Abused, a harry potter fanfic

Draco Malfoy was not many things, but lucky was one of them. He did not often consider himself much of anything at this point; that he'd been permitted to return to Hogwarts for his NEWTS at all had been a godsend he could only hope years of patronage would partially repay the honour, as he certainly didn't have the reputation to back it up.

So, when he walked into the meeting with Professor McGonagall, he'd expected bad things, and even more so when he saw his classmates giving him the cold shoulder. Their prior association had been entirely because of Voldemort, and now that they wanted that behind them, Draco had no problem with that and icily returned the favour. His attention, for that reason, was quickly robbed by once-and-future Golden Boy, Harry Potter.

Oh, the boy was as attention-stealing as ever, Draco had no problem admitting that. It would have been easy for him to fall to his knees before him and beg forgiveness, but no, his stupid upbringing prevented him from so much as making a peep when their eyes met. He simply couldn't bring himself to do something that would have shamed his father. He merely watched as his own gaze was quickly accosted by a pair of dazzling emerald orbs that watched him like he was Harry's next meal. If he threw an insult, he probably would be; the old banter would be hard to suppress. But for the sake of his dear Mum, he'd do it or die trying.

Harry looked very much like he wanted to say something, and the suspense was killing him. Draco could only hope it would all be over soon and he would be able to reclaim his attention.

McGonagall strode up to the front and began a long speech which would make anyone's knees turn to jelly from sitting so long, magic or no. He drowned out most of her speech but listened to keywords and what came after them, things like 'out of bounds' or 'schedules' that would be useful from her careful speech. At least her speech wasn't the painful drawls that Trelawney and Binns had.

"Eighth years," she continued, "are small in number, and so will share a dorm, regardless of house." There was a small uprising at that, but it quickly fell back at McGonagall's stern look. Draco just hoped he didn't end up with a Gryffindor to chat with.

"It will be two to a room, and the rooms have been sorted in the spare hallway of the fourth floor. We have changed the drapes to have the Hogwarts crest instead of the house insignia, so you should be able to recognize the correct hallway immediately." Taking a sheet of paper from a house elf that suddenly apparated in and out again, she peered at it. "I will now give you your room assignments."

Draco held his breath.

"Blaise Zabini and Ron Weasley!" Was the first one that stood out to him. While McGonagall continued, a low groan rose from everyone in the crowd. It would be a disaster, a snake and a lion in the same room.

"Hermione Granger and Pansy Parkinson!" Fate had it out for Draco's friends, didn't it? He winced as the people who were still groaning proceeded to exaggerate their reaction.

"Harry Potter," She announced, the world going still for a moment at the fabled name.

People clung onto her words like lifelines.

"And Draco Malfoy."

Draco begged for it to be over. His luck really liked to screw him over, as it had so many times before. He was still in a daze; how could they let a former Death Eater sleep in the same room as their precious Potter?

Better stop using the word sleep, Draco, he chided himself, quickly suppressing the pool of warmth in his gut using pure will. He needed to get in control of himself, really...

He turned the corner and walked along. His door number, as he recalled, was seven. How strange, yet how fitting, that he would share the most powerful magical number with Harry Potter, world-saviour extraordinaire. He reached out slowly and hesitated at the knob. Would he even be allowed in? Maybe he should scout for sleeping places, just in case Potter refused to be in the same sleeping quarters.

"Are you going to open the door?"

Draco froze and turned, a deer in the headlights. He didn't even know what the muggle phrase meant, but he could tell it wasn't a pleasant thing to be. Harry Potter, still around the same height as he, managed to look down at him, like he was looking at a kicked puppy, no less. Thankfully, his gaze averted and he strode to the doorknob, twisting it with a confidence only a Gryffindor had.

Oh, how blessed he would have been if he'd been allowed to join the house of Lions, but no; the sorting hat was merciful on those who had expectations from their families; otherwise, bloodline would have nothing to do with the sorting at all. He was only in the house of snakes because he was born to be, raised to be, had to be. There were no exceptions made, and every Slytherin would reluctantly thank the sorting hat for its blessing.

"C'mon, then," Harry urged, bringing him back to reality. He resisted the urge to jolt at Harry touching his hand, which guarded him pointlessly. He dropped his defenses with Potter, he always did. There was a suddenly very sad look on Harry's face as he continued, "You... don't still hate me, do you?"

The look was so sad, so completely resigned that Draco answered the only way he could; he walked in, dipping his head in thanks. Hopefully, Potter would notice his idiotic attempt at diplomacy and accept it as the best Draco could do.

