White Horses

HARRY WOKE UP IN A room that he had never seen before. For a moment, his breath caught and adrenaline burned through his body, but he soon remembered that this was Draco's place. Then he remembered Draco.

He quickly rolled off the bed and rushed out the door. The hallway he found himself in was no more familiar, but when he looked to the right there was only the open door to an empty bedroom. He headed left, and after glancing into a pristine kitchen, found himself in the living room.

Lying asleep in the morning sun was Draco Malfoy. Harry thought to himself, It's going to take a while to get used to him being alive again, even more to get used to being with him again. He walked over and sat gingerly on the edge of the coffee table to look at the sleeping boy. Against the dark brick of the sofa's leather upholstery, the Slytherin looked even more ill than he had yesterday. He was definitely much thinner - even worse than Harry now, and Harry had always been the smaller of the two of them. Even asleep, Draco had dark smudges staining his eyes.

Harry reached out to brush that silvery-white hair, but then he caught himself. I can't just do things like that anymore - despite any hand-holding that might or might not have gone on last night. He got off the table (which was probably good, since the poor thing wasn't designed to hold a person's weight) and headed for the kitchen. It was spacious and modern, with a whole range of Muggle appliances. At one end, in front of the bay windows, was a dining table big enough to seat eight people comfortably. Atop it was a vase of carefully arranged fake flowers and Harry was more and more convinced that Lucius must have bought (or taken) this house from someone else - and probably a Muggle someone else. Nothing in it was at all the cold marble and family portraits that one would expect from a Malfoy property.

He pulled open the chrome refrigerator experimentally and quickly frowned. There was absolutely nothing in there, not even condiments or a pitcher of water. He pulled open the freezer side next and the only thing littering its bare white shelves were two ice-cube trays. Also empty. Out of habit, he carried them over to the sink and filled them with water, before sliding them back into the cold freezer. Then he turned to the rest of the kitchen.

There was a hi-tech-looking stove and two full-sized ovens, even a fancier dishwasher then Harry had ever seen during his days with the Dursleys'. Neatly arranged on the vast counter-tops were a blender, a toaster-oven, a set of knives, canisters for (presumably) baking materials, a microwave, an empty bread box and by the sink was a heft of stainless steel shaped like a bar of soap - which confused Harry not a little.

Pulling one of the large canisters toward him, which would usually be full of flour or sugar, he worked the airtight top off to find it empty. Not even a few grains in it, rather the container looked like it had never been used at all. Harry was beginning to have a bad feeling, which was directly linked to the hollow ache in his stomach, and so he started pulling open cabinets. Dishes. Bowls. Glasses. Pans. Pyrex. Tupperware. Drawers of silverware, measuring implements and other kitchen paraphernalia. But nowhere any food.

Harry decided they were going to have a little talk when Draco woke, or if this grumbling in his stomach was any indication, even sooner. Muttering to himself, he headed back down the hallway in vain search of a bathroom. There was none to be found and he went back into the room he had slept in, confused. He pulled open the door that he had supposed was a closet and was surprised to find a rather large bathroom. After one more sulky and hungry trip to his trunk to get his bath kit, he finally got to use the facilities and feel clean for the first time after all that yard-work the day before.

Once he had washed away the last taint of the Durlseys, Harry wandered back to the living room to see if Draco was awake. Being clean had put him in a much better mood, despite the continual hunger pangs, but that quickly faded when he saw the blonde. Draco was weakly flailing in his sleep and murmuring rapidly to himself in French. Harry was fascinated for a moment, since he had never seen Draco talk in his sleep before, and he listened to the boy protest feebly, "Non, mère, non. Maman, je suis vraiment navré. Arrête!"

Then Harry heard his own name in a jumble of the foreign words and decided it was time to wake the boy. Just as he reached down though, Draco bolted upright. He was heaving great, gulping breaths and one hand was clenched to his chest. The Gryffindor was suddenly concerned about more than a simple nightmare as he remembered the complications of life with Draco. He asked urgently, "Draco, are you all right?" The blonde nodded rapidly, though he didn't say anything as he struggled to slow his breathing.

