Chapter 1
”Freezing at the edge of the bed
Chewing a cigarette and repeating
Shadows of the words I said
I don't wanna blame you
I don't wanna blame”
-dragon eyes, Adrienne Lenker
It’s not like Harry didn’t expect to see Draco Malfoy coming back for the so-called Eighth Year. He did. Merlin, he was the one who knocked some sense into the Minister’s head to allow Draco to finish his education after an extensive and tiring trial, in which the boy had gotten off Azkaban and had been sentenced with a year of community service and six months of house arrest – after Hogwarts, that is.
Harry had even testified for him, of course he did. Malfoy was a git, he had told Ron, but he was a git who didn’t deserve to spend the next ten years of his life in prison for something he failed to do at seventeen. What he did do, he had told Hermione, was save his life – twice, for that matter – and that had to count for something. Needless to say, Hermione didn’t need convincing to help the boy; she didn’t like him, but she had morals, and even helped Harry with his testimony.
It had been a shock, naturally. The so-called Golden Trio had been going to most Death Eater’ trials to testify against them, such as Lucius Malfoy, Dolohov, and Yaxley. But, when Harry stood in front of the Wizengamot and said his testimony was in favor of Draco Malfoy, the room erupted in caos.
Malfoy had been…the sight of him had haunted Harry afterwards. His eyes were cast downwards, hollowed and filled with dark circles. His hands were chained, and he wore a filthy-looking grey robe that reached his bare feet. When he heard, along with the rest of the Wizengamot, that Harry was there for him, he wore an expression he had never seen displayed on the other boy’s face. Gratitude. Humbleness. Relief.
“Draco Malfoy,” Harry had started, “is no more guilty than I am.” Whispers and murmurs started again, “He, just as I, was an underaged student who had been tasked with an impossible feat. He, just as I, has done what others have told him to do his whole life. I have probably thrown more unforgivables than him, if he did at all. I used the Cruciatus and the Imperius curse, both a one way ticket to Azkaban. I used an illegal and unauthorized spell on Draco Malfoy, in Sixth Year, which would’ve killed him if Severus Snape hadn’t arrived in time to save him.”
Harry remembers looking at Hermione and Ron, remembers the looks on their faces. Acknowledgment. Understandment. “I was there when he had tried to kill Dumbledore,” He continued, turning to Malfoy, who now had furrowed eyebrows, confused by this fact, unbeknownst to him, “I saw how scared he was, how much he didn’t believe for a second that that was the right thing to do. He was scared for his mother, for himself. Maybe, in the beginning, he might have believed in Voldemort’s cause, I won’t deny this. But, in Sixth Year, we all watched Malfoy slowly lose his mind over that whole nonsense. He lowered his wand.” Harry was now running his eyes around the whole room, trying to see if they were understanding him, “He had lowered his wand.” He repeated. “Dumbledore had offered him a way out, offered him protection. Dumbledore believed in Draco’s redemption. Believed that he was just a boy, doing what he had been told to do, with no choice other than death.”
Shacklebolt was looking at him puzzled, considering his words carefully. “Besides,” Harry chuckled, “I wouldn’t even be standing here if it weren’t for Draco Malfoy. He saved my life when we were captured by snatchers and taken to Malfoy Manor. They didn’t want to call Voldemort unless they were absolutely certain that it was me. Hermione had thrown a jinx at me, to not be easily recognized, but if you knew me for more than six years, like Draco knew me, you would know that was me. And he did. He did know it was me. Yet, he didn’t say anything.”
He paused, gathering his thoughts, “If you arrest Malfoy, you would have to arrest me too. The things I did… you’d probably reason it was for the ‘greater good’, but they were bad things nonetheless. At the end of the day, Draco Malfoy is an underage student who deserves a second chance.” More murmurs, more whispers, more confused glances at him.
Later, after Malfoy was released along with Narcissa, – he had testified for her as well, and she had gotten a year on house arrest and community service – Harry tracked down Malfoy before he had left the Ministry. The other boy wore the same dark, sunken, hollowed eyes as he did on his trial, which had been just a few days earlier, except he was now wearing a brand new blue robe and his hair had been freshly cut.
