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Chapter Text

There it was, stretching high above the sprawling green and rocky cliffs. The newly rebuilt Hogwarts, ready for returning and new students alike. The eagerness he first felt when he lay eyes on the place had now turned to a deep, cold dread.

Draco didn't know why he came back. It had only been a year since he last been here, and a year was not nearly enough to shake the memories of the war out of his head. Headmistress Mcgnagall had made a very convincing argument about his future and gave him a look that implied he had no choice in the matter. It was his only chance at a real job after all, but it also meant going back to the place that haunted his dreams. Going back to spend a year with a school full of people who loathed his very existence. This was his final chance to be just himself, not anyone's puppet. Just, Draco. So he decided to risk, in the end, because he knew what he was to face if he went back. Hogwarts was just another war he needed to survive, and Draco was good at surviving.

The first thing that bothered him were the gates. They looked exactly the same as his first day all those years ago, which felt horribly wrong to him. They were supposed to show what they'd been through, like a story with a moral at the end. Learn from your mistakes, stand up and dust yourself off. Just as each scar on his body told a story. All his ugly, painful reminders of one mistake or another. But they showed that he was different, and he needed that. He needed to know he had changed. Into what? Well, he was still working that out.

Draco had come back nearly a week earlier than the traditional students were supposed to arrive. Apparently, the new headmistress had plans for all the older students who had missed out on their last year. She hadn't felt the need to enlighten them on this plan, but had given them a few strict instructions to follow.

Firstly, they were all to stay in a new dormitory, seeing as such a small number had decided to return. They had no house, which meant no house points to win or lose, and were welcome to sit at whatever dinner table they wished to during the course of the year. As long as they didn't stir up trouble, of course. Secondly, and Mcgnagall stressed this in her most stern tone, one was expected to follow the rules set for seventh year students... with a few exceptions in regards to their ages. Everyone in the extended year was allowed to apparate in and out of Hogsmade instead of using the train. Other than that, most of the rules were the same and Draco had no intention of breaking said rules this time around. His only hope was to blend into the background as much as possible, and survive his final year at Hogwarts.

_________

It was two days into his stay at the castle and Draco had only seen seven or eight students on his usual walk though the hallways. All of the members of the extended class returned to their old house dorms, apparently planning to sleep there right up until they were forced to move the new dormitory. Draco wasn't all that surprised, considering that most of them hated one another and all of them hated him. He had not seen a friendly face since the very start, not that he was expecting one.

The Malfoy name was nothing but trash these days, and now he meant even less than that. He was no longer a Malfoy, and no longer a Slytherin. He was a traitor and an 'untrustworthy git' that neither side wanted around. Draco was surrounded by people he had betrayed at one point or another, and he was expected to share a dormitory with those he did the most harm to.

He was going to be killed before the year was up, he just knew it. If it wasn't Harry Potter, then it would be his friends or loyal followers. If not them, then anyone left from Slytherin who's Death Eater parents were locked away or dead. His old friends had not liked his 'easy' change in heart during the war. After his trials, Pansy had been the only one who stayed close to him. Unfortunately, she refused to return to Hogwarts. Instead choosing to stay in the flat in Muggle London they had shared over the summer. It had been almost fun, keeping one another company and trying to stay sane while they avoided the wizarding world completely. His living arrangements had become complicated before that, since his mother left for France.

He didn't hate his mother for abandoning him. In fact, Draco was exceedingly thankful that she sold the house and left with most of the money in he secret savings accounts. Neither of them could stand the mansion any longer, and both agreed it was for the best. It was, after all, only after he left that the nightmares let up slightly. He wasn't cured and it wasn't perfect, but he was alive. What more could he ask for?

But now, he was alone. Alone in the proverbial 'den of lions', and perhaps the 'pit of snakes' too.

What had surprised him the most so far, was the rather anticlimactic run in with Potter. He had been certain that the hero would kill him at first sight, or at lest maim him as he did before. When the blow didn't come, Draco didn't quite know what to do with himself.


"'Lo," Potter said, nodding at him.

Draco stared at him for a long moment before nodding in return. They stood there in confusion until they both tried to leave in awkward, jerky movements. The only problem was, they seemed to be heading in the same direction.

"Are you following me?" Draco asked quietly, keeping his distance, afraid to show Potter his back. He had to force himself to slow from his usual pace, keeping himself carefully to the side.

"Why would I be following you?" Harry asked incredulously, then raised an eyebrow. "Are you following me?"

"Anything but. I was heading to the kitchens."

"Me too."

"I see."

Harry turned his attention away and continued on in silence. Just as the reached the final stretch Potter let out a huff of laughter. "The thing is, I don't really see you as the type to come to the kitchens. Don't you usually have a house elf deliver it to your room?"

"It's not impossible, Potter, and I needed a walk," Draco grumbled. His mood was already turning sour around him. Peace could only last so long between past enemies, after all. Draco was starting to wonder when to expect the attack, and gripped his wand tightly inside his pocket.

"It might have been for the old Malfoy," Harry muttered, giving him a thoughtful look.

Draco stumbled on nothing and stopped walking, letting Potter pass him. He watched as Harry tickled the pear, then turned to give him a questioning look once the door was open. He gestured for Draco to go first.

"You first. I'm not having you behind me, Potter."

"You really think i'm going to curse you behind your back?"

Draco scowled and suddenly felt like running away. It wasn't funny, not after everything that happened. How was he supposed to answer that? 'Yes, I do. Because you've done it before.'

"I don't think—"Draco started to say he had changed his mind, but Harry grabbed his arm and pulled him through the door. "Don't touch me!" He snarled and jerked away from him.

Potter's eyes flashed with a sudden irritation that seemed to startle him out of the calm trance he has been in. He blinked a few times and it was gone, his facial features settling once more into a state of blandness. Now that Potter's face had his attention, Draco was noticing some slight differences. There were the expected ones, a few small scars to add to the usual lightning bolt, a hint of loss in his eyes. But there were dark bags under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept in weeks, let alone months. There was a heavy feeling around him that sort of seeped from his body. Other than that, Potter simply lacked any energy. There wasn't any of that usual stubborn cheerfulness in him, or even anger for that matter. He felt... empty.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy. What would you like, sirs?" asked a male house elf, popping up on front of them and dragging Draco from his thoughts.

Draco expected Potter to answer first, but the dark haired boy seemed to be having trouble finding his words. So Draco replied, " firstly, call me 'Draco', or just 'Sir'. Secondly, I would like whatever you are serving for supper. Perhaps a small portion of each. No beans, carrots, or blood pudding if there is any."

Harry's conflicted expression melted away into a look of mild amusement.

"Mr. Potter, sir?"

"I'll have what he's having. Hold the beans and blood pudding for me, as well."

Draco scoffed and leaned against the wall, enjoying the warmth of the kitchens. The new dorms were not as cold as the dungeons had been, but they still had a sort of chill to them. It might have had something to do with the emptiness. He was, after all, the only one sleeping a large room full of empty beds.

"So, not going by Malfoy anymore? What am I supposed to call you, now?" Harry asked, joining him against the wall.

Draco studied him for a moment and crossed his arms. "You do not need to call me anything. I sincerely doubt we will be exchanging much conversation over the next year."

Potter shrugged and stared out at the busy kitchen. When he spoke again, the strangeness of his voice caused Draco to look at him once more. "I used to come down here a lot, back when I had time."

"Before the... war?"

Harry nodded and pressed his back harder against the wall. He looked for all the world as if he were trying to disappear into it.

"Dobby was..." He started to continue, but snapped his mouth shut and swallowed. Draco shook his head and didn't comment on Potter's mention of the dead house elf. It wasn't his place to talk about Dobby, and he knew it.

The awkward silence came to an end when the food arrived on wooden trays, each carried by two house elves. Draco graced them with a nod and lead the way out the door without a second glance back. Harry was giving him an odd look when he finally caught up with him, but kept his thoughts to himself. For the first time since his arrival, Draco was thankful for the silence. Silence had been better than the jeering remarks from others when he roamed the school, but it had started to grate on his mind a little after his first few days of being completely alone. At one point, Harry turned to go down a different corridor but paused when Draco continued in the other direction.

"Where are you going to eat?" Harry asked, hovering with his tray balanced on one arm.

"In the new dormitory, as usual."

"Oh... I haven't been in there yet. Is it nice?"

Draco wrinkled his nose an shifted his tray. It was heavy, and he didn't feel like standing around talking while his food got cold. "It's a dormitory, nothing special. Now if you'll excuse me, I would like to eat this before it becomes stone cold."

Harry nodded, that small spark of irritation growing in his eyes again. Draco actually smiled before turning away. At least Potter was showing some emotions. Their conversations weren't half as interesting when the usually loud hero looked so dead. Dead... Oh yes, Harry had died. How could he have forgotten that pale, blank face as Voldimort stood over his corpse.

