but found nothing. Dumbledore looked as serene as ever. "Very well, I'm sure you can be helpful to us in other ways," he said. "You are willing to help us, are you not, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco shivered and then nodded once.

"There will be many questions people will want to ask you. Are you willing to answer them?"

"Yes."

"Under the influence of Veritaserum?"

Draco glared at him. "I'd tell the truth anyway."

"Be that as it may, precautions must be taken," said Dumbledore. "You should also expect your loyalty to be questioned. People will not readily believe you would join us without a motive."

"I do have a motive," Draco pointed out. "Staying alive."

"We shall do our best to help you with that," said Dumbledore, with a small smile. "Beyond answering our questions, it will be your decision how deeply you wish to join in the fight against Voldemort. If you wish simply for a safe haven then you are welcome to it." Draco glowered, wishing he could do something to throw Dumbledore off. Disrupt that brisk matter-of-fact voice. "The doors of Hogwarts are always open to our students, and you will be safe here no matter what you decide."

Draco snorted. "Oh yes, everyone knows how safe Hogwarts is."

He was pleased to see Dumbledore had nothing to say to that.

***

They took him to a dark house where he drank clear liquid and told them all his father's secrets. All the ones he knew, anyway.

"Why are you doing this?" they asked him.

"Because I'm less afraid of you," he replied in the same blank, level voice.

They didn't ask him any more questions after that.

***

Draco had known sixth year was going to be difficult. He didn't realize how difficult until he opened the door to the Room of Requirement and, after a moment of stunned silence, was hit with several curses at once.

When he came to, he was aware of a great deal of shouting and a rather impressive headache. He rubbed his temples and then opened his eyes. Harry Potter looked back at him. Beyond Harry Draco could see Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley standing in front of a rather large group of students in what appeared to be an attempt to hold them off. They weren't doing a very good job of it, Draco noticed. Occasionally Ron would let someone nearly get past before receiving a stern look from Hermione, and halfheartedly shooing them away.

"He's awake," Harry said, and everyone stopped talking. Draco sat up slowly. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

"Yeah," said Ron, "there's no Umbridge to rat us out to this year." His frown suddenly deepened. "Unless maybe you've gotten Snape to side with you?"

Draco glared at him. It was very hard not to just get up and leave. It had been Dumbledore's idea for him to come here in the first place. Or more like his subtle hint.

"I didn't come here to turn you in to anyone," he ground out. "I came to join you." There was a moment of outraged silence and then everyone began shouting again. Except for Harry, Draco noticed, who simply looked curious.

"Harry, we can't let him stay," said Hermione.

"Of course we can't," said Ron indignantly. "We're not going to!"

"Yes, we are," Harry said softly. Draco watched the Weasel's face pale and Granger's face flush and then turned to look at the Boy Who Lived. His hair was as messy as ever and his glasses were crooked. There were dark circles under his eyes. He was looking back at Draco and there was nothing in his eyes other than that mild sort of curiosity and a weariness that seemed somehow permanent. No spark of anger or disgust. No sign at all of the animosity that had been there for nearly as long as Draco had known him. And suddenly Draco realized it just wasn't there anymore. Somewhere along the way Harry had discarded it and now it was just... gone.

Draco would never have expected to miss it.

But he did.

***

They accepted him in the end because Harry told them to. They still didn't like him, but Draco didn't particularly like them either, so it all evened out in the end. He thought they at least believed he was on their side, if only because Harry got Ron and Hermione to grudgingly admit to overhearing Draco being questioned with Veritaserum. When Draco had asked them how Granger had muttered something incomprehensible about "Extendable Ears" and then gone back to glaring at him.

Weasley, of course, couldn't leave it at that. "I heard what else you told them later, Malfoy. You said you'd help as long as you didn't have to fight. You're nothing but a coward."

Draco ignored the whispers as he looked Ron straight in the eye. "If I had wanted to fight, I would have joined the Death Eaters." No one seemed able to think up an answer to that.

So they didn't like him, but they tolerated him. Because he could tell them about the spells no one in Hogwarts taught, and show them the tricks to look out for when fighting a Death Eater. And because none of them wanted to go against Harry.

It was disgusting how they all tiptoed around him. They turned to him for everything but never wanted to openly speak the truth. None of them wanted to say that he was the only one who could save them.

Harry was just as nice to Draco as he was to everyone else. He was polite and patient, and in return Draco was as rude and cruel as possible until he realized how tiring a one-sided fight could be, and then he was just himself. Not many people noticed the difference. Harry didn't seem to mind though. Draco even noticed Harry would seek him out outside D.A. meetings after awhile.

Ron and Hermione were furious.

***

Sixth year passed quickly.

In June, a group of Death Eaters attempted to kidnap Harry in Hogsmeade, but several members of the D.A. had been there to help and everyone escaped relatively unharmed.

Draco hadn't been there.

For the summer he was sent back to the dark house he had been questioned in. They told him it was called Grimmauld Place. Remus Lupin lived there with him, and he noticed a great many people would pass through quite often. Sometimes they came in groups and Draco was told to stay in his room. Eventually he dragged the secret of the Order of the Phoenix from Lupin, although at that point he'd already pieced most of it together anyway.

Draco hated the house, but found he rather liked being in the company of adults for a change. They hid their dislike better. Lupin had been cool towards him at first, but after a few weeks Draco began to suspect the man enjoyed his company. When Draco showed an interest in his collection of dusty, well-used books the ice was successfully broken.

Draco kept track of the moon's progress and locked his door when it became full. He spent most of the night awake, listening for sounds of an attack. When morning came, nothing in the house looked any different, and Lupin appeared later in the day. He looked worn and slightly battered, but not especially vicious. Draco relaxed a bit after that.

***

"You remind me of someone," Lupin said once. It was after he had found Draco in a screaming match with the portrait of Mrs. Black for the fifth time in one week. He'd flung a blanket over the painting and dragged Draco into the next room, but there was a faint smile on his face.

"Who?" Draco asked, pushing his hair back and trying to slow his breathing. He felt the fact that he was going out of his way to argue with a portrait was faintly ridiculous, but it wasn't as though there was anyone else to fight with. He had a sneaking suspicion that his face was flushed.

Lupin opened his mouth to reply, and then paused. His face grew solemn. "An old friend," he said at last. And then he went into his room and didn't come out for hours.

***

On a day in early August, there was a knock on the door and Draco got up to open it. Harry Potter was standing outside in the rain. He blinked behind fogged up glasses when he saw Draco.

"I forgot you'd be here," he said.

Draco was about to remark upon the rudeness of showing up on people's doorsteps without so much as a hello, and then acting as if the person answering the door was the one with no right to be there... and then he saw the blood on Harry's shirt. He didn't say anything after all, just looked at Harry, and Harry looked back, his eyes clouded. For a moment, the only sound Draco could hear was the heavy summer rain falling all around them. Then he heard footsteps in the hall, and Lupin's voice behind him.

"Draco, who is it?" The footsteps paused and then continued again more rapidly. "Harry! What on earth are you doing standing out in the rain? Is something wrong?" Lupin's sharply indrawn breath came from somewhere above Draco's left ear, and then he was being pushed out of the way.

"Where is the blood from?" Lupin's voice was low and serious as he drew Harry quickly inside the house and shut the door. "Are you hurt?"

Harry shook his head. "No, it's not mine."

"Come with me," Lupin said, steering Harry into the living room. The door slammed shut behind them.

For a moment Draco stood alone in the hall, silently looking after them. Then he rushed to put his ear against the door. He could easily hear every word being spoken within.

"Who's blood is it, Harry?" he could hear Lupin ask.

"Look, I'm really fine," said Harry. Draco wondered if he had heard the fear and worry in Lupin's voice. His own still had a dazed quality to it. "I didn't mean to frighten you, showing up like this."

"I would be a lot less frightened if you'd tell me whose blood is on your shirt."

Quiet. Then Draco heard the sound of someone sitting down. "I was in the house this morning when I heard a funny noise outside. I went to go out and see what it was and when I opened the door I found Hedwig." Harry's voice didn't sound so dazed anymore. It just sounded flat. Draco heard Lupin sigh. "I had picked her up when Aunt Petunia came and found me and started screaming, so then Uncle Vernon came and he started yelling... I just left. Death Eaters did it. They left their mark."

There was the sound of rustling fabric, and Draco knew Lupin had put his arm around Harry's shoulders.

"I know everyone wanted me to stay there a bit longer, but I couldn't. Not anymore."

"It's fine. You can stay here, of course." Again there was a long pause and then: "You don't always have to be all right, Harry," Lupin said. "You can cry if you want to."

"I know," said Harry.

Draco stayed there listening for a long time after that. But all he could hear was silence.

***

Draco lay awake in bed late into the night thinking about things. Like how he hadn't seen Harry lose his temper since fifth year. Not once.

He let out a sharp sigh of annoyance, and wondered exactly when he'd become the type to want to "fix" people.

***

Harry stayed with them for a week and then Ron and Hermione came along with half the Weasley family. It was crowded and noisy, and Draco spent most of the time in his room.

When he came out, he would see Harry sitting between his best friends and listening to them talk. He smiled very rarely.

By the time they went back to Hogwarts, everyone had gotten used to it.

***

Seventh year went along feeling almost exactly the same as sixth year to Draco. And then November came.

They had a practice that day, and Draco had taken some pleasure in disarming Hermione. There was only one person who he couldn't beat now; that was how it should be, he supposed. It was how things had always been.