They both stood in front of each other, none knowing exactly what to say. Narcissa took her son’s forearm, hooking them, and walked a bit closer to Harry. She looked at him, carefully, and was met with Harry’s stunned glance at Malfoy – never had he seen Malfoy look so helpless as he had this past week. “Mr. Potter,” She started, “We have no words for the kindness you have shown for Draco and I. We hope you know that we’ll be forever in your gratitude –”
He turned to her, giving her a polite, but sincere smile, “It’s Harry, really.” He extended his hand for her to take, which she did after a few seconds of astonishment, “Thank you, Harry,” She continued, carefully, and looked at her son, considering him for a moment, “I will leave you two. Draco, dear, I’ll be waiting by the door.” She kissed Malfoy’s cheek and, as she left, gave Harry one last look of gratitude and a shy smile.
He remembers the awkwardness he had felt in that moment when she left them alone, and he knew Malfoy had felt it too, because he couldn’t stop fidgeting and picking on his robe, taking apart a few strands of the probably expensive fabric. He had noticed Harry looking and had stopped at once, but continued on picking on the skin around his nails.
Harry took the boy’s wand from his pocket at once and offered it back to him. “I’m sorry for taking it.”
Malfoy was looking at him with an inscrutable expression. “Isn’t it the one you–”
Harry interrupted him, “Yes, but it does’t matter. It was yours first.” Malfoy still hadn’t taken it, “It is yours. Rightfully.”
The other boy carefully took it from Harry’s hand, holding it like he had forgotten its weight and was getting used to it again. “You could’ve polished it first, certainly.”
Harry was ready to throw back an equally rude response, but when he looked at Malfoy, he was shyly grinning, clearly joking. “Well, you’re lucky it’s not in a museum or something.” Malfoy scoffed at that, still grinning, “Believe me, they were very determined on it.”
“Thank you, Potter.” Malfoy looked at him, and Harry knew he was being sincere, “Never thought I would have ever said those words to you, but there’s a first time for everything.” He had joked again, but this time his smile carried a sadness in them.
“I hope to see you at Hogwarts,” Harry changed subjects, “Hermione’s making Ron and I go, as to be expected.”
Malfoy seemed less tense now, “Count on Granger to convince you two of the unimaginable boredom that must be to finish your education. I do believe countless offers of the highest paid jobs of the wizarding world are in order apart from none of you having your Owls?”
See, if he was saying that a few years ago, it would’ve been extremely mean and uncalled for. Harry would have lost his mind over it, and would be now choosing from an extensive list of jinxs to throw at the git. But, now, as he listened to Malfoy’s words, it was clear that it didn’t have any of the nastiness in tone it would’ve had before. He wasn’t sneering like before, he wasn’t wearing his signature raised eyebrows that he thought made him look superior than everyone else. He wasn’t spitting those words with the intention to hurt, like he had countless times before.
Draco Malfoy was simply being sarcastic.
He was still grinning shyly, and had a lightness in his cadence that Harry had never heard before. His head was cast downwards, looking up at Harry through his eyelashes, and, suddenly, it occurred to him. Draco Malfoy has never been so vulnerable before, standing before the one who took him away from prison, looking like he hadn’t slept in two weeks, malnourished, and he was joking because he didn’t know what else to do.
Harry didn’t want him to feel less than him, didn’t want Malfoy thinking he owed something to Harry. He had done what he simply thought had been the right thing to do, not because he had wanted something in exchange or for him to be in his debt for eternity. Malfoy and Harry, he realised, had been different sides of the same coin. They stood, now, on the same ground. The war was over, their slates were clean.
“If it had been up to me,” Harry started to respond, “I would spend the next year rotting away and being a disservice to the wizarding world. But you know how convincing Hermione can be.”
“Certaintly.” He said, simply, now with his head high, same as Harry.
“Well, will you go?” Harry asked again, “I know you care about your studies.”
“If they were so terribly kind to send me a letter, then yes.”
“They will.”
Now, here they all were, months after the trials, in the Eighth Year common room. As Harry had been thinking, he wasn’t surprised to see Malfoy here. But he was surprised to see how well Malfoy was looking. The shock of the boy’s appearance in the trials had been traumatic, to say the least. Harry had dreamed for months of the look on Malfoy’s face when he was up there, chained and helpless. His dreams often took a different turn, like Malfoy being sentenced to life and being sent away to Azkaban with Aurors carrying his reluctant body; Malfoy screaming from a Sectumsempra Harry had thrown at him again, in front of the Wizengamot, but Snape never coming to help, and Malfoy kept bleeding out in front of everyone; Malfoy being released from the chains and Harry reaching for him, but it changed to the fiendfyre and Harry slipped and couldn’t hold onto him, and he had to watch Malfoy be burned alive.