Draco shuddered and lost his smile immediately at the memories that trickled in. He muttered to himself, cursing and wishing them away as he hurried back to the dorm, ignoring the whispers from the students he passed. Once safely locked away behind the portal, he ate quickly, not allowing himself enough time to enjoy it. After a quick glance around the quiet common room, he headed up to bed feeling as cold and empty as the beds around him.

__________________

The great thing about the kitchens, was the privacy they offered. Harry loved the fact that you could get anything you wanted to eat at any time of the day, and you could get as much as you wanted. That was all fine and good, but the best thing it offered was a chance to avoid the great hall.

His entrance to the castle wasn't a grand ceremony, something he was exceedingly thankful for. Harry was pretty sure he would have turned around and left right then and there if they had even tried. There had been enough ceremonies after the war. With every funeral, public speech, Ministry of Magic parties, and benefits he grew more and more exhausted. He was sick of being the object of attention, for all the same reasons he hated the attention he used to get at Hogwarts. Only now, it gave him a sick twist of guilt in his gut. Guilt for the deaths, guilt for the ruined survivors, guilt for surviving .

So when he arrived alone in Hogsmade with just his bags, he slipped into the hall with hopes of avoiding anyone's attention. He was greeted by a single house elf, who asked where he was planning to sleep and sent his baggage to the Gryffindor tower immediately. He knew it was only temporary, but Mcgnagall had offered a chance for everyone to spend some time in their respective houses before they moved on. It was a way to say goodbye, he guessed. So, intending to follow his baggage to the tower, Harry slipped into the main hall and was surprised to find it empty. Well, not entirely empty. There we the ghosts.

The main hall had become a sea of ghosts. Before, it wasn't unusual to see one or even three drift through to impress the students. Often deep in conversation with one another, or simply there to make a good show.

Now, the castle had seen too much death. Even rebuilt, the souls seemed to linger behind against their will. The new ghosts were young, still not used to the concept of being dead and tried to approach him with confusion in their eyes. The worst part of it all was that Harry knew these faces. They were people who fought, or fought with. Friends and enemies alike, lingering in their state of death.

He never went back into the hall again during the past week. The headmistress attempted to round everyone up for a few dinners together and apparently managed to vanish the ghosts successfully each evening. Harry still didn't go, but he heard from Neville that the last one wasn't all that bad. People had actually talked to one other, regardless of the house they came from.

It was odd coming back with Neville, and not Ron and Hermione. They were coming back with the rest of the students, making a point not to show up with him. The war had changed them, and his death had changed him. According to them he was 'pushing them away', and somehow, he just didn't care anymore.

"Harry," Neville called out, running down the corridor from the main hall. "Wait up there."

"Hi Neville, what's the hurry?"

"You're never going to believe who showed up at the dinner tonight," he managed to say while trying to catch his breath. "Draco Malfoy actually came."

Harry's attention had been torn between thoughts of food and considering playing chess until that point. As soon as he heard the name he turned and focused on his friend. "What happened? Did the students attack him?"

"He caused a bit of a scene that had everyone cracking up. But... actually... It wasn't all that funny in the end," Neville replied with a small frown. "At first everyone went quiet, then they started muttering about him. I got full commentary from Seamus until the ghosts showed up."

Harry's hopes at a funny story died instantly. "They came back? I thought Mcgnagall kicked them out."

Neville looked down at his hands and shook his head. He was picking at his sleeve, a nervous tick Harry had noticed years ago. Clearly, whatever he had seen was bothering him pretty badly.

"You don't have to tell me, you know. We can head back to the common room and play chess or something."

"No," Neville replied, shaking his head, "you didn't see it, but you probably should hear about it. It will probably be all over the school once everyone's back." He took a deep breath and continued, " he showed up, and stood there looking around the room. He looked... well, sort of blank. Like someone had sucked all the snob out of him or something."

Harry snorted and got a look from his friend. "Sorry, go on."

"Anyway, it was almost as soon as he entered that the ghosts started walking back in. It freaked us all out, but no one was as bad as Malfoy." Neville paused and gave a little shudder at the memory. "He saw them, and I think it might have been for the first time. I mean, I panicked when I first saw them and I sort of ran way, but he... he just screamed ."

Harry bit his lip and looked away. He didn't quite know how to feel about it. He may not trust or like the twit very much, but no one deserved that.

"Anyway, he just kept screaming and babbling until Mcgnagall tried to push him out of the hall." Neville paused and started to fidget more. "And then... he sort of flipped out at her and ran away, yelling 'don't touch me!' It was strange and ghosts left as soon as Mcgnagall yelled at them."

"He's gone a little off, hasn't he?"

"Haven't we all?" Neville answered with a shrug.

Harry looked at him for a long moment and smiled. "Not you, mate. You're probably the sanest out of any of us."

"It's because I drink tea. Helps my brain function, you know."

Harry shook his head and laughed for the first time in a long while. Neville had an odd way of bringing him back to his old self, which surprised him sometimes. He was lucky they were still friends, after everything that had happened. But somehow, Neville didn't blame him like the others did. He just stuck by and was, well... Neville.

"What is with Draco and 'no touching' now?" Harry mused, his thoughts going back to the first time they met. He remembered the odd, panicked look on the blond's face when he grabbed his arm.

Neville raised an eyebrow in an unusual look of skepticism. "I don't know what goes through Draco's head. You sound like you know more about than I do."

"I bumped into him, actually." Harry scowled at him. "Don't look at me like that. He said something about not being a Malfoy anymore. So it just came out, alright?"

Neville shrugged and started to walk backwards as they headed for the Gryffindor common room. He grinned at Harry as he carefully navigated his way around a corner, still facing Harry as he spoke. "So how was it, then? Did he draw his wand? Threaten you with horrible curses? Did he talk about his father?"

"You're terrible, and no to all of them. Well, I think he considered cursing me at first. We just sort of ran into each other on the way to the kitchens. Rather uneventful until I tried to pull him through the doorway."

"Ah, then he tried to curse you and yelled about his father."

"He didn't yell about his father," Harry corrected with a snicker. Neville laughed and ended up bumping into a set of armor. After it exploded into a million pieces, the boys cleaned up as best they could and hurried off. Filch was not going to be as amused as they were for where they put the gauntlets.

They spent that evening nearly alone in the tower, visited by a few others and then Seamus on his way up to bed. The boy was still chuckling about Malfoy even as he stumbled up the stairs, already half asleep. Harry had lost his concentration on the chess game after his third loss and was dozing off when Neville suggested he should go to sleep.

They fell into their beds, not even bothering to take off their clothes. It had been a long day, even if Harry had missed all the action. He was glad he hadn't been there to see that. At this point, he wasn't all that sure how he would react. Certainly not like Seamus. It wasn't funny, even if Draco was still a bit of a git.

He could have attacked me but he just looked... sad , Harry thought as he closed his eyes and buried his head in the pillow. He decided that tomorrow he would try to track the blond down and ask him what was going on. Maybe they could have a civil conversation for once. The one in the kitchens wasn't all bad, if not a little awkward.

Yes, tomorrow he would find him.

Just as Harry drifted off, he heard one last snigger from Seamus.

Maybe this isn't such a good idea.

_______________________

That had been a terrible, horrible, awful idea, Draco decided, a little too late.

He had spent two solid hours arguing with himself on whether or not to go to the dinner. On the one half, it meant social interaction with people who hated him, on the other, he would get to see where he stood on the social ladder of Hogwarts. He really wanted to test the waters before he was forced to sit with them all for dinner once classes started. He finally gave in and went to the hall where everything came crashing down around him.

Now, he was curled up in the corner of the new common room where he hadn't moved all night. He couldn't move. Something inside of him just froze like that, curled up with his face hidden behind his knees. He felt like a child. 'If I can't see them, they can't see me'.

Why? Why did he think it was a good idea?

It wasn't the laughter, which he barely registered past his own screams, nor was it the way Mcgnagall looked at him. It was the bloody ghosts.

Unsurprisingly, no one had warned him. So when Vincent Crabbe walked right up to him with that old nervous smile, he screamed.

Draco bit his lip and tried to curl up even smaller. It was rather hard to do these days, considering how tall he was. He couldn't just disappear like he used to, now that he was an adult. He was expected to deal with things, not run away screaming.

Draco decided that adulthood was overrated. Why was he the only one with that reaction? Surely the others had met the face of someone they knew? Why was he laughed at for feeling rightfully terrified?

Draco sniffled, not for the first time, and wrapped his arms around his knees tighter. He was so tense and absorbed in his own thoughts he missed the portal opening and someone entering the room.

"Why is it so dark in here?" A voice asked. "Lumos."

Draco jerked his head up in surprise and pressed further into the corner, hoping the newcomer would miss his hiding place. Of course it was Potter, and of course he didn't.

"Mal— Draco... what are you doing?"

"I, um..." Draco stood quickly and dusted himself off, wiping his face off on his sleeve. "I was inspecting the corners for rats. I thought I heard something."