Once they were finished and people began to file out the door, Draco went to retrieve his robes, left crumpled in a corner, and when he turned back, only Harry was left. He wasn't playing with his hands or shuffling his feet or showing any signs of the nervousness that came along with awkward moments like these. He had noticed that unnecessary movements didn't have a place in Harry anymore. Even that part of him was focused on... whatever it was that he was focused on. Winning probably. Draco briefly wondered when nervous habits had become a threat to defeating Voldemort, but didn't ask. It was a stupid question, really.

"See you later," Draco said, breaking what had to be some sort of moment, what with the silence and the staring and everything. He pulled on his robe, and started for the door without waiting for Harry to reply.

"Why won't you fight?" Harry's voice rang across the empty room, and Draco stopped walking abruptly.

"Honestly, Potter!" he said, turning and trying not to splutter. "You can't just ask questions like that. It's horribly rude."

Harry raised an eyebrow, and Draco felt faintly disappointed in himself: that a raised eyebrow was now the only reaction he could provoke. Harry just stood there watching him, waiting. Draco looked down at his feet, and then back up. "Why do you think I won't fight?" he asked. Because it was suddenly important to know.

Harry looked thoughtful. "Last year, I would have thought it was because you were afraid. I would have thought you weren't brave enough or good enough to fight. But now... I don't think that's right. I see you practice in here, and you're practically as good as I am now. No one could say you haven't been working hard, or that you haven't helped us." Harry paused, and Draco thought that two years ago he would have shrugged, or pushed his glasses up. But then, two years ago, Harry wouldn't have been talking to him.

"I just wanted to know why," Harry said.

The answer was there, waiting to be spoken as it hadn't been when people had asked him before. Maybe Draco wouldn't have told him a year ago, when he'd thought he knew the answer just like all the rest.

"You're first guess was right," he said, feeling his lips twist into some bitter form of a smile. "I'm a bloody coward. Too bad Weasley isn't here. No doubt he'd be pleased to hear me admit it."

Draco could see Harry was confused, even though his eyebrows didn't scrunch up like they would have before. "We're all afraid," he said, as though the words were barely recognizable anymore. It was what happened, Draco knew, when they'd been repeated so many times they stopped making sense.

We're all afraid. We're ALL afraid. We'reallafraidwe'reallafraidwe'reallafraid.

There were moments when he thought he might end up in St. Mungo's, no mattered what happened.

He turned his attention back to Harry.

"We're all afraid, but they'll do it anyway. At some point everyone will have to fight." It was amazing how easy it was for Harry to say it, when Dumbledore had managed to never say it at all. "You have a better chance then most of staying alive. I don't understand."

Of course he didn't, Draco thought. Because being satisfied with the simple explanation would have been too easy for Harry Potter.

"Look, I'm a Slytherin, if I think I can get away with remaining as safe as possible while the rest of you go out and risk your necks, I'm going to do it. Because you're wrong, Potter. Chances are, I'm going to have a harder time staying alive out there then the others will, even if it's my own fault." And here was where things got embarrassing. "I'm not sure-" he paused and took a breath. "I'm not sure I could actually do it. If it came down to it, that is. I don't know if I could actually kill someone. It's a bit different for me, after all." When he looked up at Harry, he realized he was sneering. It was good that some things still came naturally. "What would you do if you recognized the voice behind the mask?" He leaned against the wall behind him, and then sank to the floor.

"You're afraid of killing your father?" Harry said slowly.

Draco let out a harsh laugh. "I doubt I'd be capable of doing any such thing, but yes, you get the general idea. It's not like he's the only Death Eater I've ever known. Who do you think our friends were? Who do you think came to our dinner parties? And I'd be willing to bet that a fair number of my housemates have joined the ranks since summer."

He paused for breath, and looked down at his hands. It was easier to speak when he didn't have to look at Harry. "It's not that I don't want to win, and I know that means they're going to die. It's just... I don't know if I'm capable of being the one to do it. And it's one of those things I'd rather not chance. Because I do know that none of them would hesitate to kill me, and I have no interest in dying. It's why I'm on your side, after all. It all comes down to self-preservation really."

He didn't look up. If he had, he would have seen Harry walking closer, and then maybe he wouldn't have jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. That certainly made him look up.

There was no wrinkle of concern on Harry's forehead, but somewhere in his eyes, Draco thought he saw a glimmer of something earnest. Maybe even something hopeful.

"I don't think that makes you a coward," Harry said.

It shouldn't have been another moment. Not one of those moments anyway. With locked eyes and suddenly sweaty palms and the need to hold one's breath for fear of breaking the silence. But it was.

Draco wondered if it was some sort of mistake, some awkwardness caused by the things he'd said. Or maybe if he was just imagining things. He was still wondering when Harry leaned down and kissed him.

He wasn't sure if being kissed by his former worst enemy made his life better, or just that much worse.

***

The state of things both improved and declined for Draco after that.

On the one hand Ron and Hermione, who had up to that point had been doing their best to ignore him, went back to hating him vehemently and openly. Apparently there were some limits to Harry's power over them, and Draco Malfoy was one of them. Other members of the D.A. followed suit, seeming to think that if they did it, then treating the Slytherin like crap must be okay again.

On the other hand, he had Harry. Sort of.

***

When Draco stopped to think about it, he was surprised. After all the years of intensity he would have expected fireworks, explosions even. But there was nothing. Nothing except the feeling of slipping into something surprisingly inevitable.

It was only natural, he thought. Harry might die; he was allowed to snatch at any experience he could get. It was what everyone else thought too. You could see it in their eyes when they looked at him. It was why they would never tell him that they disapproved.

And Draco, well, Draco had no intention of dying. It was why he was with Harry in the first place. But, he thought, you couldn't always know what was coming. Maybe it was better to snatch. Just in case.

It was nice, just not what Draco would have expected.

He tried not to think about the fact he had ever expected anything at all. If he did he was afraid he might be disappointed.

***

They met in deserted classrooms full of unused furniture. Couches and chairs that, once you pulled the sheets off, were perfectly clean and comfortable.

Sometimes they brought their homework with them. Draco smirked at Harry's potions grades, and Harry almost smiled when Draco transfigured a chair into a velvet dog.

Sometimes being with Harry felt like trying to run under water.

***

They started having what Draco liked to refer to as ‘mock Order meetings'. The D.A. would hold the meetings in a dark room with a round table, and at the table they would discuss plans of action, and try to guess what the enemy was doing. Hermione would make notes, and at the end they never reached any conclusions.

Harry didn't talk much at the meetings, except when someone asked his opinion. Occasionally Draco would catch him looking at his friends, full of ideas and bright eyed with the hope that sitting in a dark room and talking in hushed voices would somehow make a difference. Then he would look away.

The truth was, they all knew that they were just keeping busy.

One night everyone left the room except for Hermione. Draco could feel her watching him as he gathered his books.

"Do you want something, Granger?" he asked.

"I want you to leave him alone," she said quietly.

Draco froze and then set his books down again. "Excuse me?"

"Harry. I want you to leave him alone." She lifted her head and looked him in the eyes, and all the bitterness and anger that she tried to hide from everyone else was clear to see now. It was never that far below the surface anyway. "You may be on our side, Malfoy, but you're not helping Harry. I know why you're," she paused for a moment and a blush stained her cheeks, "with him. You just want him to protect you. He doesn't need that now. He needs people who are going to look out for him. You're just one more person on his list of people to worry about."

Draco stared at her in disbelief and then sat down with a harsh laugh. "You're serious, aren't you?" He leaned back and let his lips curl into the familiar sneer. "I've got news for you, Granger, everyone is on that list. We all want Harry to save us. At least I don't have any trouble admitting it." Hermione opened her mouth but Draco didn't let her speak. "When Harry's with me, we barely talk about the war at all. He knows I want him to defeat the Dark Lord and keep me from a painful death, and he'll do his best to make sure that happens. We don't need to talk about it. He's doing the same for everyone else." Draco was proud of how he kept the bitterness from creeping into his words. "At least I don't fuss over him or ask for anything else. Can any of you say the same?"

He picked up his books again and left the room, pausing in the doorway to look over his shoulder at Hermione.

"If you're looking to shorten the list of people Harry worries about, you might think of taking your own name off before mine." He turned and walked away, leaving silence behind him.

***

One day, Harry seemed different. He walked into the room, and barely looked to where Draco sat on an oversized chair. Its velvet was worn thin, and the stuffing was poking through in several places.

"What if I can't do this?" Harry said abruptly.

Draco didn't need to ask what he was talking about.

They had never discussed it before. Not like this, at least. Not when Harry's fingers kept twisting themselves into nervous knots, and for once a small crease lay between his eyes. There was a plea hidden in his words, under his question.

Don't let me die. I don't want to die.

And Draco didn't know what to do.

He stood up smoothly. "Can't do what?"

"This," said Harry, waving his hands around the room. "Do what everyone expects me to do. What if I can't win? What if I try and he still beats me? What will I do then?

"Die, Potter," Draco said. "Then you'll die and so will the rest of us." Harry gaped at him. "Did you come to me looking for comfort? A little bit of pity perhaps? You won't get any from me. You should have run along to your Gryffindor friends. I'm sure they'll tell you what you want to hear."

He wasn't sure why he had said it. Maybe because it was true. And because no one else would.

He glared at Harry, who glared back. He looked different when his face was alive like that. For a moment Draco thought Harry might yell or punch him. Draco thought he might punch back. But the moment faded.

"You're right," said Harry. "That's why I came to you."

Draco couldn't help feeling that he'd failed somehow.

***

"Will you be sad if I die?"

"Yes," said Draco. He didn't add that he would be especially sad if Harry died before killing Voldemort. He didn't really need to, though.

***

"There's been a breakout at Azkaban," Hermione told them.

"They're getting ready for something," said Harry.

Draco shivered and hoped that no one had noticed.