Draco sorted his things in silence, and for once, he noticed that Potter had blessed him with silence. Or perhaps, his ever-pathetic mind supplied for him, he's shaken from the war and wants things between you to go as smoothly as possible.

He didn't know why, but for once, he decided it was alright. If the godforsaken roommatehood of 'Draco and Harry' were to pretend to be okay in a blanket of silence, he could live with that. It was much better than the alternative, and really, he'd fucked things up enough already. If Harry was, being the idiot he was, willing to work with him towards something more than a rivalry, he was willing to give it all he had left to give.

Harry was all that mattered in Draco's world any more.

Before the day had even begun, Harry had dashed off to speak with his friends. Friends, Draco realized, were what Harry called them, even if they were just followers. He doubted the boy-who-lived would say it, but sitting in their room, he just knew.

Harry Potter didn't have friends. He had followers.

Draco wondered how Harry could stand that. Then he reminded himself that he didn't have any true friends either.

Mind you, if friendship had been dangling just out of Draco's reach, as with Potter, maybe he too would have endeavoured to work towards creating something close to friendship for comfort. He'd had his followers; now they were gone. Ron and Hermione, however, had transferred their image of Harry Potter to a real person who responded, and for that, he was sure they would be eternally loyal, not just to the boy who saved their sorry arses, but to the boy who gave them his friendship.

Draco wished he had that.

He spent the rest of the day walking and reading a book he'd gotten from the library. It was the only way he could find peace any more, really, in another's life, whether it be real or fictional. How ironic that he was avoiding his own problems by occupying himself with others.

It had always been his way to use others to deflect his own problems; First is was his father's life. Then it was Harry's. Then it was his mother's.

And now? Now it was Harry again. He couldn't be happier. There wasn't much happiness to be had as a Malfoy, but Draco had found a little bit of it, and he would cling to it for dear life.

At night, Draco had allowed Harry to take the first shower. He'd been pleasantly surprised that the boy cared about his hygiene at all, but then recalled that he had Hermione to take care of him. It was a good job of hers, getting him in the habit. If only he didn't spend bloody forever in there.

"You're finally finished?" He asked in exasperation as Harry stepped out in nothing more than a towel. God, but Harry was so vulnerable-

He stopped that train of thought where it stood and focused on Harry's face instead, as he patted his disaster of a mop of hair dry. The small nod was all he needed to leap at the chance for a nice shower.

He'd need it. A cold one, too.

Oh, how far he had fallen. His father would be rolling in his grave if he could see Draco now.

The first thing Draco heard was Harry murmuring softly to himself. When he left the shower, he was shocked by what he saw.

Harry Potter, boy-who-lived, had a diary. A private one, too, from how he jolted and held it defensively to his chest.

For a moment, the scathing shots were back as he muttered, "Don't even think about telling Ron or Hermione. Got that?"

Draco paused, then nodded slowly. He didn't really have any choice.

It was only later, in bed, that he wondered why Harry of all people hid a diary from his friends. Not only the words within it, but its actual existence was a complete secret from everyone except him. He felt... special.

But he was a nosy person, he always had been, so when he glanced over, walking by, the first words on the page stung; he couldn't act on them, but they were there.

Draco still hates me.

Harry's sleep patterns were absolutely fascinating.

Okay, maybe to the idle bystander, they weren't anything interesting. Harry, despite what the wizarding world would like to believe, was a normal boy. He would get up after a bit of doing homework and use the shower for an ungodly amount of time, pull on his thrift-shop pyjamas (Draco knew this because it still had a tag on it, which Harry pulled off and Draco inspected later, away from prying eyes), and then lie down in as spread-eagle a position as possible. Draco always liked to squeeze himself into a small ball while he slept, and so the spread-eagle that Harry employed looked extremely uncomfortable. He left his drapes, open, as well, which confused Draco to no end.

Their four-poster beds had drapes along each opening, which was likely for privacy, and Draco loved his privacy more than anything. He would close the drapes fondly, knowing he would be at rest and no-one would disturb him.

Harry, however, left every single one open, so that the light from the window could stream in on his face in the mornings. No wonder he was half-blind by now. Harry would hang his arms over the sides, stick his feet out as far as they would go, his lanky body complying and letting him get into the strangest positions Draco had ever seen.

One night, Draco got frustrated.