As soon as the Slytherin got control of himself and remembered the situation, Harry was disappointed to see the regular mask slide into place. Taking that distant attitude as his cue, he said brusquely, "Well, Malfoy, brilliant idea to come here. You do know that there is no food in this place?"

Draco threw his legs over the side of the couch and sat up straight, stretching his back. "I could've guessed as much. So, we'll go into town and get some stuff - it's only a twenty minute walk." Harry raised an eyebrow at this cavalier stance, but Draco certainly knew more about this place than Harry himself did.

Draco stood up and twisted to his side, popping his spine as he swung his body around. Ignoring Harry's wince at the cracking noise, he said, "Let's go then. Since you are apparently so impatient."

The Gryffindor wrinkled his nose at him childishly and asked, "You don't want to change or anything? You did sleep in those clothes."

Draco shrugged and stepped into his mud-caked shoes. "I don't have anything else with me. Flight from persecution kind of limits your options, you see."

And so the two boys ambled down the country lanes, Draco squinting into the bright light all the time. Harry took off his jacket as the morning fog burned off and swung it from his hand lazily to generate a weak breeze. He noticed that Draco didn't even roll up his sleeves in concession to the English summer sun, and he asked mildly, "Aren't you hot with your long sleeves?" The blonde shrugged blithely, and so he continued, "You know, the Mark probably isn't that bad any longer."

Draco started and his mask fell a little as he asked uncertainly, "What do you mean?"

Harry caught the other boy's arm and rolled up the dark black sleeve. The Mark still showed on Draco's pale skin, but it looked something like an old scar now - just a few tones darker than the natural skin. It might not even be noticeable if you didn't know what to look for. Draco stared at his arm in surprise and Harry explained, "From what I gathered from some of Snape's comments, the last time Voldemort was gone, the Dark Mark faded." He let go of the frail arm to rub a hand over his own chest and spoke ruefully, "Better than mine; it hasn't faded at all."

Draco started walking again - he had stopped when Harry grabbed him - and was still running a hand over the watered-down tattoo as he queried, "You still have that scar, then?"

Harry fell into step with a strange smile, and Draco realized that the boy had changed some in the last six months, "Yep, I will always - or so I'm told. Really hampers my social life though; doesn't exactly help me pick up girls at the beach."

Draco laughed and asked teasingly, as if they were just friends and not former lovers, "And have you been trying to pick up girls at the beach, Potter?"

Harry pulled a face and said, "Hardly." Then he looked slyly at Draco and smiled knowingly, "I set my sights a little higher."

They flirted harmlessly till they made it to town, and it was both exhilarating and confusing. They left off though, once they walked into the little grocery; no need to get a strange reputation with the locals. Walking up and down the store's short aisles (all six of them), Harry tried to think of everything that two teenage boys would need - since Draco was utterly useless and had probably never shopped for himself in his life. They finally staggered out the door, after thirty-some minutes of bickering, laden with six plastic grocery bags.

Sitting down on the edge of the dusty sidewalk, Draco sorted through the bags, trying to make them more manageable. He tossed a pear to Harry, before biting into one himself. The former Death Eater sat there with his sleeves pushed up and the bright morning sun roasting his back, squinting at the sleepy little Muggle town.

Glancing over at the black-haired boy next to him, who was ravenously devouring his pear, Draco realized that he was happy. He shouldn't be happy; he should be traumatized by what had happened to him, or guilt-stricken by what he'd done, or at the least uncomfortable being with Harry. But Harry looked happy and relaxed, somehow much more at home in some strange Muggle outpost than Draco had ever seen him be at Hogwarts. And Draco was happy to be here with him. How bizarre.

Harry started rooting through the bags at their feet, until he found a jug of orange juice. He twisted the cap off and took a healthy swig, before sighing contentedly. Draco scolded him, "Potter, that's so unsanitary!"

Green eyes slid over to him and the boy asked lazily, "So?"

Draco grinned wolfishly and said, "So, give me some." Harry smiled back in a similar fashion and as Draco tipped the jug back, a shadow fell over them.

Rolling his eyes up to see who was standing above them, the blonde recognized the storekeeper from the grocery. The grocer was an old woman, probably in her late sixties, and was looking down at them curiously. Her stern eyes peered at them from under her sagging lids and she asked, "What're you boys doing here?"