***

The siege began in May.

They weren't allowed outside, but sometimes Draco would watch from the towers, trying to pick out people he knew. He couldn't decide if he was glad or not when he never saw his father.

"Somebody's going to have to attack eventually," Harry said at the meetings.

"This from the boy who's supposed to save us all," Draco murmured.

***

When it finally happened, Draco stayed behind, just as he had always intended. He was one of the few spared to guard the youngest students.

Harry waved at them when they left, and Draco was just as glad to have avoided a long goodbye. Something more would have felt... odd. Draco stood and watched as Harry walked out the door, Ron and Hermione on either side of him. And then he went back to his post to wait.

***

Exactly five Death Eaters attempted to infiltrate the castle. The three that attempted to enter by passing Draco all ended up unconscious. He made the twitchy sixth year standing guard with him tie them up. It hadn't been hard, or even that frightening, and Draco found he looked at it more as a way to pass the time.

Night had come, and Draco was just beginning to feel tired when his three captives suddenly screamed out in unison, as though they shared one voice. And then they stopped.

That was how Draco knew it was over, and who had won.

It all seemed dreadfully anti-climactic.

***

The survivors started filing in after that. Draco pushed past them all to stand at the top of the stairs leading up to Hogwarts huge doors, searching.

"Where is he?" Draco asked Dean Thomas, as he passed by. Blood covered his robes and he was limping slightly.

The boy shook his head. "We don't know."

Draco grabbed him by the front of his robes. "What do you mean you don't know? How can you not know where bloody Harry Potter is?"

"We just can't find him. Can't find Dumbledore either." He gently shook himself free of Draco's grasp. "Everyone who can is out looking for them. You could go help. I think a search party is forming over by Hagrid's hut." Before going through the door, he turned. "Be careful wandering around. Not all of the Death Eaters are accounted for." And then he was gone.

Draco turned and stared out into the darkness.

"Where are you, Potter?"

Draco went to join the search party.

***

In the end, it wasn't Draco who found him. Although he did find Dumbledore. Harry wasn't that far away, close enough for Draco to come running when he heard the shouting, leaving the old man in the hands of those surely more capable then himself.

He was there to watch as Harry's limp, still form was gently lifted, just as dawn broke around them.

***

St. Mungo's was overrun with both patients, and people belonging to patients. They cluttered the hallways and took up all the chairs.

"He'll live," the healer told them. "In fact, there seems to be nothing wrong with him physically."

"Can we see him?" Hermione asked.

The woman wouldn't meet their eyes. "We'd like to do a few more tests first. We'll let you know as soon as it's possible."

By which she quite clearly meant, "There's something we're not telling you."

They all looked at each other wordlessly after she left. Hermione, Ron, Tonks, Neville, and Draco. Draco was the only one without some type of bandage or scrape. He had stubbed his toe walking around in the dark the night before, but he certainly wasn't about to mention that.

"I'm going for a walk," he said, and got up.

Dumbledore's room wasn't hard to find. It was in the quietest wing, away from the urgent thrum of activity that accompanied life and death matters.

When he got to the room, the bed was empty.

"He's probably checking in on someone," said the nurse, and gave him a room number. Draco found him standing just outside the door of what turned out to be one of the busiest wards. He was looking in at Remus Lupin.

"What happened to him?"

"Silver poisoning," said Dumbledore. "They're not sure if he'll recover." He turned to look at Draco. "Has Harry woken up yet?"

"I think so. Maybe. They're not telling us something. They won't let us see him."

"Where were you?" he wanted to say. Dumbledore looked old and tired, and Draco didn't care.

"You didn't think you'd be around to see the aftermath, did you?"

For the first time ever Dumbledore didn't quite meet his eyes.

***

"Not all the Death Eaters have been found."

"No."

"Where's my mother?"

"We don't know. The house was empty. The Ministry will have seized it by now."

"And my father?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Is among the missing."

***

Three days later, they were finally allowed to see him.

"We hope that having people he recognizes around him might help," said the healer. But no one would explain what that meant.

Draco hung back as Hermione and Ron went in. "You can come too," the healer told him. "Dumbledore said to tell you."

Ron glared at him, and Draco clenched his teeth.

"Thank you," he told the woman, and stepped through the door.

The lights in the room were dim. There was a small window on one wall with curtains half covering it, making everything look slightly green. Everything was bare. Harry lay on the bed unmoving, his eyes staring straight ahead. Draco heard Hermione draw in a sharp breath.

"He hasn't responded to any of our treatments," said the healer in a soft voice. "He's very sensitive to any magic being performed on him, which makes things difficult. We haven't found any significant injuries, but his condition suggests head trauma. You can talk to him," she added. "It might help."

Draco watched silently as first Hermione and then Ron sat by the bed and talked to Harry. They sounded stiff and awkward. Hermione looked as though she were about to burst into tears. Draco wondered what his own face looked like. He felt frozen.

They left once they had run out of things to say. Ron wrapped one arm around Hermione, and shot another dirty look at Draco, as though all of this was somehow his fault. The healer had left too and Draco was all alone. With Harry.

He crossed the room slowly, to stand next to the bed. Harry didn't move. Carefully he placed one hand on the sheets, and then ran it slowly along until it brushed against Harry's own. Nothing happened. After a moment, Draco sighed and placed his hand fully atop Harry's.

There was a small part of him that had thought it would work. That by simply taking his hand Draco would be able to wake Harry up. That, somehow, Harry would be restored by his very presence.

Draco rolled his eyes at himself as he left the blank little room. Life didn't work like that.

***

When the Order gathered later to discuss what had to be done, everyone was remarkably quiet. The healers had found a small dark room with a table and some rickety chairs for them to occupy.

Draco sat with his chair pushed back slightly from the others, balancing on the two back legs with his feet resting on the edge of the table. No one even seemed to notice.

Every freckle on Ron's face stood out sharply. His eyes were wide, and had a tendency to become unfocused as he stared off into space. Draco thought he had seen him throwing up into a plant pot in the lobby. Hermione had spent an hour in the bathroom, and when Tonks had finally brought her out her face had been blotchy and her eyes bloodshot. Draco looked at Harry's two best friends, sitting next to each other in the cold room, and then looked away. The rest of the Order members seemed to be in various stages of shock and exhaustion.

No one was speaking. There was one empty chair left.

Draco didn't even have to look when the door opened to know it was Dumbledore. His feet hit the floor. The old man walked quietly to the seat that was so clearly his, and sat down, folding his hands on the table in front of him.

"As I am sure all of you know by now, Harry Potter will live." Draco had never heard Dumbledore speak exactly like that before. His voice wasn't grave; it was just curiously blank. Draco wondered if he had visited Harry in the green-tinted room. "Unfortunately the Harry we are left with is not the same boy of last week."

The Harry we are left with... the Harry we are left with. Draco's lips twisted. It made him sound like some sort of toy that had been broken.

"The healers have tried everything they can think of, but Harry has not responded. He has no serious injury, therefore they can only conclude that this... coma of sorts, was brought on by a mental injury. Harry may be doing this to himself, even. It may be temporary, or he may never fully wake. We have no way of knowing."

Draco saw Dumbledore lift his hands from the table and smooth his beard. Idly, he wondered if it was true the old man had tried to confront Voldemort, and had then been pushed aside by the very boy he'd been trying to protect. It certainly sounded noble.

"For now we are left with a difficult decision. Harry cannot stay here. Even if there weren't still Death Eaters roaming free, the press would eventually gain access to the hospital, and we cannot allow Harry to be subject to that. Once of us must take him."

It was amazing, Draco thought, how quickly the silence of sorrow and pain could turn into the smothering silence of discomfort.

Molly Weasley was the first to speak. "I want to, Dumbledore, and I can but..." Her voice wavered, "...I just have the funeral to see to first." Draco looked from her to Ron, and tried to remember which of their brood had died. One of the oldest boys, he thought. The one who worked with dragons. "I could manage, it's just..."

"No one expects you to, Molly," Dumbledore said gently. "You have quite enough on your plate already."

Eyes turned to Hermione, who blushed and looked down. "I don't think - that is - I'm not sure what my parents would think. I'll be staying with them, and they're Muggles, and they really don't know Harry that well..."

And so it went. One by one Draco watched all Harry's friends stutter their way through a petty excuse. And slowly, Draco could feel an impulse growing inside him. A phenomenally stupid idea.

They passed him right by, of course. Soon they were back to Dumbledore. He didn't seem surprised, Draco noted. "Then I suppose I shall take him back to Hogwarts with me. It's not the best place for him but-"

Draco had never been very good at thinking about the consequences of his actions. At least when it came to Harry Potter. In fact, most of his stupidest and least successful impulses had been directly linked to Harry, perhaps even caused by him. Draco had usually been left feeling silly, or in trouble. Sometimes both. It really all came down to poor impulse control.

"I'll do it," he said. No one heard him. He raised his voice and said again, "I'll do it."

Dumbledore stopped speaking.

"You'll do what?" Ron asked. Rather stupidly, Draco thought.

"I'll take Harry." Draco could feel their stares sharpen.

"You can't," said Hermione, looking at him in horror.

"Why not?" he asked. "Grimmauld Place is going to either Harry or the Black family, and my mother used to be a Black. We could live there."

"Harry is not going to be taken care of by you," said Ron fiercely.

"Who then? Shall we ship him back to his Aunt and Uncle instead? They'd probably be at least as enthusiastic as you lot are. I'm offering, can you really refuse?" He was looking at Dumbledore. The blue eyes stared unblinkingly back at him.

"All right," he said at last. "I hope you know what it is you're getting into, Draco."