His day hadn't been going well. Slughorn was not as forgiving as Snape, but even then, he was still good at potions. If he hadn't been placed with Harry, the Draught would have been the right shade of blue. Well, actually, Slughorn had only grilled him about it, and had complimented Harry, but it was afterwards that Harry had complimented Draco.

"I couldn't have done that without your help," he admitted fully.

Draco snorted in amusement. "No kidding..." He wanted to tack on his old name-calling, but he couldn't. The interaction they had now was unfamiliar and painful, but Draco found himself beginning to like it, which was why he was irritated.

So when Harry flopped over in a position that was not suggestive at all, Draco closed the drapes so he wouldn't have to stare at Harry's ass. That was, at least, his reasoning; he didn't expect the response to it at all.

He'd been drifting off when he heard Harry stir. Something in him twisted and he held back the urge to speak to Harry, instead watching Harry's silhouette through the silken drapes. He listened carefully to the grumbles as he rubbed his temple.

Then Harry fell back and gasped, loud enough for Draco to hear, and then started the quick, heavy breathing.

He didn't know why, but it sounded like Harry was hyperventilating. Draco sorted through his head, but every time he came to an answer, he shoved it off as ridiculous. Finally, he'd had enough of Harry breathing like he'd had an asthma attack. He got up and threw the drapes open, observing Harry.

The breathing stopped, but Harry's blurry eyes watched Draco owlishly, shocked into a stupor. His mouth moved a tiny bit, but no words left his lips; Draco finally gave in and asked.

"What happened?" He inquired, biting back the 'are you alright' he had been tempted to add. Harry's eyes, impossible as it seems, got wider, and he threw the other drapes open as well, calming down significantly.

"Nothing," Harry replied, but Draco shook his head.

"That wasn't 'nothing', Potter. And please tell me you weren't wanking off." Harry shuddered, shaking his head violently.

"I was-" he stopped in his tracks, then turned away. "It is nothing."

"No. You will tell me what happened for both my peace of mind and yours." Draco knew he was toeing the line here, but he needed to do this. He didn't want to be responsible if Harry hurt himself. The headlines would be hysterical.

That's what he told himself, at least.

Harry suddenly gave him a sullen look. "Can I trust you won't tell?" He inquired softly.

Ah. A secret.

Slytherins were experts with those.

"I won't. However, I'm surprised you'd tell me about something like this. Does the Weasel or the bookworm know about this?" He'd taken to giving Hermione a new nickname; it was better than the insults he'd been told to use before, for sure. He knew she wouldn't smack him upside the face for it.

"No. And thank you." He rubbed his temple. "Can I go with a short and simple answer?"

Draco nodded. "Get on with it."

"I'm claustrophobic." he admitted. "Like, clinically claustrophobic. I can barely stand being in the dungeons. It's terrifying. What if I got trapped down there?" He voiced suddenly. Draco nodded, sitting down next to Harry slowly, leaving room for Harry to reject him at any moment.

"Sometimes," Harry continued quietly, "I... well..." he winced. "I used to take midnight walks, just to feel... free. I know that a four-poster bed isn't usually something that makes you feel trapped... it's the drapes that do it. It r-" he stopped himself. "Sorry, I'm going on about it again. I'll stop now." He threw himself at the bed and laid down in a ridiculous position.

Draco had a million questions, but the most important was why Harry was claustrophobic. At least now he knew why Harry could never focus in potions, and was always glancing at the door; they always had potions in the dungeons if they could, and if he admitted it, Draco knew that he wouldn't be very good at making a potion if his fears were sitting in front of him while he did it. He felt a heavy guilt in his chest for a long time, but finally managed to shake it off.

He didn't have time for this; he merely had to employ the information as he saw fit. For now, his sleep was more important than Harry Potter's fears.

two weeks later.

Draco was fuming. Positively FUMING. How could Harry spill a potion of that potency?! He felt something nagging at the back of his mind, but he didn't care. He was going to get marked down drastically, and knowing Slughorn, it would be ruthless. No, this was all Harry's fault. He didn't want to do anything except scream into the pillows in frustration.

Really. He replayed the situation in his mind, trying to reason out innocence in the situation. It had to be Harry's fault.

"I'll get the ingredients," Harry offered, getting up from his seat. Draco had come to read this as a sign Harry wanted to escape for five minutes.

"No, stay here and keep stirring," Draco ordered, pushing him back down by the shoulder. People winced, but nothing significant happened until Draco started walking.

"Draco, you know I'm shit at stirring. Just let me get the ingredients." Harry begged. It was too quiet for more than the direct surrounding people to hear, but it reached Draco's ears just fine.