Well that was the absolute most pathetic excuse he had ever used. Potter would never believe a word of it. As if he couldn't see Draco's stupid red-rimmed eyes anyway.

"Rats?," Harry asked, glancing around at the floor. He muttered more softly, "Merlin... I hope not. I've had enough of rats after Scabbers."

"After what?"

"Ron's rat. Only, he wasn't a rat really, but a slimy, murdering son of a bitch. I believe you knew him vaguely."

"Pettigrew..."

Harry nodded and glanced around the room. "You can see why I lack any affection for them, huh?"

Draco shrugged and moved his way stiffly over to couch. "What are you doing here? Classes don't start for another week, I believe. Don't you have a tower to return to?"

Harry ignored his questions and started to poke around the room, every so often glancing back at him. He was being so obvious, Draco wanted to hurl something at his stupid, scarred head.

"Stop fussing about and ask me what you want to ask me," Draco snapped. He leaned back into the couch, unceremoniously wrapping a throw around himself. The floor had been rather cold, after all.

Harry hesitated only moment longer before he approached the couch, perching on the edge. "I heard about the great hall..." He began. Draco tensed immediately and pulled the throw tighter around him. "I just wanted to see if you were... alright, I guess."

"If i'm barking mad and screaming from the rooftops? Not to worry, Potter, I won't be waking you up at night."

"Why do you get to call me 'Potter', if I can't call you 'Malfoy'?"

Draco wrinkled his nose and purposely looked away. "If you must call me something... I suppose it could be 'Black'. But I doubt you would like that very much, considering your fondness for a certain Black family member."

Harry's stare was burning a hole on side of his face, so he turned to glare back at him.

"What happened?" He asked at last, "Since when do you go by the Black family name?"

Draco gave a sardonic laugh. "What happened? What happened?! My family tore itself apart, Potter! The only Malfoy left is locked away in Azkaban. My mother is a Black, and returned to that name when she... when..." He sagged a little and glanced away again. "Just... call me Draco, if you must call me something."

Harry was silent for a while, the room filling with the soft crackle of the left over embers in the fire place. It seemed to only grow colder as the early morning turned into noon. For once, Draco wished it to be empty again. If only to be rid of Potter.

"I'll call you Draco then, since I've sort of already started thinking of you like that."

Draco rolled his eyes and turned his newly fueled glare on Potter. "Is there any other reason you are here other than to find out my bloody name?"

"I was here to see how you were doing, but you seem to be fine," Harry snapped in return, "oh, except for hiding in a corner all night."

Draco paled and pulled his body away slightly.

He knew!?

Of course he knew. He was Harry-bloody-Potter. The wizarding world's boy detective and hero to them all. That, and the rats excuse was a bit weak.

"Just because we rode a broom together doesn't make us 'mates', Potter. You do not need to be sticking your nose in my business."

"You know what? You're right, I don't owe you a thing," Harry snarled and stood up, tucking his wand into his pocket after extinguishing the light. "Next time you're in the Great Hall, don't expect any sympathy from anyone there. Seamus was up laughing half the night."

Even though Potter was goading him, Draco felt his anger already dying. He just didn't have the energy for this anymore, not after the war. Not since he lost everything. It didn't help that he was constantly exhausted thanks to the constant pain in his body. So instead of snapping back with his usual wit, he pulled himself further into the couch and lowered his gaze. It was giving up and letting Potter win, but he just couldn't be bothered to care anymore. Self preservation came first and foremost.

Whatever reaction Harry had been expecting, that wasn't it. He seemed to lose steam as well, and plopped back down on the couch with a confused look. Another silence fell around them, much more awkward and heavy than the last. After a while, the tension eased out of Draco and he started to doze.

"Bollocks."

Draco jerked out of his half-asleep daze and blinked at Potter. "Excuse me?"

Harry laughed and leaned back into the couch. "It's absolute bollocks. I just can't bring myself to do it anymore, all this back and forth with you. I'm too... tired, I guess."

Draco hummed and pulled the blanket around his face. He agreed with him, of course, but he wasn't about to admit any form of weakness. Not to Potter.

"I think I'll sleep here tonight," Harry said suddenly.

"Whatever for?!"

"Just to test it out. I'm going to have to move in here eventually." Harry raised an eyebrow. "Or did you think you would get the place all to yourself for the semester?"

"Of course not," Draco grumbled, flushing slightly. He had hoped for a little longer.

Harry watched him for a while as Draco struggled to stay awake. Whenever his head began to droop, he would jerk back awake and glare at Potter, daring him to say something. After the seventh time, Harry let out a strange giggle and stood up once more.

"Get some sleep, you look like a half dead skrewt."

"You look just as lovely, Potter," he drawled in response, "and i'm fine."

"Sure," Harry agreed, heading for the portal, "I won't be back until later. You know, in case you want to sleep."

"Shove off," Draco mumbled from behind his blanket, his eyes already closing.

There was one more laugh before the portal shut with a snap, leaving Draco in blessed silence.

It was strange, but it almost seemed like the jerk was actually checking up on him. Which was sheer lunacy, but not an all around unwelcome thought.

Then again...

Draco thought to himself, his friends would be back soon. Maybe they would kill him yet.

____________

So much for civil conversation. He really shouldn't have expected much, but Neville's optimism seemed to be rubbing off on him. Granted, the childish bickering didn't has as long as usual, but they certainly weren't instant friends. Harry wasn't even sure he wanted to be friends with anyone anymore, not with the way things turned out with Ron and Hermione.

Harry scowled down at the bowl of soup that was carefully balanced on his knees. He was late when he finally made it down to the kitchens, having missed lunch. He regretting choosing the soup. It was already growing cold by the time he reached the second floor. It was down right icy by the time he reached his secret hiding spot.

He had discovered the nook accidentally during the first few days back. It was a small alcove off the side of an unused walkway that wound its way high above the library bookshelves and well into darkened rafters. The metal railings were a little unstable, but nothing that a few well placed spells couldn't fix up.

Harry hadn't even notice the ladder tucked away behind a book cases until clumps of rust fell into his hair. He had already spent hours lurking in the archives before the discovery, trying to keep himself entertained while avoiding people. The entire area seemed completely forgotten, which is exactly why Harry claimed it as his own.

"That git," Harry muttered before ripping a chunk of bread apart and dunking it in his soup. His mind was still stuck on his conversation with Draco from that morning.

Why did he have to be so stubborn? Was it really all that bad to be asked after every once in a while? It looked as though Draco had been curled up in that corner for the entire night, which couldn't have been very comfortable. Harry had always assumed that for Draco, comfort came first. So what ghost did he see that scared him so much that he...

Harry swallowed the chunk of bread with difficulty. He knew exactly who's ghost he had seen, and the blond's break down made a lot more sense suddenly. He could only imagine what Crabbe looked like as a ghost. If he looked as he looked at his time of death... Harry didn't want to imagine it. No wonder Draco had lost it.

Harry frowned at his bowl, having lost his apatite. There was something else off about Draco that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Why was he so afraid of being touched? He used to make a big deal out of it before with the whole 'pure blood' nonsense, but this was something entirely different. The guy was clearly not sleeping, and had a twitchy, looking-over-your-shoulder affect. He seemed stiff when he moved, which could have been from curling up in the corner all night. But no, when he thought about it, Draco had looked stiff and awkward in the kitchen as well. Only, Harry couldn't figure out why.

The professors had made it painfully clear how strict the punishments would be if anyone attacked another student within Hogwarts. Especially 'high profile' students like himself and, apparently, Draco. Harry wasn't optimistic enough to hope that Draco didn't have any enemies returning to the school. The blond probably expected Harry to attack him, even if he did speak at his trials for him. Harry knew Draco was going to have to watch his back. The war was over, that didn't mean people had moved on or simply forgotten.

Harry gave up on the soup and placed it down carefully to the side. He had snuck a few pillows and a blanket up there in case he ever needed a place to escape to at night. He harbored very little hope that the new dormitory was going to be peaceful.

Perhaps Draco could use it, if worst came to worst. But that meant showing the git his secret place, and that didn't seem like such a good idea. They were not friends, but not enemies either. Since when did things get so complicated?

Harry stood and stretched, taking a minute to peer out the small slanted window that graced his hideaway with the last, dwindling light of the day. A few owls had gathered outside, looking in at him curiously. Harry swallowed the usual lump that formed in his throat as he thought of Hedwig and cracked open the window. They shuffled their feathers and waited at a slight distance as he shoved the bowl of soup and the last remaining chunks of bread out.

"There you go, you vultures."

They hooted appreciatively and dug in. He left them to it, climbing down the ladder after muttering a Mufflaito . He had already mastered the art of sneaking in and out of the library years ago, so he had no trouble slipping out unnoticed.