"I do," he said evenly, and wondered if that was true. Ron and Hermione were staring at Dumbledore, shock clearly written on their faces. "Well," said Draco, "I had better be going. I have some preparations to make." He rose and felt everyone's eyes move with him. No one said anything, though. Draco wondered if it was perhaps because they had all realized the bitter irony of the situation.

He slammed the door when he left.

***

"He responds to simple commands. He can eat and drink by himself as long as someone is there to make sure he does it right. Same with going to the bathroom. We have him on a schedule here, so it would be best if you continued to follow it once you've got him home. We can write out the instructions for you. Are you listening, Mr. Malfoy?"

He was. He'd heard every word. At the same time, he was trying very hard not to breathe in the air of Harry's room. It didn't smell like the rest of the hospital. It didn't reek of pain and death and sickness. No, what Draco was trying not to inhale was the smell of helplessness and defeat, not quite covered over by the brisk efficiency of care.

It had seemed an almost romantic sacrifice when he'd offered, but Draco wasn't feeling very noble as he looked into Harry's blank, green eyes. It had been a stupid idea. He had known it even then, and he felt it now. The idea of him taking care of anyone was laughable. He had been overwhelmed by the desire to show everyone at that table he was better then they were, and now he knew he wasn't. He couldn't be. Not at this. He should go find Dumbledore now, before it was too late, and tell him he'd changed his mind, and Harry would have to go... where? His mind blank, Draco stood listening to the healer and his own racing heartbeat.

"When will he be well enough to leave?" he asked when she was finished.

***

The house was darker than Draco remembered. And it was filthy. It looked as though a few cleaning spells had been done in the hallway, but cobwebs still hung from the ceiling, and a thick layer of dust lay over everything.

Someone had obviously taken more time with the two bedrooms upstairs, Draco was glad to see. There were no spider webs and fresh sheets had been put on both beds.

The workers from St. Mungo's carried Harry to his room, and then quickly left, leaving Draco staring out the door after them.

He noticed the portrait of Mrs. Black was gone.

It wasn't quite evening, which left Draco with hours to fill before he would be able to sleep. Harry wouldn't need anything until morning, but Draco checked on him anyway, hoping for some easy task to appear. None did.

He spent much of the time before going to bed simply wandering the house, keeping away from dark corners and unknown rooms.

***

Things didn't improve at all once he was actually in bed. Draco had never wished for a pet more than he did in those moments. A cat, a dog, it didn't really matter. Anything that breathed and moved and made noise. Anything to distract him from the smothering dark, and his own wild imagination. Any little spark of life to let him know he wasn't alone.

He lay there, unmoving, frozen by the silence of the house, and the irrational fear that others were waiting for him to move and give himself away.

He'd never tried to sleep somewhere so deadly quiet. It hadn't been like this during the summer, he thought. The usual house sounds were simply not there. He'd always had something to listen to as he fell asleep. A dormitory full of boys was by no means quiet. Even at home there had been a rhythm to the mansion. He had always known that somewhere near by there was movement and people. Or at least house-elves.

Silence, he decided, was worse than any noise. And then a few minutes later, was forced to the conclusion that an unknown noise breaking the silence was actually much worse. It was some sort of squeaking, creaking noise, and Draco had no idea what it came from, but he could imagine a number of horrible possibilities. The ability to think rationally was gone, and all that was left was the fear, rolling over him in great waves.

Shattering the quiet by pulling back the covers and letting his feet hit the floor was hard. It almost made things worse.

He ran through the hall, nearly afraid of his own footsteps, and opened the door to Harry's room.

As he sank into the chair in the corner, reason slowly returned, bringing along with it shame and embarrassment. But more than anything, there was relief.

Maybe it was still dark and quiet, but the sound of Harry's even breathing was quite clear and that was what Draco listened to as he finally fell asleep.

***

Just because Harry was capable of following commands and moving about on his own did not mean taking care of him was to be free of embarrassing moments, Draco soon discovered. Every other day he had to drag a chair into the bathroom, to make sure Harry didn't drown while taking a bath.

The first time was the worst, before it became routine. Draco sat with his eyes glued to his book in mortification.

"Wash your face," he told Harry, who had been sitting in the water unmoving for the past five minutes. As he slowly reached for the washcloth, Draco peeked around the edge of his page. Harry's own attempt at washing his hair had apparently not been very successful. Chunks of it still looked dry, and other parts had soap left in it.

Draco set his book down with a sigh, and began to roll up his sleeves. "O how the mighty have fallen," he murmured, not at all sure who he was referring to.

***

"Tell me I don't have to eat this," Tonks said, when she came to visit in the first week. She picked up the scone, and tossed it from hand to hand a few times before dropping it. It landed on the floor like a rock.

Draco chose to ignore this. "You've wasted a perfectly good scone," he said with a glare.

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Do you even know how to cook?"

"Lupin taught me a few things last year. Breakfast stuff mostly."

"Tell me you and Harry have been eating something other than breakfast foods this past week!"

Draco looked offended. "What's wrong with breakfast?"

A few days later Draco found a package with a note attached to it sitting on the doorstep.

Draco,
For the love of Merlin, you have got to broaden your cooking horizons or else both you and Harry will starve or get scurvy or something equally unpleasant. In the package you will find some cookbooks with simple recipes. Learn them. Try not to burn the house down.

Tonks

P.S. I threw in a book of cleaning spells too. The house isn't going to clean itself!

Draco decided that he'd been tired of eggs on toast anyway.

***

Ron and Hermione came rarely. When they did, it was just to visit Harry. Draco hovered outside the room and tried to listen to what they said to him, but it sounded as though they were just talking to each other.

***

What with Tonks bringing him the things he asked for, and the groceries being delivered to the house, it was quite some time before Draco remembered he could actually leave the house. It was even longer before he actually did so.

The inside of Harry's room was covered in safety and detection spells, so that if anything was disturbed, the small key to Harry's room that Draco carried everywhere would instantly alert both him and the Aurors. As a further precaution, a protection spell had been set up around the outside of Harry's room. The Aurors had charmed it so that Draco was the only one able to activate or dismantle it. Well, Draco or Harry. There was another barrier around the house itself. Draco had been assured that both provided the utmost safety. It didn't explain why he had dragged his own bed into Harry's room, but he thought that probably had more to do with his own irrational fears than any true danger.

So one morning, after carefully activating each spell, Draco finally left the house.

He made his way to the small market that Tonks had told him about, passing grim, weary-looking houses that gradually grew more cheerful. He clutched his wand tightly through his sleeve, and tried not to jump when cars passed by him on the road.

It was pleasant in the market, he decided. Colourful and clean, and not too crowded so early in the day. Draco hoped the strange looks he was getting were caused by the oversized Muggle clothes he'd borrowed from Harry, and not because he'd forgotten some bizarre Muggle custom.

He picked his way through the streets, buying anything that looked good. He was turning for home when one last stall caught his eye. It was a small table selling fruit. Draco wandered over and was greeted by the owner. He looked like a wrinkled old plum, Draco thought, and then wondered exactly where his Slytherin sensibilities had gone. He bought a bag of oranges and left.

When he got back, he walked in and set his bags down on the counter. It wasn't until he had taken the oranges out and began to place them in a bowl that he realized what was wrong.

He hadn't taken the shield down before entering the house.

Draco swallowed hard, trying to ignore the ringing in his ears. Suddenly it felt like night, even though he could see the sun coming in through the window. He walked back to the hallway, letting his wand slip down his sleeve and into his hand. He turned the corner.

"Hello, Draco," said his father. "Expelliarmus."

The strength of the spell blasted Draco backwards into the kitchen, where he was knocked into the counter before sliding to the floor. He sat up cautiously, keeping his eyes trained on where his father stood in the doorway.

"I must admit," Lucius said, and the familiar drawling voice sent a shiver up Draco's spine, "I can almost understand why you turned, but this? Setting up house with the boy who lived?" His father's gaze flickered to the bags that lay scattered around Draco, dislodged by his fall. "Doing his shopping? Even I am surprised you would sink so low."

"What makes you think Harry lives here at all?" Draco said, hating how weak his voice sounded.

Lucius made his way across the floor to where his son was crouched. "Every clue has led me to this house, Draco, every one. And the shield I had to break to get in was there to guard someone important. Not you." He leaned down and brushed Draco's cheek with his long, ragged nail. "That and the fact that you just called him Harry."

"You'll never be able to get to him," said Draco, his eyes searching the room for escape.

Lucius smiled. "That's why it's so fortunate that I found you. For me, that is." He raised his wand. "Crucio."

He'd never felt such pain before. If he could have thought he would have wondered if it was this that had sent Harry over the edge - if maybe the pain was what lurked behind blank eyes. But thought was beyond him. All that was left was agony. He screamed.

And then it was over.

"Good boy," said Lucius, his voice wild. Insanity gleamed in the corners of his eyes and lurked in the lines about his mouth. The aura of finely kept control was gone.

"You have a choice, Draco," said Lucius softly. "You can tell me now how to break the second barrier, or I can keep going until you beg me to take Potter and leave you with the shreds of your sanity."

Draco glared up at him.

"Fine," said Lucius.

The second round seemed longer. An eternity. When it was over he lay gasping on the floor.

"Stop," he whispered. "I'll tell you." He pushed himself onto his knees and felt his body scream in protest. "The second barrier can only be taken down by two people. Once of them is Harry. The other is me."

Lucius smiled slowly and flexed his skeletal fingers around the wand. "Show me."

Draco pushed himself up until he was leaning back heavily against the counter, his hands scrambled behind himself for something to hold on to. He felt the hard wood of the cutting board dig into his back. He took a deep breath, and the scent of crushed orange peels filled his nose.