He had no idea what possessed him to say it. "No, I will. I know your escapee tactics."

SMASH.

Draco turned around and saw that, in Harry's attempt to get up, he'd knocked over the potion.

Harry walked in, a sickening aura of humility following him like a cloud. He sat down in his bed, but Draco was too angry to see reason as he got up and jabbed a finger in Harry's chest.

"Do you have any idea how important the mark on that potion was?!" Draco seethed. It wasn't actually much at all, but he wanted to make a point. He was angry. "NEVER do that again! I'll... I'll..." He stopped himself, seeing Harry's frozen look. He turned away from Harry's beautiful eyes and huffed. "I swear, sometimes you're a damned nuisance."

"Sorry, V-" Harry gasped and grabbed his mouth, stopping himself from saying anything else. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Fine," he sympathized, "but I'd like to know what you were going to say." Vermin, maybe. That was likely. It was either that or a wheezy version of Ferret.

"S'nothin." Harry said quietly, shuffling into his bed and going under the sheets.

That was different. Harry always slept without blankets on. He never used the blanket at all.

"It's not nothing," Draco insisted, frustration driving him. Oh, he knew bloody well that he had no right to pressure Harry like this, but someone had to.

"It is, really," Harry lied, not looking Draco in the eye. "Just... just leave it alone."

Draco didn't want to. "I won't, you know that."

"I know. But I can try and stop you." Harry shot back.

Draco sighed. "I guess I'm lucky you apologized at all. I wonder what brought that on."

Harry was silent.

Draco made note of the words he used. He wasn't sure which one was the trigger, but he would find out. He needed to know. Maybe Harry had trigger words; it would make sense. Maybe it was related to the war. Maybe it was his tone. He didn't know, but he needed to.

He got his chance to try out a theory in the library later on. He figured he'd use the last word he'd used, 'nuisance'. Maybe he'd get a reaction.

When he walked up to the table, Ron and Hermione were too engrossed in each other to even see him approaching. He calmed his nerves, walked over with his dusty potions book, and sat down, saying to Harry, "I swear, getting these books without any directory is a damned nuisance sometimes."

The results were instantaneous. Harry's hands froze up, the edges of his book hitting the table. The silent whoosh from his mouth sounded like the beginning of 'sorry', if he didn't imagine it, and even now he was breathing in a slightly erratic manner.

"Calm down," Draco soothed, seeing he had the attention of the weasel and the bookworm. He mustn't let himself come off as evil; he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder nervously, trying to ignore the pleased tingle in his palms. "geez. I swear you're getting jumpier every day."

"Malfoy?" Hermione said incredulously. "What are you doing here?"

Ron was about to speak up to second it, but, and bless Draco's lucky stars, Harry stopped them.

"It's fine," he said shortly, brushing off Draco's hand from his shoulder. "He's alright. Let's keep studying, we have a test on Thursday." Hermione was satisfied, and seeing he was outnumbered, the weasel returned to his book as well.

Draco relished in the fact that he was the one with the privilege of sitting next to Harry during the break.

He was tired today, but he wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because he'd had a nightmare and woken up at four in the morning, not that he'd ever tell anybody, not even Harry - especially not Harry. Instead, he listened to the short breaths Harry took as he slept in the bed to his left and thought about his nightmare.

It was a strange one. Usually his nightmares involved Harry dying, or his mother dying, or his followers dying, as pitiful as that was. Mostly, though, it was about Death Eaters, and more often than not one of them would kill Harry, and he'd be left to place the blame on.

This nightmare was different, first and foremost, because there were no Death Eaters. His family weren't there, either, not at all. It was just Harry.

Well, Harry and someone vague that Draco felt like he should know.

His nightmare had begun with Harry saying sorry, over and over again, never really getting to the point of giving a name to whomever he was saying sorry to. The vague figure would call Harry a nuisance; Harry would say sorry. Rinse, repeat. Draco had a sinking feeling it was him, because the figure was blond.

Then it got worse. Then, it was lots of people, all at once, and Harry was drowning in them. Draco didn't know what to do in the dream to stop it; he'd only been able to helplessly reach out, though something stopped him from grabbing Harry's outstretched hand and pulling him away from the crowd.

Then, very, very suddenly, Harry was alone. This Harry was the worst of all, because he sounded like a broken record.

The thing that stopped Draco from going completely into fear mode was how strange the final version of Harry had been.