He didn't know why he was going back to the new dormitory, or if he even wanted to go in the first place. Harry knew what he was about to face there. More biting words and childish arguments between the two of them that would probably only get worse when the others moved in. But he decided to risk, in the end, because he had a sneaking suspicion that Draco was going a little nuts up there being all alone. No one should be alone like that, not even him.

Harry had been lucky to have Neville keeping him company this whole time, but it felt a little forced sometimes. Maybe Harry wanted to be alone, rather than face his old friends anymore. Something had clearly changed about him that drove people away more than ever, and once everyone moved into the new dorm like they were supposed to, he was going to have to adapt. Harry wondered how they would treat Draco with all the hatred and mistrust that had grown over the years. The ghosts, alone, were enough of a problem for everyone. The war might over, but a new battle had begun. How in Merlin's name were they going to survive their final year at Hogwarts?

Chapter Text

Draco couldn't decide which part was worst, the part where he was forced to attend the welcoming ceremony dinner and sit with a room full of people wanting to kill him, or the part where Mcgonagall pulled him aside to talk about the ghosts. He decided the room of people who hated him was actually more comforting than that conversation had been. She kept it short and to the point, but he would have rather she not acknowledge it at all then tell him she would keep him safe .

When he arrived, the sorting hat had just finished, what he could only assume, was another ridiculous song and Mcgonagall was calling out names of the first years. He had planned it out carefully the night before so that he would enter during the sorting to avoid as much unwanted attention as possible. He slipped in and sat on the very far end of the Gryffindor table, causing a few older students to shift down in their seats to get away from him. It wasn't as though he wanted to sit there either, but that end of the table was the closest to the door. Just in case he needed to escape for any reason. Any reason, like the scowls he was getting from every single student who noticed his presence. He started spooning mashed potatoes into his plate, careful not to make too much noise, but it was to late. As soon as one person spotted him, they whispered to their neighbor and so on and so forth. By the time Draco had actually started eating, half the hall had heard of his arrival and most of the student body had taken at least one moment to glower at him before getting back to their food. There were some special cases, ones who's anger could not be stilled buy a single glance. They continued on, muttering what Draco could only hope was non-magical curses.

Perhaps not everyone was sending their hatred his way. Potter greeted him with a faint nod, and Neville mirrored his movement as well. Draco was a little more than startled at Neville's greeting, but decided to put it up to Gryffindors and their usual 'honorable friendship code' nonsense. Being the only place in the room he could rest his gaze without assault, he watched the two of them interact for a moment, before realizing that something was missing. Where were his usual companions?

Curiously enough, they were sitting nearly half the table away from Harry, leaving the savior to sit with that Neville and Seamus. Unfortunately, Draco caught their eye and was forced to duel the Weasel in a battle of glares. Draco narrowed his eyes at the red head, and ended it with a well placed smirk. He celebrated by himself and enjoyed his one small victory of the evening. His cheerfulness didn't last long, however, because he noticed something even more alarming. They were glaring at Potter now, Weasley's lips curled in distaste while the two muttered between one another. Granger seemed less irate than her counterpart, yet she still looked at Harry with odd amount of distain.

He didn't think it was possible, but clearly the golden trio had broken up sometime over the past year. They looked utterly disgusted by Harry, as if his mere presence in the room was reason enough to burn the castle to the ground. Draco wasn't even aware that the two of them possessed the amount of deep seeded hatred needed to look at a person like that. Hadn't they always been the happier two out of the group? Something about the whole situation rubbed Draco the wrong way,and he left his food long since forgotten for the drama of his ex-enemies.

The last time he had seen the three of them victory had been theirs. They were grieving but happy enough to be cracking jokes about taking a holiday and something about camping had been hilarious to the three of them at the time. Now, it had become clear that something had gone horribly wrong somewhere down the road. This should have been cause for alarm for any usual friends outside of the trio, and Draco did notice how Longbottom seemed to overcompensating for the gap. He was definitely pushing into Potter's space too desperately, if the exasperated look Potter kept making when he looked away said anything.

But most importantly, Potter looked completely unfazed by his ex-best friend's attitude. Draco had observed a lot of arguments between the three of them over the years, particularly some rather explosive ones between Weasley and Potter, but every time they fought Potter always expressed great pain at the damage done to their friendship. He moped, sulked, and grew unbearably depressing.

But now, he was acting as if they didn't exist, or worse, that their hatred was beneath his interest. He looked bored with his food and unamused by Seamus's attempt at conversation. The effect was rather was unnerving. Especially when Longbottom said something, apparently highly amusing to most of the Gryffindor's around him, and Potter hardly managed to crack a smile. In fact, Draco could not remember hearing him speak since he sat down.

However, in the absence of the group's usual chatter,other's had started to pick up the slack. Their main topic? Draco himself.

"What's Malfoy doing here?"

"Why isn't he in Azkaban, where he belongs?"

"I can't believe he's actually sitting at this table. Does he think he's one of us because he didn't get in trouble like the rest of his Death Eater family?" a red-headed girl said; someone Draco vaguely remembered being latched onto Potter during their last year together.

"He didn't even do any good during the war," Seamus spoke up, louder than the rest, "it's his mum who actually saved Harry here. The twit wasn't even good at being a Death Eater, why would he think he could be good at anything else?"

The older students laughed, sending mocking glances his way before starting in on a list of his failures. Their voices got louder and louder, until other tables were joining in to mock him.

Draco's hand had starting to shake, so he carefully placed down his fork and stared down at his food. He had heard enough. He had trouble enough just sitting there, never mind being forced to stomach so much verbal hate. Especially from people who didn't even know him, who had no idea what he had been forced to watch, to hear, to do ...

Draco shuddered and looked back down the table, carefully schooling his expression into his usual mask of cold contempt. His eyes found Potter once more and he found himself watching his limited interactions with Longbottom again, if only to avoid the leering crowd around him.


It wasn't until those green eyes caught his own did he realize he had been staring at Potter for quite some time, and had somehow managed to tune out most of the angry threats to his person. They stared at each other for another long moment, before Potter gave him another sort of nod. It took Draco a second to realize he was jerking his head towards the door in some sort of message. He wanted Draco to leave? To leave with him?

Draco considered the unasked question, trying to figure out what the boy wanted. Perhaps he wanted to comment more on his name change? Or maybe he was going to drag him away somewhere and torture him the Crutcio curse. That seemed to be on everyone's mind tonight, and Draco hadn't even looked at the Slytherin table yet.

He decided to take a chance with the lesser of two evils. Or, comparatively, the a single wand verses a Great Hall full of wands. So he waited while Harry excused himself and left the hall, drawing a great deal more attention to himself than Draco was hoping for. First years craned their heads to see him, and the older students weren't holding anything back in their adoration for the hero. Everyone seemed to want to catch sight of their 'savior' as he left. So Draco used the lull in glare activity to sneak down past the rest of the Gryffindors and out the door at the other end of the hall. The silence was welcome, and he felt himself relax ever so slightly. It was good to be rid of the noise and hatred; now he only had deal with Potter and his mysterious head nods.

By the time he he made his way through the halls to the other entrance the hall was empty. He scowled and looked around until a soft cough from one of the shadows that alerted him of Potter's presence.

"Did you need something?" Draco asked, trying to sound bored rather than curious.

"Now that the semester's started, there's something I need to show you."

"What does this something entail?" Draco arched and eyebrow and glanced back at the hall. The last thing he needed were people finding him with their favorite hero. They would undoubtably assume the worst, and they might assume correctly.

"It's a place I think you might need, if those death threats they were muttering were anything to go by," Harry replied lightly, starting off in the direction of the library. Draco rushed to catch up, furrowing his brow.

"Worry about yourself, Potter. I saw where your so-called friends were sitting."

Harry froze and turned around slowly. "You noticed, huh?" he asked shaking his head, "of course you did... look, I don't want to talk about it where anyone can come out of the hall and hear. So let me show you the place, and I'll tell you whatever you want."

Draco studied him for a long moment, weighing his options. One, go back to the hall and possibly get stabbed to death by a fork, or two, go with Potter and probably be left to die somewhere where they would never find his body.

With a shrug, he chose to chance death by the hands of the wizard world's hero. Public execution just weren't his style.

" This is what you wanted to show me, Potter?"

"I know it doesn't look like much, but it's probably the last secluded spot left in the castle," Harry replied, a hint of pride in his voice.

"I do hope you plan to kill me sooner than later," Draco muttered, unable to take his eyes off the rusted metal all around them, "I would prefer a quick death over suffering one of the many diseases that are lingering here."

"Could you be optimistic about something for two seconds, or will it kill you?"

"If it kills me faster than—"

"I get it!" Harry snapped, throwing his arms up in frustration before throwing himself down on the pile of blankets. "I'll clean some more of it up tomorrow. I won't have time once classes are in full swing."

Draco hovered, not yet willing to approach the slightly cleaner looking area, if only to avoid being closer to Potter. But Harry was giving him that look that implied he was being stupid, which only served to infuriate him more.