"All right," he said. And curled his fingers around the knife.

***

Later, when the Aurors finally came, they found him by the trail of blood leading up to Harry's room.

They entered quietly, surveying the scene before them. The room was filled with the broken glass and furniture that Draco had ruined to set the alarms off.

Draco himself knelt by the bed with his head resting in Harry's lap; tentative fingers threading through his bloodstained hair.

***

Draco stayed in bed for a week while different Order members took turns taking care of everything else. And then he got up again. Whenever anyone tried to talk to him about what had happened he pretended he couldn't hear them. He figured that, in the grand scheme of things, it was a pretty good coping strategy.

***

Harry's glasses sat in a case in his bedside drawer, as though one morning he was just going to reach over and put them on.

Looking at Harry without them made Draco uncomfortable. There was a part of him that had believed Harry had always worn glasses, been born in them even. Without them his face looked foreign. Draco thought about putting them on him in the day, but decided against it in the end. It wasn't as though Harry really needed them to stare off into space. And besides, Draco was afraid they wouldn't make a difference.

One day when he was wandering around the house, bored, with nothing to do, Draco tried them on. His image in the mirror was blurry, but he could see enough to know how utterly out of place they looked on his face.

He stopped taking them out after that.

***

Eating breakfast alone got depressing after awhile, so Draco started leading Harry down the stairs to the table in the mornings. It didn't make things much cheerier, but at least he could watch Harry eat and have his own breakfast at the same time. And it distracted him from the blackened pots that were beginning to pile up in the sink.

"I'm awful at this, Potter," Draco told him one morning. "Can you hear me?" He flicked a bit of toast at Harry. It hit his cheek and then fell to the floor.

"I'm absolutely terrible at this!" Draco shouted. He snapped his fingers wildly in front of Harry's blank face. "Pay attention, Potter!"

Standing up suddenly, Draco climbed onto his chair and then stepped onto the table. He hopped up and down, amid the dishes and silverware. "I'm fucking awful at this!" He looked down at Harry's face for some sign of expression. With one sweep of his foot, he sent half the dishes crashing to the floor.

He thought Harry looked vaguely annoyed. But that may have been wishful thinking.

***

It happened in September. Right when Draco was remembering train rides, and new books, and bright days. Anything to distract him from the grimness of reality.

He was downstairs, trying to charm the wooden leg of a chair back on, when the alarms to Harry's room went off. There was a moment of blind panic, and a rush of bloody images, before Draco quickly shut them down.

Clutching his wand, Draco ran from the room and scrambled up the stairs, noting that everything in the front hall looked undisturbed. The front door was tightly shut and locked.

He raced down the hall to Harry's room and threw the door open. Harry wasn't in his bed. Instead he was standing in the middle of the room. When he heard the door open, his head snapped up. He glared at Draco.

"What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?"

***

If anyone had asked Draco up to what point Harry remembered, he could have told them. He knew what Harry had looked like before June of their fifth year, and what he looked like after.

Of course, nobody bothered to ask him.

***

"He doesn't remember anything after May of our fifth year."

"Hmmm," said Dumbledore. He popped a piece of fruit in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "That's what the healers told me also."

Draco glared at him. "You make it sound like we're all lying." He glanced around the headmaster's office, and then back to the small breakfast table they were seated at. It had been set up especially so Dumbledore could meet with him. Draco thought it felt odd. Like he was a professor or something.

"No, of course you're not. I just don't think it's quite as simple as a case of amnesia. There is more to this."

Draco frowned. "You think Harry's lying?"

"If Harry is lying, it's to himself as well." Dumbledore sighed. "He's had a very hard life, Draco, and I don't think he ever got a chance to process most of what happened to him. I believe he has no memory of the past two years, but I very much doubt that Harry has forgotten anything at all. He is simply coming back to us on his own terms."

Draco looked at him dubiously.

"Have a piece of orange," said Dumbledore, holding up a plate.

"I'd really rather not," said Draco.

***

"He's had a very hard life," Draco mimicked on the train ride him. Nothing ever really changed. "Stupid, bloody Potter."

***

Life in Grimmauld Place had become quite awkward since Harry had woken. It was full of suspicious glances and animosity. Draco felt this was an improvement. Not that he was about to tell Harry that.

"Why didn't I go live with Ron or Hermione?" Harry asked him. "Or anyone besides you?"

"They didn't tell you?" Harry shook his head. Draco thought back to a dim room and the circle of ashamed faces, and wasn't all that surprised. And then he looked into Harry's clear green eyes sparkling with anger and poorly concealed dislike. He thought of the words he could say, would have said last time Harry had looked at him like that, that would hurt him the most and maybe bring his eyes to the cloudy focus of sixth year. And, suddenly, Draco knew he would do just about anything to keep that from happening.

So he improvised.

"The Ministry granted Grimmauld Place to both of us," he said with a sneer, while his mind raced. "In order for each of us to keep our claim on the house we have to spend a year here, and then they'll decide which of us gets it. Apparently, your friends thought this place would be important to you, so that's why you're here. I wasn't about to share a house with Weasel or the Mudblood, so I got stuck with you.

Harry glared at him. "I don't care if you turned out to be on our side. You're a complete and utter bastard, Malfoy, you know that?" He stomped out of the room and Draco was left staring after him, wondering if the Harry from fifth year actually would have been stupid enough to believe such a flimsy lie, or if maybe he really did have brain damage.

***

Ron and Hermione came the next day. Draco left as soon as they got there, not looking forward to the touching reunion. He went to the same market he had visited the day Lucius came. All the same stalls were there, with all the same people selling. This time he didn't buy anything. After about an hour of wandering, Draco turned and walked back to Grimmauld Place.

The house was silent. Draco wondered how much laugher and talk it would take for the echoes of sound to linger in this place. Obviously more than it had been getting lately.

He thought everyone may have left, gone out to celebrate or something, so he very nearly jumped when he found Hermione sitting in the living room.

"We need to talk," she said.

Draco stood in the doorway a moment, and then took a seat in the chair opposite the couch. She looked very different, he noticed. The pinched, sickly look they had all developed during the war was gone, and the bloodshot eyes, and shadows of its aftereffects had faded. She had a healthy glow that hung about her. Draco wondered how she'd managed it. To him it felt as though every dark shadow and bruise had been burned into him.

"Where are Weasley and Harry?"

"Ron had to go," she told him. "Harry's asleep upstairs. We need to talk," she said again.

"About what?"

"Harry." Draco's lips twisted into a half-smile. As if he hadn't seen that answer coming. It was always about Harry, wasn't it?

"Everyone appreciates what you've done for him," Hermione carried on, "but things are different now."

Draco looked at her sharply. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that Harry has no memory of the past two and a half years! He wakes up and he's living in a house with someone who he still thinks of as an enemy, and his whole life is completely different! He's terribly confused and upset. We need to think about what's best for Harry now."

Who were you thinking about before? Draco wanted to ask. "And what do you think the best thing might be?" he said instead, stretching his legs out and trying to dispel the feeling of dread that was settling in his stomach.

Hermione didn't answer right away. She looked at Draco, and then down at her skirt. Carefully, she smoothed out a wrinkle in the fabric.

"We think you should move out."

Draco leapt to his feet. "What?"

"We, that is, Ron and I and several others, feel that it would be best if Harry was around the people he remembers. Certainly you can understand why he might not want to live with you?"

"It's my house too - you can't just kick me out!"

"Actually," said Hermione evenly, "the Ministry granted the house to Harry over the summer. At the time, it was acknowledged that you would be living here also, but the house belongs to Harry. You must not have received your letter notifying you about the hearing."

"I'll bet you made sure of that," Draco snarled. "And how is Harry supposed to live here alone exactly?"

"He won't be alone. Ron and I had been thinking of finding a flat together, but now that Harry's awake it's best we just move in here to take care of him."

"Oh, how generous of you. Tell me, what stopped you from doing this three months ago? Where were you then? Where were you when Harry was being given away to the highest bidder like it was a bloody auction?"

Hermione was on her feet now too. "Oh! I just knew you were going to hold that over our heads! In fact, that's probably the only reason you did it. I bet you can't wait to tell Harry how you were the only one who would take him. No doubt you'll leave out the reasons why. You sicken me, Malfoy!"

Draco thought of his hasty, ill-conceived lie, and could have laughed. Instead he looked coolly at Hermione, and said, "You don't know a thing about me, Granger."

"Maybe, maybe not, but I do know that Ron and I know what Harry needs right now, much more than you do. He has a chance to make a new life for himself. If you ever cared for him at all, you'd let him take it."

"And what happens to his new life when his memory comes back, have you thought of that?"

"We don't even know if it will," she said quietly.

Draco froze and looked closely at her. "That's it, isn't it?" he said slowly. "You don't even want him to remember."

"Oh, and what great things does he have to remember? You? You were just an experiment. Hell would have to freeze over before Harry ever truly loved the likes of you!" Hermione shouted, her calm finally breaking.

Draco took a small step back, and let out a little laugh of disbelief. "You say I sicken you? At least I'm not the one hoping he doesn't get his memory back, just to keep him from remembering the things I disapprove of."

"That's not the only reason!" Hermione said, but Draco ignored her.

"This is the perfect opportunity for you. You get to remake Harry so that he's everything you ever wanted him to be. You'll turn him into something he never was, instead of trying to help him find who he truly is."

"And I suppose you would?" Hermione shouted back. "You don't even care about him!"

"Neither do you!"

"You're only doing this to spite all of us. That's the only reason you offered to take him in the first place!"

"What's going on here?"