Harry waved his pear at her and smiled like a guileless Gryffindor, "Eating breakfast."

Draco was surprised when the birdlike old Muggle squatted beside them. "You boys aren't from around here," she said, more a statement than a question.

Harry smiled back, "No, we aren't."

Draco explained, "My name is Draco Malfoy - my family has a house up on Dosywallips. This is my mate from school, Harry Potter."

The woman's black eyes crinkled into a smile as she regarded Draco. "Malfoy… I think I remember you. You were the cutest little blond thing, though you were so serious."

Harry laughed in delight when Draco blushed and the old woman cackled along with him, "At least you've lightened up now, I see."

She patted each boy on the shoulder with a gnarled hand and told Draco, "I think I might have an old picture of you and your father from one of your visits. Stop by again and I'll try to dig it out for you." Then she hobbled back into the shop.

Harry doubled over laughing and Draco couldn't seem to stop the blush from spreading across his cheekbones. "Shut up, you git. Let's get back to the house before all the bloody groceries are spoilt."

IT WAS THREE DAYS LATER when the boys stopped by the grocery again. They had come down to the town quite a few times, either to eat at the one little diner or to wander through the county library (which was about the size of the living room back at the house). Harry had tried to teach Draco about the computer that they had found there, but with little success. Then Draco had shown Harry the way to the little lake that was nestled around the bend from the town and for the rest of the summer, the two visiting teens could be found there as often as not.

When they sauntered up to the little country store (Harry in a faded t-shirt and a pair of Dudley's old jeans that he'd cut off at the knees, Draco in the white shirt that he'd reclaimed from Harry and a pair of worn quidditch corduroys that he had reluctantly borrowed), the old woman bustled out and waved a hand at them. Mrs Margera ("Call me April," she would always insist, but they never took her up on it) herded them inside and over to the cluttered little counter where the cash register was set up.

After hurrying around to the other side of the table, she pulled out an old shoebox. Lifting off the top revealed a jumbled stack of pictures and she pawed through them, saying, "Oh, I used to take so many pictures, but I'm not so spry these days. I only get my cameras out on special occasions and now my hands shake so badly at times that I can't get pictures that come out anyhow! Ah - here it is!" She pulled out a 4x6 old black-and-white print, with raggedy white borders, and slapped it on the counter.

Harry looked curiously at the photo. He first recognized Lucius Malfoy, though the man in the picture was younger than he had ever seen Lucius - perhaps not even thirty yet. Even then he had looked cold and cruel, and he ignored the camerawoman and the small boy next to him as he talked to a strange man. The tiny blonde had hair that appeared white in the sharp contrasts of the monochrome picture, and it probably had truly been so. He was staring daringly at the camera, his light grey eyes wide and defiant in that childishly serious face.

Staring at that stubborn child, Harry looked for the eleven year-old boy he had known, or the seventeen year-old young man who was standing next to him now. There were hints of both in the six year-old little Draco who was standing isolated from his father and glaring at the world through a curtain of baby-white hair. Harry asked the old woman, "Would you mind if I kept this?"

She cackled merrily and told him, "I was quite proud of it, but I really think it should be yours now."

Draco, after asking polite permission, was looking through the piles of old photos. He remembered being curious when he had seen the oddly still pictures in Harry's wallet, but now he was fascinated by them. There was something so poignant about having a single moment frozen forever, a version of your life that would never happen again. He told Mrs Margera honestly, "These are unbelievable."

She eyed him keenly and hazarded, "Well, I can't do much anymore. But if you like them so much, perhaps I could teach you."

His cynical silvery eyes flew up to search that wizened face. He wasn't used to people being openly kind towards him. Harry had tried to be and he had always assumed that it was in return for favours owed - that was the way the world he knew worked. But could it be they really don't expect anything in return? It seemed strange to Draco, because why would someone do something that didn't profit them in the least? Must be a Muggle thing, bloody fools, he decided unsurely.