"What exactly were you hoping to achieve with this place?" He asked, finally moving to sit down on the chair. He tucked his body in close and cast one most grimace at the area around him. "If you truly wanted to kill me, may I suggest a a few better... cleaner solutions?"

"I wanted to offer this place to, I don't know, get away from it all. That's kind of what I've been using for. Also, I don't know where you got this idea that I'm planning to murder you, but i'm not ,so you can stop."

Draco arched a disbelieving eyebrow at him and crossed his arms over his chest. The messaged must have been clear enough, because the boy followed the movement and cringed at the memory of his attack.

"I promise I'm not going to kill you," Harry said earnestly, "unless you keep complaining, than i'm not sure I can stop myself."

"Nice to see your self control hasn't improved any, Potter."

"Nice to see you haven't grown a sense of humor yet."

"Excuse me?" Draco gasped in contempt, "my humor is golden, you are simply too plebeian to understand it."

"If Crabbe and Goyle laughed at your jokes, i'm pretty sure only the peasants get them."

Draco stiffened at the mention of Crabbe, and did his best to school his expression. It was the first time his friend had been brought up around Draco in a long while. His mother had avoided speaking about any of his old friends as much as possible, and he hadn't exactly spoken to anyone other than Potter since his return. He was almost glad Goyle hadn't been able to return with him after their trials. Even if it meant he was alone, Goyle would not have handled the ghost situation half as well as Draco had. Not to mention his new found hatred for Draco after Crabbe's death.

As if sensing his discomfort, Harry leaned back into some pillows and started talking about the upcoming year.

"Do you think we can still play Quiddich?"

"I doubt it, we don't exactly have a house anymore," Draco answered, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "Besides, no one would want to play with me, anyway."

"I wouldn't mind playing against you again."

Draco scowled at him, pushing down the temptation to shove Harry off the elevated walk way, just to hear him squawk. "None of our games were memorable, I can't understand why you would be eager to relive them."

"Not memorable ?!" Harry hissed, sitting up suddenly, " they were brilliant! Half the time we got hurt, it was always a close call between who won and lost, and out of all the houses, you were the best Seeker I ever played against. You made it worth it."

For some reason, a blush was forming across his face, which only made Draco's scowl deepen.
"Either way, I no longer have a broom."

"Why's that?"

"I'm not allowed certain things... or I wasn't for a while, anyway." Draco paused and tried to remember if they said he could have his broom back. "I couldn't use my wand for a few months after the trail, as you know since you sent it back just as the ban was lifted. But I was banned from all magic, including broom sticks."

"That's barmy! What harm could you possibly cause with a broomstick?"

"I could run away," Draco answered dryly.

"Oh... right." Harry looked up at the window, avoiding Draco's gaze.

Why was he here again? To avoid the great hall and all its masses that loathed him? It wasn't exactly the best trade off, considering his current company and the familiar feeling of annoyance that had creeped up on him again as they spoke.

Draco swallowed a lump that formed in his throat and stared pointlessly at a little tea tray Harry had tucked away on the far end of the hideaway. Maybe he was finally losing his mind, to be spending time with Potter voluntarily instead of simply hiding away in the dormitory. But it didn't feel as bad as he expected it to, not nearly as exhausting as their old arguments used to be.

He had heard Potter creep into the dormitory last night, but decided it was better to fake sleep, and avoid any further conversation. Yet, here he was talking to him again, as though Potter never attacked him, or that things had somehow miraculously changed between them. It was nearly, just nearly, comfortable.

Still, he was testing his patience, and Draco knew he would be better off leaving sooner, before he got fed up and attacked Potter for real.

"I should go, I need to get my things ready for classes tomorrow."

"All you have to do is pack your books up in the morning."

"That's all you need to do, other's actually enjoy that thing called 'organization'."

"Fine, whatever," Harry muttered, standing and stretching his hands towards the beams up above them. "I should go say hello to everyone in the new dorm anyway, since no one was there last night."

"Won't you be surrounded by your usual pack of followers? Why do you need to socialize with the other house members?"

"For reasons I doubt you would ever understand. Making friends is something normal people do, Draco."

"Making friends... Making friends," Draco tapped his lip as if deep in thought. "Don't you have issues with that, like how your best friends seem to hate you suddenly?"

Harry visibly flinched and Draco turned his face away to hide his small grin of victory. It might be cruel, but Potter had opened up his wounds first. Besides, didn't he say he was going to talk about it?

"Oh yeah, that ," Harry muttered, still standing but apparently not ready to leave just yet. Draco stood as a sign that he was ready to go, and scowled when Potter spoke up again.

"Look, some things that happened the summer before sort of made a crack in our friendship," Harry said in a flat voice, "I don't suggest sharing a tent with your friends while you're on the run, things tend to be said that can't be unsaid."

"Considering I no longer have friends and the Dark Lord is no more, i'm rather sure I won't have the chance to turn down such an adventure."

"Why...” he asked softly, his expression growing pained. He shook his head a little and continued on, “Whatever. The thing is... things happened this summer that drove the wedge in deeper."

"Things?"

"Personal things."

"Your explanatory skills have not improved either, Potter."

"I sort of... broke it off with Ginny early on in the summer," Harry revealed at last, looking awkward, "I mean, she and I were going to try again, but It just felt forced to me. Apparently, though, not so much for her. So it was a big ordeal, and I had a lot of angry red-heads breathing down the back of my neck. So I left the Burrow because, honestly, it was like the war all over again, only with more passive aggressive comments and undercooked food."

Draco snorted and gave him a small smirk. "You ran away?"

Harry bristled at this and turned to walk away. "Would you stay there? It's not like I deliberately led her on or anything, but they were acting as though I purposely hurt her. Then, one day Ron starts screaming at me about Fred and I..."

He stopped so abruptly that Draco ran right into him, nearly sending them both toppling down the ladder.

"Don't just—" Draco snapped, reaching out for the railing for support. He just remembered the numerous diseases in time to snatch his hand back. Unfortunately, this meant he toppled into Potter and was forced to be man-handled to keep them both standing.

"Merlin, you're... actually kind of light," Harry muttered, not bothering to hide his surprise.

Draco couldn't focus on his words, not when his arms were screaming from Potter's firm grip. He let out a gasp of pain and tried to pull away quickly, but Potter seemed determined to hold on, which only served to hurt him more.

"L-let go! Let go of me !"

"What is your problem lately?" Harry asked, looking down at Draco's arms. A frown formed, and he shifted his grip to Draco's wrist. "What's wrong with your arms?"

"Nothing, you ignoramus! Let me go !"

Harry's frowned deepened, and he let go of the other arm to pull up Draco's sleeve roughly. Draco hissed as the cool air touched the skin of his arm, trying more desperately to pull away from Potter.

"What... Draco, what is this?"

Draco looked away, unable to stomach the sight of it. "It's a burn. As you might remember, there was a fire..."

"You got burnt? Why isn't it healed?" Harry asked in a hushed tone. " and It still hurts?"

"Yes, Potter, I got burnt ," Draco snapped, turning back to glare at the idiot, "I don't know why it won't heal, and yes it still bloody hurts so if you could stop digging your damned fingers into it, i'm sure I would feel much better!"

Harry let go immediately and tucked his hands under his arms, his face a mask of guilt.
"I'm sorry... I didn't know you were in pain. I..."

Draco let out a sigh and pulled his shirt sleeve down around the aching arm carefully. The constant contact of the fabric didn't help with the pain, but it did help keep up his already damaged pride.
"You couldn't have known, and I honestly didn't want you to."

"I—i'm sorry."

"Repeating it doesn't improve on the situation," Draco said, flashing a sardonic smile at him, "as I said, you didn't know."

"What happened, though? I mean, I pulled you out..."

Draco's smile fell away immediately and he had to force himself not to back away. After all, hadn't he just berated Potter for running away?

"It's not your average flame, Fiendfire." He paused and found a point near Potter's elbow to direct his gaze to. "I'm sure you would understand cursed scars better than anyone, Potter. This ," he held up his arms and met Potter's eyes, "will pain me forever."

The silence that fell after he spoke was heavy and awkward. As Harry's mind seemed to catch up, a look of pity flashed across his face, sending a cold shiver of loathing through Draco's body. He hadn't felt such a strong hatred for Potter since...

Well, not since before the war. Not since the bastard attacked him in the boy's bathroom.

Draco sneered and took a step forward, unable to hide his contempt. "Don't you dare pity me. I am not to be pitied by anyone, especially not you ."

Harry opened his mouth, undoubtedly intending to apologize, but Draco cut him off.

"Move. I wish to be in my bed before the rest of your pals can assault me in the common room."

"Draco, no one's going to—"

" Move ."

Potter looked torn between arguing, and apologizing again. Luckily for the both of them, he decided to step to the left and let Draco past. With another glare, he slipped by to climb down the ladder without a single complaint for the rust.