They both froze. Harry was standing in the doorway. He had changed back into his pajamas, and his hair was sticking out at even odder angles than usual. That will be a job to brush, Draco thought, and then realized he didn't have to anymore. Harry was looking back and forth between them suspiciously, and for a moment Draco pretended that nothing had changed, and Harry was about to step in and solve everything. Because it was stupid to believe that Draco Malfoy could fix things, but Harry Potter could at least do it for him.

And then Harry turned to Hermione, and the suspicion broke. Instead all he looked was confused and uncertain. "What do you mean Malfoy offered to take me?"

It was a long sort of silence. Draco didn't look at either of them, but he could faintly see Hermione's shadow mimic her fidgeting and then disappear as she went to stand by Harry.

"We wanted to take you, Ron and I did. It's just - it was right after everything happened..." She trailed off, and Draco turned to look as Hermione smiled at Harry. A small nervous smile to cover up other things.

"But he said - I thought -" Harry turned, and Draco looked quickly away.

"What did he say? What did Malfoy tell you?" Draco could feel her glare, and waited for his pitiful little cover-up to be revealed. But nothing came. He glanced cautiously back, and Harry's eyes caught his own.

"Nothing. It doesn't matter." Draco breathed a sigh of relief that got caught in his throat as Hermione spoke again.

"Well, things are different now," she said, and Draco filled in the blanks.

Things are different now that you're awake again. Things are different now for me.

"Ron and I are planning on moving in here."

And kicking Malfoy out.

"Won't it be fun? It can be the three of us together again."

And everything will be the same because we won't ever let you change.

You can't do this, Draco wanted to say. But if she asked him what he meant, he wouldn't have been able to tell her. Couldn't what? Take Harry away? It would have been a silly thing to say. He had never had Harry in the first place.

"We can start making the arrangements tomorrow," Hermione said. It was really brilliant, Draco thought, how she managed to make it seem as though she had explained everything. It was perfect how she managed to gloss over the exact reason neither she nor Ron had taken him in the beginning. And it was smooth, so smooth, how she turned to Draco now, and said, "You can stay until you find a place of your own, of course. We wouldn't think of kicking you out."

The anger was there. Sizzling under the surface. The kind of anger that made him want to shout filthy names at her smirking face and return a slap from third year. But that was what she wanted. "You're too kind," Draco said, "but I'm sure I can find someone else to stay with. In fact, I'll go pack my things now."

"No," said Harry.

Turning to look felt dreamlike.

"No?" Hermione echoed, her forehead creasing.

"I think-" said Harry, "I think things should stay as they are for now."

Hermione's face was uncomprehending.

"Malfoy stays." Harry smiled at her. "It was nice to see you. You and Ron should come back and visit soon."

And when he left the room Dumbledore's words echoed around in Draco's head.

I very much doubt that Harry has forgotten anything at all.

***

That night Draco couldn't stop running everything through his head, over and over again. If the day before someone had given him a chance to leave Grimmauld Place, he wasn't sure what he would have said. He wondered what it meant that, at the thought of leaving Harry behind, he had suddenly been fighting tooth and nail to stay.

The implications were ridiculous.

***

Harry was unpredictable, Draco soon discovered. Although he could usually be counted upon to be in a bad mood around Draco.

"What are you even good at?" he asked one day with a glare.

Draco blinked. "Dusting," he thought. "I'm very good at dusting and banishing cobwebs, and other cleaning spells. I'm good at alphabetizing old dusty books, and I'm good at Dark magic, and I'm brilliant at defense spells, especially the ones you taught me. I can cook almost any meal in the four cookbooks sitting in the kitchen, and I sort of fixed the sink that one day it was leaking and no one else was around - even if the leak did come back worse the next week. I can tell you the meaning of almost any word in the dictionary sitting on the shelf, and I can balance my wand on my nose for exactly one minute. I know because I spent two hours practicing one afternoon. I'm good at carrying a full tray up a flight of stairs, and reading to someone who never responds. And I'm good at making sure invalids don't drown in their own baths."

What he said was, "I'm very good at remembering things. It's a skill you seem to lack."

"That's a pitiful insult, Malfoy," Harry said.

"You are quite possibly the most thick-headed person I've ever met," said Draco. "How's that?"

***

The next morning at breakfast Harry sat glaring at his plate, and then at Draco, and then at the innocent spider making its way up the table leg.

"What is your problem this morning, Potter?" Draco asked, after Harry nearly cracked a cup from slamming down too hard.

Harry looked up at him stormily. Stormy was a good adjective to describe Harry, Draco thought. His moods were stormy, his eyes were stormy, his expression was stormy. His goddamn hair was stormy.

"If you have such a good memory, why is it you seem to have forgotten we hate each other?" Harry asked.

And how was he supposed to answer that, Draco wondered. Telling Harry that it must have slipped his mind one of those times they were snogging in an empty classroom would probably be a bad idea. Although it was rather tempting.

"Things change," he said with a shrug.

Harry stood up so fast that Draco jumped. His chair clattered over backwards. "NO!" he shouted. "THINGS DON'T JUST CHANGE!" He slammed his hand down hard on the table. When he lifted it up slowly, Draco could see the remains of the spider underneath.

"Shit," said Harry, looking at his hand. "Shit." The anger was gone, and instead he just looked dazed.

"It's okay," said Draco. "It was just a spider."

"No," said Harry, looking up at him with wide eyes. "You don't understand. I don't kill things."

Draco blinked. "Of course you don't."

***

"These are new," Harry said, pointing to the reddish brown stains on the stairs.

"Mmmhmm," said Draco.

***

Hermione and Ron came to visit most weeks. Draco tried to stay out of their way as much as possible. Which sometimes turned out to be not all that much.

"Oi, Malfoy," Harry called, as he saw Draco heading up the stairs. "Do we have any biscuits left?"

"Do I look like your bloody house-elf?" Draco snapped irritably. Harry muttered something under his breath and, before he could stop himself, Draco tripped and fell forward on the stairs. He picked himself up and turned around. Harry was standing at the bottom of the stairs with Hermione.

"You shouldn't have done that, Potter."

Harry scoffed. "What are you going to do about it?"

His wand was in his hand before he even had to think about it. Harry rose into the air, and was flung from side to side, as though invisible hands were shaking him.

"Whoops," said Draco, in a mock-concerned tone. "I forgot they only taught us the counter curse for that one in seventh year. Tough luck, eh, Scarhead?"

He turned his back on the struggling figure and continued up the stairs, trying to forget the look he'd seen on Hermione's face. It was as though she's finally begun to solve a vexing riddle.

***

"Why are you sleeping down here?" Harry asked one night, when he'd wandered downstairs for a drink of water and found Draco sleeping on the couch.

For a moment Draco considered lying, but it simply didn't seem worth it. "I don't like my room."

Harry smirked. "Scared, Malfoy?"

Draco was too tired to pretend he was fifteen again. "Yes, I am."

***

December was an interesting month. It felt tightly wound, and full of the forced civility that came with being around others. The two weeks before Christmas were filled with unexpected visitors trying to bring cheer to the house.

Draco couldn't decide whether he should get Harry a gift or not.

The tension was broken two days before Christmas Eve. Draco sat in the living room reading a book and pretending not to admire the decorations. Tonks had made him put them up the day before, and he had complained and sneered, but was secretly glad. It reminded him of home somehow. Or a place that used to be home. He was the one to suggest the softly twinkling lights.

"Ron and Hermione are coming over for Christmas Eve," Harry said.

"Joy," said Draco, and flipped a page.

"You better keep a civil tongue in your head, Malfoy."

"I will if they will," he muttered.

"I can't believe I have to put up with you."

Draco lifted his head, and looked at Harry coolly. "As I recall it, you were the one who said I should stay," he drawled.

Harry glared at him, and Draco saw what he should have seen before: Harry wanted a fight.

"You sound just like your father."

The words hit Draco as hard as any punch would have. He leapt to his feet. "Don't talk about my father!"

"Still standing up for him, are you?" Harry sneered. "Still the good little Death Eater's son after all?"

"Shut up," Draco growled.

"No. I'll say whatever I please about Lucius Malfoy! He was just another of Voldemort's cruel, bootlicking followers and-"

"I'm warning you, Potter, shut your mouth."

"-the only reason you aren't exactly the same is because you were too much of a coward. Ron's told me all about you. How you wouldn't get your hands dirty with Death Eater's blood; your father's blood."

Draco sprang at him with a strangled cry even as he wondered how no one could have told Harry. He felt his fist connect, and then they fell to the floor so hard he was afraid the floorboards had cracked. He felt Harry give a soft grunt of pain beneath him, and then begin struggling to flip them over. His nails scratched at Draco's chest and the side of his face.

"I did it for you, you bastard," Draco said, his words coming out in great sobbing gasps. He grasped Harry's arms and shook him. "I did it for you and you don't even remember!"

To his horror his vision was becoming blurry. The figure below him became fuzzy just as he felt himself being flipped over. Harry's elbow jabbed him hard in the stomach and he gagged.

"You're just a stupid git!" Harry said. "And I have no clue what you're talking about!"

Draco's vision abruptly improved as the tears left his eyes and ran down his cheeks. Harry's face was hovering above him, red and with crooked glasses.

"I hate you," Draco spat, because it felt like fifth year again, and for a moment he truly did.

And then Harry leaned down and smashed his lips against Draco's.

It was rough and violent and real and, "Yes," thought Draco, "this was what was missing. This is what should have been there all along." When he closed his eyes he saw fireworks. Or perhaps it was just the twinkling lights.

And then Harry was gone. Pushing away and stumbling across the room. Draco heard him pounding up the stairs, and winced at the slammed door. Carefully, he wiped a hand across his bruised mouth.

"Bloody hell."

He still didn't know if he should buy Harry a gift or not.