Harry wandered off to load a basket with groceries and left Draco cautiously asking questions. It was a bit shocking just how quickly two active young men could go through food. He came back to the counter with as much as he could carry and snagged Draco's wallet from the boy's back pocket. The blonde only swatted at Harry and took the wallet back into his own hands - it was magical, of course, with the ability to produce endless amounts of Muggle or Wizard money, directly from Draco's own vault. The grocer woman quickly rang up their purchases, her arthritic hands flying over the ten-key, and Draco paid unthinkingly as usual. Ah, to be so rich that you didn't even have to consider budgeting.

They started back up the hill and Draco was lost in thought. Harry tried to coax him into conversation by asking teasingly, "So are you going to take up photography, now?" Draco made a noncommital sound and kept walking. Harry let it go until they got back to the house. Already an easy habit, they kicked their shoes off in the stone entryway. In the kitchen, Harry quickly put the groceries away, much more accustomed to Muggle domesticity than Draco was yet.

The blonde was sitting at the kitchen table with his chin resting on his hand as he stared distractedly out the window. Harry dropped into the chair next to him and said suddenly, shocking the boy back to attention, "So, Draco. I really want to kiss you - is that all right?"

Draco pulled himself back from his abstraction and behind his walls instantly. He looked at Harry with an inscrutable expression and told the Gryffindor, "You can want whatever you want, Potter. I've no say in it."

Heart pounding with his uncertainty, Harry leaned forward slowly - leaving the Slytherin plenty of time to back away - and kissed Draco softly. He sighed and leaned back slightly, wetting his lips before he asked, "And is this all right?"

Draco pulled him back in to press his lips to Harry's again, then said dismissively, "Well, I guess it'll do."

The black-haired boy laughed in surprise and hugged Draco impulsively. It took him a moment, but Draco relaxed into that half-remembered embrace, thinking to himself, I still don't get it. How can they not be looking for something in return? Even if I don't yet understand why, I'll take what's being offered to me.

AFTER THEY HAD COME TO their 'agreement,' the summer passed far too quickly for the two Hogwarts' students. Draco spent many days down with Mrs Margera, learning the tricks on her 1980 Canon AE-1. Then he spent many more days borrowing the camera and taking his own shots. The old woman had shown him how to develop the film in the old-fashioned Muggle way, in the dark room she had made in the back of her store. It turned out that the boys spent as much time at the grocery store as anywhere else.

The rest of the locals had been a bit wary of then two teenagers, especially since most of the native population were middle-aged themselves. The faded mark on Draco's arm and the scars that both boys occasionally revealed when they went to the lake didn't help matters. But eventually everyone got used to the two friendly boys being around - though there was some curious talk about the twosome's close relationship, living out in the woods alone as they did.

Harry's birthday had arrived with the fading of July. He had received letters and presents from Ron, Ginny, Hermione and Hagrid, whose owls had all found him as easily as Hedwig. (She had caught up with the two renegades on their second night in Hoodsport.) Draco had been embarrassed that he hadn't done anything for Harry's birthday and so he'd made dinner. They ate burnt, greasy curry and then Draco had filled the kitchen with soap suds when he tried incorrectly to use the dishwasher. The boys had laughed at each other as they scooped up armfuls of the foam to pour down the sink, and Harry had learned that they had both missed Draco's birthday, back on 9 January. So they had celebrated together that night to make up for it.

They never spoke much about what Draco had done on Christmas, or what had happened to him afterward. He would still sometimes wake desperately in the night and Harry had to turn on the lights to calm the boy again, assuring him that he was out of the dungeons. Harry had escaped most of his nightmares after Voldemort's death, but on the rare night it would be his turn to wake sweating and shaking as he rushed to the bathroom to be ill, the memories choking him with bitter bile.

Aside from those infrequent night-terrors, their nights were spent pleasurably together - though they didn't ever repeat their acts of Christmas Eve. The days they spent companionably: swimming, playing card games, hiking, and living up a normal lazy summer as neither had had a chance to ever before. They both filled out a bit more with a steady diet of as much food as they wanted. Harry turned a golden olive colour as he spent so much time in the sun down by the lake, and even more surprisingly, Draco got a bit of a tan as well. Harry wouldn't have thought it possible, but the Slytherin didn't burn in the bright sun, and his hair turned an astonishing pure white to make his light tan look even more shocking.