He left the library silently fuming and instantly ran into a group of younger students. Several of them squeaked in fear and ducked to avoid him. He snapped something pointless and nasty at them and continued down the corridor in an increasingly fouler mood.

He should have known. Potter had been a blinkered git before, and nothing had changed. The next time the bastard offered him something, Draco would take the public execution over humiliation.

Chapter Text

Draco never made it back to the common room after he left Potter to rot in his secret hideaway. He had planned to go down to the kitchens, his stomach growling after his failed attempts at eating in the great hall. He had just made it to the hallway leading to the pear when he was attacked.

A stunning spell came from behind, passing by close enough to singe his cheek. Luckily enough, his reflexes had always been quick, so he ducked and rolled to the side before facing his attacker.

He started to smile at the boy in front of him, a Bombarda already forming in his mouth.

"Aguamenti!"

Draco sputtered in surprise when a jet of cold water struck him from behind, strong enough to knock him on his face. He choked and tried to roll away again, shooting off a stunning spell of his own. The second attacker squawked, giving Draco a small gleam of satisfaction.

"You Death Eater scum!" Came a voice to his left, and before he could fire another stunner, something hit him hard across his back. He fell forward on his knees and gasped for air, feeling a trickle of warmth join the freezing cold water pouring down his back.

His attacker laughed while grabbing his friend and dragging the limp body behind him as he ran away. Draco hissed curses to himself and reached a hand around to feel his back. There was blood there, mixed with the water that soaked his entire body. With a weak groan, he stood up and shook his damp hair from his face.

Of course he would be attacked. Who would be scared of the headmistress' warnings when they could get a one up on an ex Death Eater. Because, honestly, who would listen if Draco went and complained? No one, that's who. Not a single teacher here had any respect for him, and he highly doubted the new DADA teacher had any glowing emotions towards him. Considering they had hired a retired Auror to teach it.

Draco winced when the pain finally hit him from his back. He wasn't sure what they did exactly, but it felt like a serious of small cuts along his shoulder blades. Nothing too deep, thankfully, but he had a sneaking suspicion it spelled out something. With a final glance around the corridor, Draco sighed heavily and put his wand away. He probably had an entire year of this to look forward to. An entire year of being attacked, and undoubtably being blamed for it if he fought back. Brilliant.

More cold water dribbled down his face, sending a shiver throughout Draco's body. He needed to clean up a little, before he went back to the common room. There was no point if losing the last shreds of his dignity, and the very last person he wanted to see looking like this was Potter. He had had enough of his pity for one lifetime, thank you very much.

With another series of curses, Draco set off for the nearest boy's bathroom to clean up. He spent the entire journey trying not to make a sound as his shirt rubbed against the open cuts on his back and clung to his scarred arms. He pushed the door open, muttering to himself about the mess. Really, one would think the house elves were too busy to clean in here.

"Bloody useless..." Draco hissed before leaning against the sink to look in the mirror. He looked awful. His skin was sallow and sickly looking, only made worse by the deep shadows under his eyes. The nightmares never did let him get much rest, but he should be used to feeling tired all the time. Draco frowned at his reflection, realizing what was bothering him most about this situation.

He had done this before, only instead of water running down his face, it had been tears. Then, of course, Potter attacked him.

There was a soft clunk from behind him, and Draco's already frayed nerves sent him spinning around with his wand out and ready.

"Who's there?!"

No one answered, but that didn't fool him.

He muttered a quick,"Lumos," and took a step forward. Unless they were hiding in the drainage, there couldn't actually be anyone in here with him. They would have had to pass him to go the the stalls. So what did he just hear?

"Show yourself!"

He remained tense and ready, ears straining for any sound that would give his guest away.

"Fine, if you shan't do it, I shall reveal you myself... Aparecium!"

No one appeared and the silence after his shout felt like the breath before laughter. Draco peered around for a few seconds longer and frowned at his own stupidity. At least there wasn't anyone to see his paranoia. If anyone was there, the spell would have revealed them.

He muttered, "i'm loosing my mind” and lowered his wand. There was a quiet laugh and a dull, wet sound filled the air as his stomach clenched in pain.

With a startled gasp, he looked down to see a disembodied hand still holding the knife in his stomach. As he watched, the hand twisted the blade a little before pulling back and disappearing again.

"Wha...!?" Draco choked out, stumbling backwards into the sinks. He clutched at the wound, wincing in pain at the slightest touch but desperate to stem the flow of blood.

His mind was racing. There was only one thing that granted someone invisibility that would not be I effected by an Aparecium, and that was an invisibility cloak.

His thoughts were dragged back to the gaping hole in his abdomen with a particularly violent throb.
Even as he tried to recall the spell needed to close the wound, his side exploded with pain. Draco screamed this time, and the blade thrust into his abdomen a few more times before his attacker let out a strangled sound and pulled away again.

Draco slid down, causing his head to smack against the pipes of the sink behind him. He hardly registered it as he struggled to cover the rest of his wounds. There was another weak laugh from somewhere above him, and Draco tried to squint up at his attacker. The room remained empty and a minute later the door swung open and shut on its own.

Draco was struggling just to manage each wheezing breath. He could feel him self fading already with the blood loss, or possibly from the crack to the back of his head. But heart ached more when his disjointed thoughts pulled together and he finally reached an understanding.

Of course, how could he have been so stupid? He knew it was coming, yet somehow he was so unprepared for it. Draco chuckled darkly, ignoring the bubbles of blood now dribbling past his lips. His mind simply refused to lose focus on one simple thing. Something that shouldn't matter so much, something he shouldn't feel betrayed over. It was his own fault for hopping that something had changed in the past week, that he was being simply pessimistic about his future here at Hogwarts. But it looked as though all his predictions had been correct after all.

Harry Potter had finally got around to killing him.

The corridors were oddly empty considering it was just before curfew.

They were typically filled with students rushing to get back to their dormitories before they got caught. But Harry had seen no one since he left the library and he was already more than half way back to his own dorm. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he forced himself to keep from shivering. Something was wrong, and he should have sensed it a lot sooner. If that bloody Draco hadn't been on his mind, he probably would have.


"Hel..."

Harry froze, flicked his wand out and quickly scanned the hallway around him. The voice sounded distorted and too far away to make out clearly.

"Help..." It came again more softly.

"Hello? Where are you?"

"Hel... h-hello?" The voice sounded stronger, echoing now as if in a smaller chamber.

Like a bathroom.


Harry cursed and took off down the hall, hoping his ears hadn't betrayed him. He knew there was a boy's bathroom around here somewhere.

There!

"Hold on!" He called out, bursting through the door and looking around the room for the owner of the voice. At first, he didn't see anyone, but he then realized it was because they were well below eye level.

The body was slumped awkwardly under the sinks, surrounded by an ever growing pool of blood. Harry's eyes focused enough in the dim light to see them lift their head.

"Draco?!" Harry gasped.

Draco squinted up at him with hazy eyes and scowled. "Returned to f-finish the job... Potter?"

"What?... I-I don't understand," Harry stammered, stepping closer tentatively. As he moved closer he could see just how many wounds Draco had. It looked worse the closer he got. Were those stab wounds? Four, no five of them across his torso. "Draco, who did this to you?"

Draco was trying and failing at giving him a dirty look. He was barely managing to keep his eyes open at this point. "Ssyou, isn't it?"

"No! I told you I didn't..." Harry trailed off and knelt down between his sprawled legs. "I did not do this to you. Now, will you let me look at the wounds?"

"You did this!" Draco shrieked, trying to pull away from Harry only to end up trapped between the pipes. "You did this... You k-killed me."

Something snapped inside of Harry, and with a growl, he pulled Draco out from under the sinks. "I didn't attack you! Why would I come back to help you?!" Harry shouted, even as he carefully lay the whimpering Draco out on the floor. "Merlin's bollocks, would you just trust me?"

Draco was gasping for air, looking up at him in a mixture of fear and confusion. "But... It can only be you."

Harry frowned and wracked his brain for a spell to help heal, only half listening now. "Why me? Now hold still, I think I can stop the bleeding."

He pointed his wand at the wound closest to his chest and muttered, "Episkey."

He managed a small smile when the blood slowed to a faint dribble, rather than the steady flow as before. So he continued on, mutter the spell again and again over each stab wound. He found Draco's eyes staring up at him, wide and even more confused.

"Why are you here, then?" the blond asked breathlessly.

"I heard you calling."

Draco's eyebrows drew together and Harry noticed that his face had broken out in a sweat. "I did not call..."

"Yes you did, I heard you call for help."

"No," Draco croaked, a small bubble of blood popping at the side of his mouth, "I did not call."

"I heard you, you git. There's no need to feel ashamed, not when you're..." Harry gestured to the blood around him with a grimace, "not when you're like this."

Draco's only response was to shudder and suddenly his eyes fluttered closed.