He doesn’t remember the last time he had a full night's sleep.
The Draco Malfoy that now stood in the corner of the common room, quietly talking with Parkinson and Zabini, looked nothing like the Malfoy from the trials and his nightmares.
He looked well rested, fresh. His sullen eyes now had a brightness to them that Harry envied, an innocence that seemed as though, if you didn’t know Malfoy, had never seen the terrors of a War. To Harry’s surprise, he wasn’t wearing a suit or a robe, but tailored black trousers and a dark green sweater. He looked fancy and put together, like his younger self. He looked handsome, even.
He caught Harry’s stare and nodded, smiling in acknowledgement. He did the same, suddenly feeling very embarrassed by the whole thing.
“Did the Ferret spend the summer in a Spa or something?” Ron scoffed in his ear, “He sure looks recovered.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, “Quit it, Ron. Let’s not start anything this year.”
“I’m just saying.” Ron kept looking at the direction of the Slytherins, “He did turn around since the last time we saw the git. He was looking like Sirius Black freshly off Azkaban back at the trials.”
Harry chuckled a bit, and Hermione rebuked, “That’s a horrible thing to say.”
Ron only shrugged his shoulders and went to talk with Seamus and Dean.
“He does look rather nice.” Hermione admitted. Harry turned to her, amused, “What?” She continued, now smiling embarrassingly, “He never looked bad before the war, we were all just too busy being annoyed by him to notice, really.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Harry agreed half-heartedly. It’s not like he has thought of that before, not really. To be fair, Malfoy is objectively attractive. Like, if Harry were to be asked what would make a man attractive, he would probably describe attributes Malfoy possesses, attributes he’d wish to have too.
The slytherin was fairly tall, at least in comparison to Harry, and he had often used his tallness in his favor to look down at people. Harry could also say that, generally, clothes fit him well — he wore them with an enviable finesse, specifically those fancy black suits. Often, Harry would struggle to feel comfortable in his own body; he doesn’t know what to do with it. Malfoy, on the contrary, knew how to stand, how to carry himself, and his clothes fit him perfectly, like gloves.
“Now, now. Everyone, gather around!” Headmistress McGonagall exclaimed, as she entered the room. “As you can see, all the students that have come back to finish their education have been put together in the same common room.” She paused, looking around. If Harry had counted right, there were about twenty of them. Mostly Gryffindors, a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, and a handful of Slytherins.
“We decided to bring everyone together, all the houses, in order to encourage inter-house unity. With that in mind, the dormitory arrangement has already been carefully decided by the faculty.” At once, most of the students started to object, probably annoyed to not room with their friends. Harry looked at Ron and he had his arms crossed, distaste written all over his face.
“Quiet!” McGonagall ordered, “You will find that to be very beneficial, I can assure you. I believe we can all learn to live with the ones that are apparently so different from us, only to discover how similar we all can be. With that being said, I’ll put the list on the wall. And, please, wait until I leave before you start crowding around it.”
When she left, they all went to look at it.
“I’m with Pansy and Hannah.” Hermione said, not angry at all.
“Macmillan and Zabini.” Ron groaned. “I can’t believe this! I wanted to be with you and the boys!”
Harry looked at the list and, next to his name, there it was.
Draco Malfoy.
His eyes instantly started searching for the boy, only to find him already looking at him with a reluctant expression, as though he was waiting to see Harry’s reaction about the whole thing and react accordingly.
Harry was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of having to fight. Not only with Malfoy, but everything. This year, he really only wanted it to be peaceful and enjoyable. A year in which nothing bad, catastrophic, or traumatic would happen. So, he nodded and smiled at Malfoy for a second time that night.
“Sorry, mate.” Ron said, patting his shoulders.
“No, it’s alright.”
“I think it’ll be very nice.” Hermione assured, “McGonagall was right, inter-house unity is what we all need after the War. It’s surely going to be difficult, at least at first, but I believe we will all grow stronger together. Become friends, maybe!”