Eventually reality intruded again, this time in the form of their school letters from Hogwarts. They probably shouldn't have been surprised that the school knew Draco was alive, or that the two of them were here in the middle of the Muggle countryside, but they were nonetheless. Draco's letter had been noticeably thicker than Harry's and the Gryffindor tried to hide his curiosity. As usual, he failed miserably and after several agonizing moments, Draco handed him the parchments with a disparaging comment, "Honestly. Save the world and all I get is lousy Head Boy."

"What!" Harry quickly devoured the letter, disbelieving what Draco has said. It read:

Dear Mr Malfoy,

We are pleased to welcome you back for your last year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As usual, term will begin on 1 September.

Due to you absence for the final terms of your sixth year, you will be required to pass equivalency exams to complete your graduation. If extra tuition is need to bring you up to the level of these exams, it will be arranged at my behest; however, I suggest you prepare yourself as is fitting of a Slytherin.

The staff has also chosen you to represent your school as Head Boy (pending only your response and acceptance) in light of your previous scholarship, which has always been of the utmost standard.

This decision was yet controversial, given your activities in the recent war. I have petitioned on your behalf and, with the imprimatur of our Headmaster, all suspicions have been cleared from your name. You will be serving equally with your Head Girl, Hermione Granger of Gryffindor. You have proved yourself a fine paradigm of Slytherin's excellence and cunning, Mr Malfoy, and I will be expecting you to help in the rebuilding of Slytherin house, now that this pointless war is over.

The Slytherin password will be "serpensortia."

Your Head of House,

Severus Snape

Potions Master of Hogwarts School

Harry finally raised shocked green eyes from the parchment, to stare at Draco. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips and he said mockingly, "You know, I'm not sure if I can be seen with the Head Boy. It might damage my reputation."

Draco laughed, as he snatched back the letter, "Not likely, Potter. The only thing I'll need you for is to fight off the hordes of girls that will be vying for my affections."

Harry picked up his own list of books and supplies, and half-hid behind it as he snickered, "The only girl you're going to need my help fighting off is the new Head Girl. Hermione is going to tear you to pieces." Draco shot him a dirty glare, but Harry wasn't looking at him as he propped his head up on his hand. "Imagine - Draco Malfoy as Head Boy."

The Slytherin frowned and shot back, "And the Boy Who Lived isn't even a prefect. Did you at least get made quidditch captain?"

The green eyes blinked behind his glasses, "Oh, didn't I tell you? I quit quidditch last year."

It was Draco's turn to exclaim, "What!" and Harry explained embarrassedly, "Well, after you - after everyone thought you'd died, I didn't much care anymore." Draco realized again how much he had missed as he looked at the other boy carefully; Harry never really talked about how he had reacted to the Slytherin's 'death.' And then Harry drawled, "After all, the only point of quidditch was to wipe the pitch with your sorry arse."

Draco quickly dismissed any ideas about Harry's grief, real or imagined. He said shortly, "Since you'll have so much free time then, you can help me learn the rest of sixth form." But somehow Harry didn't look ecstatic at that bright prospect.

THEIR LAST FEW WEEKS PASSED all too easily and for the second time that Harry could remember, he wasn't glad to be going back to Hogwarts. He would have much rather the summer had continued without fading. But the cloudy days began to arrive again and the boys had to prepare to go back to London. As he had the year before, Harry ordered his schoolbooks through Owl Post. This time he had to order two sets, one for Draco and one for himself. Since Draco didn't have a trunk or any kind of luggage, all the books ended up in Harry's trunk anyway.

They told Mrs Margera that they would be going back to school. She understood, of course, though she hoped that they would come back the next year. Then she had tried to give her old camera to Draco, "Take it, boy. I've got no good use for it anymore, and I have other cameras tucked away if the fancy strikes me." When he still protested, she cackled, "Well, this way you'll just have to come back again - to return it, then." Finally he accepted and the camera went into Harry's trunk as well, along with Draco's own box of pictures.

Then the day had come that their taxi came to pick them up. They loaded the trunk, made heavy by new books and gifts, into the boot of the nondescript car and Harry watched as Draco sealed the wards on the house again with a few words. One last look at the house where they had spent their summer and then the two boys were gone - back down the winding foothills and the long roads that would lead back to the city, and then Hogwarts.