"Hey! No, none of that. Just, hold on," Harry ordered, lifting Draco's head off the cold floor to rest on his knees. He cast a panicked look around the bathroom before looking back down at Draco's pale face. "Just... let me get someone."

Draco's eyes snapped open and a bloodied hand reached out to clumsily grasp at Harry's arm. "D-Don't leave... me here. Don't..."

"I can't get help if I... No, wait, I can!" Harry looked at his wand and closed his eyes, focusing on a happy memory. It was harder than usual, but he managed to cast his Patronus. "Go, find Mcgonagall!"

The stag dipped its head towards Draco for a long moment before turning and disappearing through the door. Harry watched its movements with wide eyes. He had never seen a Patronus show any interest in a person it wasn't directed to seek out. It was as if it were acting on its own concern for Draco. Which was nonsense, it's not as though they were alive.

"C-clever Potter."

Harry turned his gaze back to find Draco managing a half hearted smirk. "Sometimes you astound me, Draco."

"Do I?" He wheezed out a short laugh and winced, "even when i'm not even trying, I still... As...tound."

The blond fell silent and his eyes grew unfocused.

"Draco? Draco?! OI, Draco don't you dare—!"

"What is the meaning of this noise—Potter!?"

Harry looked up at the sound of Mcgonagall's voice, ready to let out a sigh of relief. But when he saw the fear and doubt in her eyes, he finally realized how the situation must look.

"I found him here like this," he said quickly, "Look, can you help him get to the infirmary?"

The headmistress remained there gaping at him with one hand over her chest. She had clearly already been asleep when his Patronus had come to her, if her night gown and slippers were any hint.

"Please," he implored, "he's lost a lot of blood!"

"I can see that, move aside, I shall transport him to the infirmary," she directed, waving her wand before Harry had time to move. Draco's body lifted into the air in front of him, and he stood up awkwardly, trying to find somewhere to look that wasn't covered in blood. Mcgonagall was already leading the body out the door when she noticed he wasn't following.

"Come along, Potter, you have some questions to answer."

“Q-questions?”

Mcgonagall stopped, her want still pointing at the unconscious Draco, and answered with a frown, “This is the second time you have been found in a boy's bathroom with Mr. Malfoy covered in blood. I suggest you come along quietly so we can sort this out.”

“Last time was an accident!”

“And this time was not?”

“I did not attack him.”

“Then there is no reason for you not to follow me,” she replied tiredly, “ Please, Mr. Potter, I only wish resolve this as soon as possible.”

Harry paled and clenched his fists, following behind her stiffly. Maybe it was all a foolish dream, to live in peace with everyone. He should have known this would happen. How could he have been so stupid? To send for someone while he sat there in the same situation as before. Blood on one hand and a wand in the other.

No, something was different this time. This time, someone else had attacked Draco, and Harry was going to find out who.

Chapter Text

Madam Pomfrey was the first one to notice the wounds on Draco's back. Harry had already been shuffled to the side and told to stay put by a very serious headmistress when they discovered it. He probably would have never known what it said, if Madam Promfrey hadn't uttered the word out loud in surprise.

" Murderer ..."

It had been a tense hour, between the numerous spells and potions given to Draco and the dozens of questions from both Madam Promfrey and Mcgonagall. Harry had tried his best to answer them all, but he didn't even know what happened himself and every time he didn't have an answer for them, they grew more suspicious.

"'Murderer'?" He repeated, standing up from his stool by the door. "Is that... on his skin?"

"You didn't notice it, Potter?" Mcgonagall asked, looking up from Draco's exposed back.

"He was on his back when I found him, and there was sort of... blood everywhere."

"You do not sound very phased by all this," came a voice from the door, startling Harry from the blood ridden memory. His hand automatically went for the wand in his pocket as he turned around; It had been a very stressful hour.

Harry found the owner of the voice to be none other than the new DADA teacher, Auror Kane. As the initial shock passed, all Harry could do was stare at him blankly and try not to ask him if he was an idiot. Did he not know who he was? Not phased ?

Harry had been through the war, seen things people his age should probably never see, and then there was the dying bit. Yeah, it was scary to see someone he almost considered a friend laying in a pool of their own blood, but he wasn't about to fall to pieces over it. He had been in the war. He led the bloody war.

"No, sir, I am rather upset that someone did this to him," he answered honestly. Not phased didn't mean not caring.

"You do not seem upset, Mr. Potter. In fact, you seem a tad too calm, considering that you are currently the only suspect for this crime."

Harry's eyes narrowed at the shorter man; he reminded him of someone familiar. He had the same sort of short, presumptuous, bigotry he had grown to expect from Fudge. Wilkins Kane, the ex Auror who retired at the end of the first war with several medals of bravery. He didn't look the type to go rushing into battle, something he questioned as soon as he heard the story. Maybe he hadn't been as old or balding, or tweed-wearing back then, but something about him oozed laziness, and if the man shared the same difficult attitude as Fudge, there was only one thing for Harry to do. He turned around back to Draco's wounded back, and promptly ignored him.

Madam Promfrey give him a look that might have been understanding, and started placing bandages over the word carved into the pale skin, not acknowledging Kane in the slightest.

"You're not going to... make them go away?" Harry asked, painfully aware of his ignorance of healing magic. There was an irritated huff from Kane behind him and Mcgonagall ushered the man out of the room to speak in private.

"I'm afraid not," Pompfrey said, straightening up to look down at her work. "Magical scars are not so easily removed. Someone used a nasty spell on this one, and I can only hope he gave back in kind."

"Madam Promfrey, are you condoning fights in the school?" Harry joked, smiling slyly.

She gave him a stern scowl in return, and replied, "If someone needlessly attacks you, you fight back. You know well enough about this, love."

Harry nodded quietly, and had to turn his gaze elsewhere. It wasn't like the early days, when he and his friends came in with wounds from their small, yearly battles. They seemed like such massive Injuries at the time, but hardly a thing compared to the pain and suffering that came later.

But She had been there at the end of the war, patching up everyone she could still patch up. She and Mcgonagall were the ones who had to explain to the families how their child died, or why that scar would never fade. A war, they had fought in a war , and Harry had brought it to them. He brought the fight to a school filled with children.

Harry shuddered, and tried to force his thoughts away from the war for the third time that night. He had gone over it in his head a thousand times since it ended, and anytime he was left alone with his thoughts, it came creeping back. It was the worst when his friends left, when it was just him and his mind and for a while there Harry was worried he had gone insane at last.

How old were the first years again, eleven, even younger? He couldn't remember anymore, but they were still young. What if he had lost, what if Voldimort got past their defenses and found them? Hidden away in different spelled rooms across the castle in some mad hope that it would keep them safe. Even then, he had been too late to save them from the Carrows, the torture, the abuse.

And he had brought a war to a school .

"Potter?"

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry twitched, his attention drawn back to present by a hand on his shoulder. The headmistress had returned with a triumphant looking Kane beside her, both standing far too close to Harry for comfort. He was a little over sensitive to being touched, these days.

Mcgonagall cleared her throat and said, "Auror Kane and I would like to test your wand before we let you return to your dorm."

So, Harry just nodded and handed it over, not really caring what his last few spells were. He didn't attack Draco, at least he knew that much. Kane made a sound like an angry bull when Harry turned away from them to look at Draco one more.

"Potter, pay attention."

A "Yes, sir," slipped out automatically when he turned around, and he cursed himself for rewarding the man any sort of respect when he was greeted with Kane's smug smile. He looked as though he had just put a difficult student his place, and Harry knew right then and there that they were not going to get along.

All the same, he did his best not to glare at the man, and smiled weakly at the headmistress, nodding permission for her to start. She gave him an odd look before she muttered the spell and waved Harry's wand.

The buck walked out, smaller and a fainter color than when it was usually cast. Mcgonagall waved it off and waited for the next one to come. Harry started to worry it was some sort of spell that would give his library activities away, but let out a sigh of relief when instead it was a heating charm. After that it was a drying charm, and a few more basic spells. He had cleaned himself off because, unfortunately, Draco had been right about something. It was a bit of a mess up in his secret spot, and he might have gotten a little carried away with cleaning up.

"He could have cast these to hide the spell used on the boy's back," Kane grumbled, shuffling from one foot to another.

"Or he could have been cleaning, by the looks of it," Mcgonagall responded dryly before turning to address Harry, "which is a much welcome thing in the castle, as of late. The house elves have been overrun with work since we rebuilt."

"I still suggest we use the truth serum on him."

"And I said that was going too far, especially for the boy who saved us all from a rather bleak future."

Harry stiffened and took a step back. Both sides of the argument were wrong, and he had no idea Mcgonagall of all people thought of him that way. She never gave special treatment to anyone because of status, yet she used his new title as an excuse not to do something he should have been able to refuse anyway. It was queer to hear her talk about him like that, almost as if she were talking about someone else, rather than himself.