“Friends with the Snakes?” Ron scoffed, mostly to himself.
“I agree.” Harry said to Hermione, reassuring her with a smile.
She smiled back at him, turned to Ron and said, “Honestly, Ron, if you don’t at least try to put this whole ordeal with the Slytherins behind you, you can forget snogging.”
His friend widened his eyes, “Mione!”
Harry laughed loudly at that, along with Hermione, and said, “Honestly, mate. It’s not worth it. Besides, I think they’re trying to be better. We’ve been here for what, an hour? And they didn’t come here once to annoy us.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Ron started, still not fully convinced, “But we’ll have to wait and see, yeah? This’ only the first day, they can still slither around and cause trouble tomorrow.”
“We’ll wait and see.” Harry agreed.
Hermione turned to Harry, “About Malfoy,” She started to advise, “just try not to kill each other, alright?”
They haven’t killed each other yet.
It’s been almost a month since they’ve been at Hogwarts and things have been going rather smoothly. Too smoothly, if you asked him. Malfoy didn’t speak to him that much, apart from the common pleasantries any posh person, such as Malfoy, would normally feel the need to exchange. But it’s coming from Malfoy, who’s undoubtedly posh, but known to be the total opposite of a person who exchanges pleasantries. So excuse Harry for being a little confused about the whole thing.
So far, it’s been polite greetings and remarks. The usual good morning, good afternoon, and good evening; the occasional nice weather, isn’t it?; the civil thank you when it’s due or the amiable excuse me when it’s needed.
Most of their classes would coincide, but they didn’t sit very close. The other boy would normally sit on the back of the class, and every time Harry sneaked a little look at him, he’d have his head down, scribbling rapidly on his parchment.
On meal times, he noticed Malfoy didn’t exactly have a routine. He’d sometimes be there, sometimes not. He’d have breakfast, but then not show up for lunch nor dinner. Other times, he’d show up for dinner, but had been absent for breakfast and lunch. Harry had tried to notice a pattern, but if there was one, he had failed to spot it.
During the weekend, Malfoy would often spend it in the common room doing homework, reading, playing chess with Parkinson, talking quietly with Zabini or, weirdly enough, staring at the fireplace. Apart from the common room, he’d also go to the library to do research for Merlin knows what. Harry guesses Malfoy just takes homework too seriously and has the need to search each topic extensively, like Hermione.
Once it was bedtime, and they were both alone in their shared dormitory, they’d not speak at all — apart from the usual pleasantries, that is. Harry often used that time to read Muggle comic books — he developed a thing for Spider Man over the summer — and Malfoy would also read books Harry suspected were Muggle, since the titles were not unfamiliar to him, but he couldn’t be sure. Then, one of them would be done with their activities, turn off their light and wish good night to the other, and that was that.
It’s been all very civil — which is by far one of the best outcomes this whole thing could have led to — but it’s been driving Harry insane. He thinks it’s because he’s been so used to sharing a room with the other boys. Loud boys. And this, this whole not really talking thing, it's all very strange. Which made him wonder.
“Harry, stop this at once!” Hermione exclaimed, rolling her eyes, “Malfoy is not up to something.”
“But don’t you think it’s weird how—”
“No, I don’t.” She interrupted, “But I do think it’s weird how you know so much about his whole entire routine.”
“It’s Sixth Year all over again, mate.” Ron supplied between bites of his meal.
“And I was right, back then!” Harry reasoned, “He was up to something!”
Hermione sighed, and exchanged worried looks with Ron, “What do you honestly think he’s up to, now?” She asked, clearly trying to sound patient.
“Nothing bad, honestly.” He started, “I just think it’s strange how quiet he’s been, and also the whole not showing up at the Great Hall thing. It’s weird, isn’t it? Why isn’t he here now? Did he eat somewhere else, did he eat at all? I just think there’s something there.”
“Look, seeing it from an objective perspective, yes, I agree that he’s behaving differently than we’d expect him to. But, Harry, how can he not? I believe I’d find it even weirder if he’d been the same as before.” She paused, looking for signs of understatement in Harry’s face, “And the skipping meals thing, maybe he’s eating somewhere else. I don’t know. There’s no way to know unless you stalk him, which you’re not going to because I forbid you to do it.”
Harry scoffed, “I’m not going to stalk him!”