***

"About the-" Draco began.

"No," said Harry.

"But I didn't even-"

"We're not going to talk about it."

"But-"

"We're just not."

Draco waited a few minutes and then started again. This time when Harry tried to interrupt, he just talked louder. "I was just wondering if you expected me to get you a Christmas gift or not!"

"Oh," said Harry. "No."

That hadn't been what Draco was going to say at all, but it was worth the lie to see the blush on Harry's cheeks. Besides, his other question obviously wouldn't have been answered.

***

"What's that?"

"A Christmas tree. You and Tonks didn't get one, so I figured I might as well."

"Oh."

"Er, you can decorate it, if you like."

"Thank you."

"Er, right."

After Harry left the room Draco tried to remember if he'd actually looked away from the tree to Draco even once. Draco had been too busy staring at the floor to be sure.

He wondered why everything was so much more awkward the second time round.

***

"So, I take it we're pretending it never happened?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Draco sneered. "Coward."

Harry was blushing furiously. "Shut up."

***

It was decided that the Order would gather at Grimmauld Place on New Year's Eve for a party. Draco wasn't sure who had decided it exactly, except that it certainly hadn't been him. Tonks had simply arrived at their doorstep the day before, her hands full of party supplies.

"Absolutely not," Draco said.

"It's too late. Invitations have already been sent out."

"Is everyone just ignoring the fact that I live here? Why should I be forced to spend New Years with people that hate me?"

"They don't hate you," said Tonks. "Stop being so dramatic."

Draco ended up spending the night sitting in a corner, with several cups of very strong punch.

At midnight, he spotted Ron and Hermione snogging passionately, and had to force himself not to gag.

He was careful not to look at Harry.

***

One day in February, Draco entered the living room to find Harry staring down at a slip of paper in his hands.

"What's that?"

"Letter from St. Mungo's," Harry said tonelessly. "Lupin's dead. I never went to visit him. I knew he was there, and I never went."

Draco had been several times. He hadn't found it much different from being with Harry at the time. Lupin had never woken up after being poisoned.

"It's not your fault," Draco said.

Harry gaze sharpened. "No, at least I was out there fighting with him."

"You can't even remember the war," Draco said, with a sneer. "For all you know you could have been hiding under a rock somewhere." It was a ridiculous thing to say, Harry Potter had never been the hiding type, but Draco didn't particularly care at that point. "Are you seriously suggesting that it's somehow my fault he's dead?"

"Maybe I am!" Harry snarled at him. "Everyone else may think you've changed but you don't fool me, Malfoy. I see who you truly are!"

Suddenly it all seemed a bit much. "But you're the one who thought I'd changed to begin with," Draco said. And then walked out of the room.

***

That night Draco awoke to the sound of screaming. He nearly fell off the couch in his haste to stand. The screams were coming from upstairs. He could recognize it as Harry's voice now, shouting and yelling hoarsely at the top of his lungs. He grabbed his wand, and raced up the stairs.

Harry was crouched in the middle of his bed, the sheets and blankets twisted around him. He drew in a deep breath, and shouted again.

"Sirius!"

"Damn," Draco said under his breath, and then made his way to the bed. He reached out and grasped Harry's shoulders. "Snap out of it, Potter!"

Harry looked up, and Draco saw his eyes were red.

"Tell me it's wrong," he said, his voice rough from screaming. "Tell me it didn't happen like that. It was my fault!" Harry babbled.

"What are you talking about?" Draco snapped.

"Sirius! It's my fault he's dead. I remember, I saw it in my dream, and now I remember." He put his face in his hands.

Draco watched, feeling awkward. At last he sighed. "Tell me about your dream."

So Harry did.

Draco had heard the story before from Dumbledore, but it was different now, listening to Harry tell it between sobbing breaths. By the time he'd reached the end, he had calmed down. He lay with his head on the pillow, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"Is this your revenge?" he asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Before we left school you told me you'd get me back for putting your father in Azkaban. I'll have you, you said. Is this your revenge? Seeing me like this?" Harry turned his head to look at Draco.

"You think," he choked out, "you actually think I'd do all this just for revenge?"

Harry looked at him levelly. "Would you?"

Draco thought about it a minute, and then wondered why he had to think about it at all. "No."

"All right."

Draco looked at him curiously. "How much do you remember?"

"Everything up to my sixteenth birthday, I think."

"Oh," said Draco, feeling relieved and disappointed at the same time.

"Um," Harry's voice was halting and thin. "Do you think you could stay? Just to wake me up if I start dreaming again."

"Okay."

Draco slept in the chair that night. He had to wake Harry up five times before morning came.

***

"Why are there two beds in Harry's room?" Hermione asked, when she came to visit a few days later.

"Why don't you ask Harry?" Draco said, and turned to leave.

Hermione grabbed his arm. "I won't let you take advantage of him, Malfoy."

"If I were taking advantage of him there wouldn't be two beds, would there?"

"I want you to move out of his room."

"Fine," Draco snapped. "I'll move out, and then it will take me that much longer to get to him when he's screaming in the night and needs someone to wake him up. Happy?"

"Oh," said Hermione in a small voice.

Draco felt the anger slowly drain away. "Yeah," he said.

They both stared out the window for a few minutes.

"I'm sorry," Hermione blurted.

Draco looked up. For once she wasn't glaring at him. Instead she actually looked sincere.

"Too little, too late," he thought, but Harry came in before he could say anything.

***

"You seem different," Draco told him.

Harry nodded. "It's Sirius. Remembering how he... I suppose this is just what I was like after."

"No," said Draco. "You weren't like this."

Harry's eyes flashed. "How would you know, Malfoy?"

"That's something you're going to have to remember on your own."

***

When they went to Lupin's funeral, people pointed at Harry and whispered. Draco was careful to keep his distance. Hermione and Ron sat on either side of Harry and walked with him to lay a flower on the coffin. Draco waited until he thought everyone had left before doing the same.

"The healers told me how you visited him in St. Mungo's," said a voice, and Draco jumped. Dumbledore was standing beside him.

"Only a few times," said Draco. Dumbledore nodded and looked thoughtful, and Draco wondered if he knew about the creeping guilt he had felt every time he'd gone. Harry's words had hit closer to home then he would ever admit.

"Nonetheless, Remus would have appreciated it."

Draco nodded. "What did they do with the body?" he asked abruptly.

Anyone but Albus Dumbledore would have looked shocked.

"I assume we are not talking about Remus Lupin anymore?"

Draco shook his head.

"Lucius is buried in a small cemetery in Scotland. I can give you its location if you would like to go there."

"No," said Draco. "I just wanted to know." A part of him was surprised they had given his father a grave at all. He had been picturing a pyre.

Dumbledore's voice broke through his thoughts. "Harry still doesn't know, does he?"

"No," said Draco shortly.

"You might consider telling him."

"Oh yes, the idea of telling Harry Potter my tale of bloody patricide absolutely thrills me," he sneered.

There was a small noise behind them. Draco spun around.

"Er, I'll just wait outside then," said Harry, and hurried for the door.

"You manipulative, old tosser!" Draco spat at Dumbledore, and then stomped away.

***

"I asked Hermione. About your dad, I mean."

Draco stilled, and set his fork down. "And?"

"I'm really sorry about, you know, what happened at Christmas. I wouldn't have said that if I'd known."

Draco could see him fiddling with his napkin and, oh God, he could just never leave things be, could he? He was going to keep talking until Draco snapped. He'd just been innocently eating his breakfast. He hadn't asked to be ambushed like this.

Harry took a breath in. "I know this must be difficult, but there was nothing else you could have done. Your father was-"

"Don't talk about him, Potter," Draco snarled. "Just leave it!"

Harry looked at him, and Draco could see the confusion and righteous anger burning in his eyes. Draco wanted to slap him. Yes, that was what he wanted to do.

"I don't understand, how can you still defend him after everything that's happened?"

Draco pushed away from the table and stood up. "I'm not defending him," he ground out. "I just don't want to remember." He sneered at Harry's shocked face. "Surely you can understand that?"

***

When Draco woke that night, a scream's echo still rang in his ears. He thought he could smell blood.

He sat up, and bit back a yell when he found Harry sitting on the side of his bed.

"Did you have a dream?" Draco asked. "I thought I heard screaming."

Harry looked at him strangely. "That was you. You were screaming."

"Oh," said Draco. "Oh."

Cautiously, Harry reached out a hand and brushed it softly against the side of Draco's face. His fingers came away wet.

And suddenly the smell of blood was overpowering. Blood and other things. Draco closed his eyes tight and tried to forget, but couldn't, not quite. He could remember being sick in the hall, and the shame of it; how his fingers had felt wrapped around the knife, and the look on his father's face when... Draco let his head fall onto Harry's thin shoulder and drew in great gasping breaths.

"It's all right," Harry said soothingly, and Draco knew that in the morning they would act like it had never happened; just like when he'd done the same for Harry.

Fingers ran gently through his hair and Draco's breathing eased. There was a part of him that wished this wasn't one of those things they would never talk about.

***

"At least now you know what you can truly do. I always knew you would do what you had to when it came down to it. You've never been a coward."

Draco stilled. "You remember that?"

Harry looked away quickly. "Remember what?"

***

When Draco woke up, Harry was gone. He lay still for a moment, mulling over the hazy events of the night. He waited for the embarrassment to come flooding over him, but it never did.

At last he got up and wandered downstairs, only to stop short in the kitchen doorway. Harry was using the stove. Draco could not remember Harry using the stove once since he'd regained consciousness. If forced to cook, he had generally resorted to things like toast or cereal. Admittedly, there was toast on the table, but there were also eggs. As Draco watched, Harry carried the pan over from the stove and slid some bacon onto a platter.