"He saved us all, yes," Kane began with a cynical tone, "that does not mean he is of sound mind currently . War does strange things to a man's mind, not that he's a man just yet." He paused and gave Harry a once over. "F rom what I hear, he and Mr. Malfoy were not on the same side of the war, as well . He should have been evaluated before being allowed to return here."

Harry bit his tongue and tried not to scream at him. What was it with short, balding men who seemed to think Harry's gone bonkers all the time? Was his unruly hair a personal insult to them?

"I believe," Harry snapped, "I have every right to disallow the use of Veritaserum no matter who I am, and I would rather like to go to bed now if you are done with my wand."

Mcgonagall blinked down at him, looking slightly put off at his tone. But Harry really could not bring himself to care anymore, and took the wand from her outstretched hand without another word. He nodded to Madam Promfrey, gave Draco one last look, and left the ward.

There were two good things to come out of all this, Harry decided on his way back to the dormetory.

One, he was infinitely more ticked off than he had been going in, and two, he now had a target in mind rather than searching blindly for Draco's attacker.

Draco had said it was him, and then looked confused when Harry assured him it wasn't. Draco wasn't so irrational or paranoid a person to assign the blame right to Harry's face unless he had good reason to. Whoever it was who did attack him, did something to make him think it was Harry. Which meant either a Polyjuice potion, or they had something that belonged to him.

That narrowed it down to one of the fifty students in his newly established house, and Harry had a feeling he knew precisely who hated Draco enough to use Harry's image to attack him.

The first thing Draco said when he woke up the next morning was, "it wasn't Potter," and if anyone heard the utter relief in his voice, he did not care. It wasn't him, and that was all that mattered. Well, that and the searing pain from his back.

He had woken up on his side, not his typical sleeping position, and instantly rolled onto his back. That had been a very bad mistake, and his wail of pain brought Madam Promfrey over and his embarrassment only grew when she chided him for ripping it open again. She didn't seem to care for his assurances that it was, indeed, not Potter who attacked him, and it took her sharply snapping, "we know !" for him to stop.

Now, he was left to lay on his side and try not to cry in pain. The stab wounds, once fatal, were all but gone. He could feel the dull ache of freshly healed skin and organs, but it was nothing compared to his back. He knew it was a word, or several shorter words, carved across his shoulder blades in a way that every small movement made them bleed again. The nurse refused to reveal what it said to him, and told him to stop moving around before leaving him to sulk.

Unfortunately for him, his bored mind had nothing else to focus on, so he tried to figure out how many letters it was, and perhaps what letters were there. He had come up with over sixty possible words when Harry showed up a little past noon.


"Oh thank Merlin's hideous beard!" he exclaimed.

"Well, good morning to you, too."

"Good morning my arse, Potter. My back is bloody killing me, that woman won't tell me what it says, and i'm starving ."

"If I get you something to eat, can we skip the part where I tell you what it says?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at the dark haired boy and sat up further. "You saw it?"

Harry shuffled his feet, looked down at them, looked to the left, then down again, and finally back up to Draco. "I was worried, so I stuck around. Plus, they had to check my wand to make sure I didn't try to kill you."

"It wasn't you," Draco confirmed, watching those green eyes for any sign that he was wrong.

"Why did you think it was?" He asked Draco quietly, pulling a stool over to sit next to the bed. "Did you actually see a version of me?"

Draco bit his lip, and tried to decide how much to tell, and how much to keep to himself. He knew he sounded paranoid, and perhaps he was, but he also had good reason to assume at the time that it was Harry, of all people, that was attacking him.

"I didn't see anyone."

Harry blinked once, twice, a third time before blurting out, "then why did you—?!"

"I didn't see anyone, Potter. Tell me again, how many people have a cloak like yours?"

Harry went pale, his eyes widening in realization. "It wasn't a spell?"

"Aparecium, nothing."

"And they stabbed you," Harry added, his brows drawn together in thought. "They didn't hex you, not like your back."

"My back was from an earlier attack," Draco informed him, daring Potter to comment on it. "And using a knife means no wand to test."

"It also leaves me the only suspect," Harry said bitterly, "which was obviously intentional."

Draco studied him for a long while until he realized that this was probably the longest conversation they ever had without snapping at one another at least once. In fact, it was nearly pleasant, which was just odd.

"I know who it is, anyway," Harry added, his voice low. He seemed to be talking to himself, and Draco watched his fingers curl into fists.

"If you know who it is, tell someone already!"

Harry shook his head and glanced at Draco with a sheepish look. "I'm not positive, yet. It doesn't do anyone any good if the wrong person gets blamed."

"Better safe than sorry," Draco hissed, glaring at Harry in disbelief. How could he let his attempted murderer roam around? What of he attacked again?

"Better one enemy, than two," Harry quoted back and gave him a pointed look.

Draco simply huffed and crossed his arms over his aching chest. He must have winced, because one of Harry's hands closed around his arm gently, and Draco was met with worried green eyes.

How in the world were his eyes that green? That could not be natural. Draco had a half a mind to comment on the matter, when a disapproving voice called out, "who allowed you back in here without an escort?"

Draco looked up to see a short, annoying looking man striding towards them. He was the type of person who attempted to have presence, but naturally failed at it. Draco nearly laughed outright, until he glanced back at Harry.

His expression was absolutely murderous, quite a feat, considering not even his coward friends earned such a look from the hero. The hand on Draco's arm pulled away carefully, and the clenched fists returned before Harry turned around to address the man.

"Madam Promfrey is here, not that I require an escort to begin with."

"Mr. Potter, you are still a suspect in—"


"He didn't do it," Draco interrupted calmly, feigning boredom. "Are you here to do something, or just to whinge at my friend?"

Friend, ah. That felt strange to say.

Harry hadn't seemed to noticed, too preoccupied by the burning glare from the other man who looked at Draco with an even deeper scowl and puffed up his chest.

"I have come to take your statement to issue a report back to the Ministry on your attack."

Harry turned and was staring at Draco now, which was giving him an odd mix of worry and comfort. Those damned green eyes, again.

"There were two separate attacks and I shan't be speaking of either one of them. Forget it happened and go back to doing..." Draco raised a brow, "whatever it is that you do."

The man sputtered, "But, Mr. Malfoy, you—"

" Black ," Draco snapped, "Mr. Malfoy was my father, and you will call me Mr. Black, or not at all."

The man deflated before them, looking between Draco and Harry in utter confusion. He obviously didn't like either one of them and Draco understood himself, but not the dislike for Harry. It was a bit strange, hero of the wizarding world and all that.

The man muttered something that might have been an apology, turned on his heel, and lift the room quickly. All of which caused Harry to snort, and when Draco turned, he was already grinning.

"What do you look so pleased for?" Draco asked, the corners of his lips tilting up, "You have another irritation following you about."

"Oh, that's just Kane, the new DADA teacher, ex-Auror, and my new Fudge replacement. Haven't you heard? I'm completely bonkers."

Draco allowed himself to smirk and folded his hands in his lap. "I knew that since day one. Please, tell me something I don't know."

"So, we are friends now, eh?"

"I had really hoped you hadn't heard that," Draco groaned, closing his eyes and moving to lean back before the stab of pain reminded him why he had to sit so rigidly.

"I'm crazy, not deaf."

"One could say both was in order."

There was a quiet pause before Harry spoke again, his voice soft, "Draco..."

Draco frowned at the way his name sounded nearly whispered, and opened his eyes to find Harry gazing at him strangely.

"What? You look as though I've died already."

"You nearly did ," Harry mumbled, not taking his eyes off of him. "Why aren't you telling them about the other attack? You clearly remember that one better, don't lie."

"Potter, I was told all of three things when they allowed me to return here. One, do not attack anyone, either verbally or physically. Namely, keep your head down and don't fight back. Two, complete your classwork, and three, you will be expelled if you fail to meet the other two requirements." Draco dug his nails into the sheet and continued, "now you tell me, who do you think they will blame for either of these attacks? I may have a history of provoking them, but it doesn't mean I did now. Not that that matters, who would trust or believe my word over a few Gryffindors? I would be the one expelled, Potter, and no one would bat an eye."

"I wouldn't allow it."

"Oh, and why not? You are not all knowing, Potter, I could be lying."

Harry scoffed quietly, reached over, and flicked his cheek. Draco squeaked and opened his mouth to berate him for even thinking of touching him, when Harry interrupted, "You're not lying, know how I know that?"

"How?" Draco grumbled, rubbing at his stinging cheek.

"You're my friend, and I trust you not to lie about this."

It was an entirely different animal to hear it from Harry's mouth, not his. Like a promise, rather than a challenge. Draco could feel his cheeks burning, and hoped Harry would put it down to the flick rather than the flaming embarrassment and excitement at his words.

"You're a pratt," he mumbled, rubbing at his cheek more furiously.

"You're a git," Harry replied with a grin. But his smile slowly slipped away, and his eyes grew serious once again. "Now, let's talk about who did this to you, and what we're going to do about it."