Hermione and Ron looked at each other again, both amused. “Harry…” Ron started.
“…again.” Harry rolled his eyes, “I’m not going to stalk him again.”
“You better not.” Hermione instructed, pointing her fork at him.
“I won’t.”
Harry Potter was stalking Draco Malfoy. Again.
Well, kind of.
He just mostly continued to observe the other boy from a safe distance like he had already been doing for the past month, but now he’s also occasionally looking for him on the Marauder’s Map.
He hadn’t lied to Hermione. He truly did not think Malfoy was up to anything nefarious, like he had back in Sixth Year, but he was sure that something was happening. So, he started to investigate, not stalk.
What he didn’t want to admit to himself was the possibility that, perhaps, he was actually worried about his former school nemesis, which was an outright wild thought. But, maybe, there was some truth in it, and he didn’t know which was worse: Harry stalking Malfoy because he was worried about him, or Harry stalking Malfoy for no apparent reason other than his tendencies of always ending up playing the vigilante.
A week after the conversation with Ron and Hermione — and a week of checking the Map whenever Malfoy was out of sight — Harry’s concerns, unfortunately, ended up being true.
It was lunch, and Malfoy wasn’t around. Harry sneakily looked for him on the Map, so as to not alert his friends, and there it was. Malfoy’s name and three others surrounding him.
“I have to go get something in my room.” He announced and left immediately, restraining himself to not run until he left the Great Hall.
He made it to the corridor near the library in record time and, quietly, started to hear what they were saying, in order to assess the situation. But he soon realized there was no need for that, the boys were clearly hexing Malfoy. Two were holding him, and the other was throwing the hexes.
“How many times do we need to tell you?” The ravenclaw barked. Harry didn’t know his name, but knew he was a Seventh Year. “You’re not welcome here, neither of you snakes are.”
“Expelliarmus!” The boy’s wand went straight to Harry’s hand, and he turned to Harry, alarmed, “You three, what do you think you’re doing?”
The other two boys were Hufflepuffs, both from Sixth Year, but Harry didn’t know their names either. As soon as Harry came closer, they let go of Malfoy and the boy fell to the floor. “Are you mental?” Harry asked them, while picking Malfoy up.
“He’s a Death Eater!” The Ravenclaw exclaimed, “Why are you defending him? You, of all people!”
“The war is over.” Harry tried to reason, “We’ve gotta move past it!”
“Well, I can’t. And I won’t, because he fucking killed my friend!”
“He didn’t, and you know it.”
Malfoy was slowly coming back to himself, but he was still leaning onto Harry, weak.
“His people did.” The boy objected, “Which is the same, really.”
“And here you are, paying with the same coin.”
He scoffed, and Harry continued, “You think that by making his life miserable, your friend will be back? I’ve lost people too, many of them, and anger isn’t the answer. Violence isn’t the bloody answer.”
The other two boys were by the wall, their eyes fixed to the floor, heads down. Embarrassed. Good. As they should be.
“Maybe it’s not the answer, but it sure makes you feel a bit better about the whole thing.” The Ravenclaw said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Get the fuck out.” Harry demanded, “Now!”
The Hufflepuffs left at once, but the other one asked, “What about my wand?”
“You can get it back with the Headmistress.”
“Fuck you, Potter.” He stormed out and left.
Harry turned to Malfoy, finally. His nose was bleeding and one of his eyes was swollen. They had beaten him. He put the boy’s arm around him, “Try to walk with me, alright? Put your weight on me.”
“Don’t take me to the hospital wing.” Malfoy said, wincing once he spoke. He put his other hand on his stomach and bent forward.
“You’re bleeding and in pain.” Harry stated, matter of factly, “I’m taking you there.”
“No, you’re not.” He objected, “Take me to our room, I know what to do.”
Harry wasn’t convinced, “I’m not sure —”
“Potter, please.”
Harry looked at Malfoy and, for a second, was transported back in time to the day of the trial. The look on Malfoy's face, the way it said so much and nothing at all if you weren’t looking too closely. And Harry? He was too close. He could see every little bit of Malfoy’s expressions and he knew, right there and then, that he just had to believe the boy knew what he was doing. That, if Harry took him to their room, Malfoy would know what to do.
“Okay.” Harry obliged, “Hold tighter.”