Draco gaped.

"I thought I'd give the cooking a try for once," said Harry, with a slightly nervous grin.

"This is actually good," Draco said, a few minutes later.

"Thanks. I used to cook for my aunt and uncle a lot." Harry's face grew thoughtful. "That feels like a very long time ago."

Draco didn't know what to say to that. It was always easier to speak in the night, somehow.

***

Sometimes Draco would catch Harry looking at him strangely. He had never noticed it happening before. At first he thought it was because of his nightmare, but weeks passed, and long after any awkwardness from that should have faded, Harry was still looking at him.

It was a questioning sort of look. As though he was matching Draco up with something inside his head.

"What?" Draco would snap. But Harry just pretended not to know what he was talking about.

Draco realized he didn't have to wake Harry from bad dreams nearly as often anymore. He wasn't quite sure what that meant.

***

Opening the door to find Dumbledore standing on the front steps was not how Draco had planned to start his day. His heart plummeted and landed somewhere around his feet. Or maybe it was his stomach. The two had a disconcerting ability to feel exactly alike at times.

"I suppose you'll want to come in," Draco said.

"I wouldn't say no to a spot of tea either," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling.

Draco scowled and walked into the kitchen, leaving the door open. Dumbledore stepped inside.

"Where is Harry?" he asked once they were seated at the table, the teapot and a plate of biscuits before them.

"Still sleeping," said Draco shortly. He looked at Dumbledore's serene face. "You meddlesome, old man," he thought. "Why can't you just leave well enough alone?"

Dumbledore looked at him sharply, and Draco sneered back at him.

"Draco, I received a letter yesterday that concerns you." Dumbledore reached into his robes and drew out a thin piece of paper, which he laid on the table.

"What does it say?" Draco asked.

"You don't want to read it?"

"No."

Dumbledore sighed. "Very well. I am sorry to be the one to tell you that your mother has passed away. She was found in a Muggle hotel last week."

Draco nodded. He was trying to remember his mother's face, but it kept slipping away from him. He didn't have a photo album. Not like Harry.

Dumbledore began speaking again, and he tried to focus.

"This changes some things. I'm not sure if you realize this, but your parents never changed their will after you left. The Malfoy fortune is yours now."

Draco studied Dumbledore closely. "I find it hard to believe that my father would go to all the trouble of disowning me, and then forget to change the will."

Dumbledore looked steadily back at him. "The Malfoy mansion has been in quite a state of uproar since the Ministry seized it; I suppose it is possible that the new will was destroyed. However, the one I have in my pocket states, quite clearly, that you are the sole possessor of the Malfoy fortune."

Draco leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "What do you expect me to do with this money?"

"Whatever you want," said Dumbledore.

***

He didn't tell Harry about the money. With his fortune back, what need was there for him to stay?

It was a decision he didn't think either of them was quite ready to make. He knew it was coming soon, though.

***

"What are you going to do?"

Draco looked up from his book to find Harry staring at him. "What?"

"What are you going to do? With your life, I mean. You spend your days here reading or doing whatever, you barely leave the house. Is this how you plan to spend the rest of your life?" He didn't sound accusing, just curious. "I want to know."

Draco frowned. "Well, it's not as though I can do much else at the moment. I have to-"

"Have to what? Take care of me?" Harry smiled at him. "That's an excuse, Malfoy."

Draco was silent.

***

Spring came before Draco expected it. In fact, by the time he recognized it, it had already been there for quite some time.

"Almost a year," he thought.

"It seems like longer," said one voice in his head; just as another decided the time had flown by.

"Maybe it's just been going on forever," Draco whispered.

***

One night Harry, Ron, and Neville came back to the house after a night out doing... well, Draco didn't really know what they did.

Harry was moody and more than a little drunk when he staggered into the living room, leaving his friends in the kitchen. He sat glaring at Draco.

"Stop it, Potter," he said at last. "You're going to give me a headache."

"You're all keeping secrets from me," said Harry, his words slightly slurred. "You, Ron, Hermione, everyone! You're all not telling me something I can't remember."

Draco felt his shoulders stiffen. "What makes you think that?"

"I'm not an idiot. What are you all planning on doing when I remember it? Whatever it is."

"I don't know," Draco wanted to say. "It all depends on you, really."

But Harry was still glaring at him, and suddenly Draco was irritated. "What makes you think it has anything to do with you, Potter? The world doesn't revolve around you!"

Harry sneered at him. "Yours does."

Punching Harry in the face felt good, and when Harry hit back he hardly even felt it. Draco had never fought like that before; without the fear of getting hurt, or the awkwardness of being so close to another body. He didn't think of those things this time. There was nothing but the satisfaction of feeling his nails tear at skin, and the fierce joy of hearing a strangled yell as he pulled Harry's head back by his hair. He lashed out with both his arms and legs and connected, and was glad.

It didn't last long. Neville was there pulling him back, and he could see Ron pinning Harry's arms to his sides and shouting for him to calm down. His eyes were still locked on Harry's.

He let himself go limp in Neville's arms. "Not anymore, Potter," he said quietly and, Harry's face suddenly looked bleak. "Not anymore." He pulled free of Neville, and left the room.

***

He had thought arranging his bags around the bottom of the stairs would make for a dramatic exit. Instead, when Harry came down, it just felt uncomfortable. One side of Harry's face was purple from where Draco had hit him. Draco had spent an hour in the bathroom healing his own face. No one would know about the hidden bruises he'd left behind. Draco wasn't sure why he kept them himself.

"You're leaving then," said Harry.

Draco nodded.

"Where will you go?"

"I thought I might do a bit of traveling," said Draco, which was really just a roundabout way of saying he had no idea.

Harry didn't seem to notice though. He sat down on the stairs. "That's good," he said absently. "I mean. It's good you're doing your own thing. You couldn't stay here forever. You need a life."

"Fuck you, Potter."

"What? Oh, I didn't mean!" He sighed. "That didn't come out like I meant it to."

"I know," said Draco, even though he didn't really. He picked up his bags and headed for the door. He was almost there when he stopped and turned around. Harry was still sitting slumped on the stairs, and Draco couldn't decide if he was imagining the slight tremble in his lower lip or not.

"What are you going to do when I'm gone?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said that I spent all of my time here, doing nothing in this house, but you're not any better. What are you going to do?"

"Well, it's not as though I have a lot of options. I still can't-"

"Can't what? Remember? That's an excuse, Harry," he said.

Harry mouthed at him wordlessly.

Draco turned and walked out the door.

***

The idea of walking to the train station had seemed relatively easy. He had thought it such a short distance. The reality of lugging two bags along with him made Draco regret not calling a taxi. Except there was some part of him that didn't mind. A part of him that dreaded getting there. Maybe he really didn't mind the time it took at all. It meant more time for... for what? Reconsidering? Draco set his jaw and kept walking.

The train station was in sight when he heard it: running footsteps behind him. He didn't turn around, because he knew what he would see - some idiot running to catch his train. He wasn't going to set himself up to look like a fool. And then he heard someone call his name and turned around despite himself.

He nearly expected Harry to tell him he'd forgotten something and then leave again. Instead Harry stopped a few feet away from him, and just stood there panting, his face red from running.

"Er, I just - that is - I wanted to say," Harry took a deep breath. "I don't think you should go."

Draco blinked. "I thought you said I should have my own life."

"I know," said Harry. "That was stupid. I mean, not you having your own life, that's not stupid at all. But I didn't mean you had to leave to do it."

"Oh," said Draco.

"Couldn't you still have your own life at home?" Harry looked at him hopefully. Draco was silent. "Yes, well. Perhaps not." He shoved his hands into his pockets. Draco thought he looked thoroughly miserable.

"Why would you even want me to stay?" Draco asked.

"It's not so bad, having you around. I don't think I ever told you that. And besides," Harry looked away and Draco could have sworn he was blushing. "I've been remembering things. About you." He turned and looked Draco straight in the eyes. "About the two of us. I should have told you before, I know, I just wasn't quite ready to believe it."

"Until you thought you could use it to make me stay," Draco pointed out coolly. "That was long time ago. Why do you think it should change my mind?"

"Could you stop being such a prat for just a minute?" Harry snapped. "I'm the one who should be angry here! You should have told me what happened ages ago!"

Draco picked up his bags. "I have a train to catch."

"No wait!" Harry grabbed his arm. "You can't just leave, Draco."

"I'm not JUST leaving, you idiot!" Draco shouted. "I've been here for a year! In fact I'm not sure why I didn't just leave when Granger gave me the chance after you woke up."

"You stayed because I asked you to," Harry said. "You know that."

"Maybe that was a mistake," Draco said bitterly.

Harry reached out quickly and placed a hand on either side of Draco's face. "Don't say that," he whispered, and then he kissed him.

Draco's bags fell to the ground again, and his arms wrapped around Harry before he could think of stopping himself. He could feel hands twisting in his hair and Harry's tongue running over his bottom lip and then, quite suddenly, it was over. He opened his eyes and saw Harry grinning at him.

"You don't play fair," he muttered.

"There's too much at stake," said Harry, and then his face turned serious. "Were you in love with me? Before I mean."

Draco considered. "I don't know. I think I am now though."

Harry gave him a half-smile. "Hell must have just frozen over."

Draco smiled back at him. "One can only hope," he said, and then picked up his bags.

"So will you stay?"

"No." Harry took a step back, looking as though the wind had been knocked out of him. Draco reached out and grabbed his wrist, running his thumb over the fragile bones he found there. "But you could come with me," he said, half request, half dare.

And in the back of his mind he thought, "Yes, this is how it was meant to be."