He was a broken record. He was shivering, he was thin and underfed, too, and his face was marked with a pallor to match Draco's. He repeated disjointed words that made no sense to Draco. It started with things like 'yes, ma'am' and 'no, sir', but moved on to things like 'sorry' and 'stop'. They sent shivers down his spine, they really did, and they sounded incomplete, like only half the sentence was even there.

Draco decided that dwelling on dreams would do him no good, and that Harry was too influential to ever end up like that. He'd simply grab what he needed and be done with it.

Draco had an early-morning shower and spent a few hours in the commonroom, doing nothing but staring at the ceiling in a sleepy stupor.

Draco preferred, nowadays, to sit at the Slytherin table, so he was pleasantly surprised when Hermione of all people invited him over. She seemed worried about something, but Draco shrugged it off and followed her. If it was her problem, she'd either ask for help or leave him be; if it was his, he could take a few hits to be on speaking terms with Harry's followers, though his impression of the bookworm was rapidly improving.

Without dark marks and ol' Voldy in the way, Draco thought with a smirk as he sat down next to Harry, he could really appreciate that she came to respect him without his ever-present fame clouding her judgement. Perhaps this was one of the many things muggleborns were good for; they brought a new opinion that allowed for advancements among the elite, when their ideas no longer held up.

So it was without much surprise that he figured out how friendship worked.

He was listening carefully to the conversation; Hermione was describing a few potions laws that she'd studied yesterday tor Harry, in an attempt to shorten her response while maintaining its accuracy. She was definitely intelligent, Draco could appreciate that; he simply had no idea what she'd brought him here for.

The weasel had been pre-occupied with food, but chipped in every once in a while with an anecdote from the class they'd learned whatever Hermione was talking about. It seemed the boy's memory was particularly accurate, as he often described detailed memories from each class. He'd also noticed that Ronald had taken particular effort to edit out the animosity between Harry and Draco, and for that, he was grateful; he quickly realized that he'd gain a reputation with the first years for being on friendly terms with the golden trio at this point. He shrugged and listened.

When Hermione finished, Harry gave her a quick, but detailed, review of it. He seemed to be much less focused on the knowledge itself, which Draco knew was perfect in every sense, and instead on her grammar and her phrasing. Draco found himself listening as well; perhaps Harry had a point? Was Harry why Hermione was so good at articulating her thoughts? If so, why couldn't he do it? Was it that he failed under pressure?

Harry stopped talking and nodded. "But overall, great, Hermione. I'm glad you laxed your studies, though. You're the smartest among us already, don't know what we would have done without you, but still, you deserve a break after all that."

Draco stopped to think, breaking out of his shock. Harry had just, if he was not going brain-dead, legitimately complimented Hermione, not even getting any in return... and yet they shared that strange, sloppy smile. Perhaps they owed a debt to each other? Maybe Harry wanted something from Hermione? He was far too chivalrous to want to get into his right-hand man's girlfriend's skirts, but perhaps another favour was in order?

He'd simply have to ask.

Getting Hermione alone had not been an easy task. He was, as usual, very lucky; Harry had vouched for him. Hermione had been reluctant and surprised - she had full right to be, too - but had complied. Ron was a bit put out, but Draco had quietly confronted him about it.

"I promise you, weasel, I would never even lay a finger on her." He had promised. He planned to do just that, too; if he didn't, he was sure Ron's murderous looks would be directed to his face.

"So, what do you want?" Hermione inquired, crossing her arms. She was intimidating when she wanted to be, he could give her that.

Draco cleared his throat. "Before I say this," he chose his words carefully, "I want you to remember that I grew up in... unfavourable conditions. I don't catch on to things that seem obvious to you Gryffindors."

Hermione merely nodded, indicating he could continue.

"As far as I know," he began, "the social system for... those with my kind of heritage," he avoided saying pureblood, to make it obvious he was uncomfortable mentioning them, "is based around followers and figureheads of importance. Since I was important, Greg and... and Vince followed me. They would show that they respected me, and I would lead them." Hermione frowned at this. Maybe she didn't understand?

"I can see how that makes sense to you," she admitted, "but it's never how it works for Gryffindors. There are no leaders and followers like you say, although if I were to guess you viewed Harry as a leader."

Draco nodded. "And I was confused, because he complimented you three times in one sentence at dinner. Excuse me when I say that I can't think of a reason to express that much respect for you unless he had ulterior motives."

Hermione let out a short 'oh' of understanding; then she snorted, and in a very undignified manner tried to hold back laughter. Wiping her eyes of joy-induced tears, she responded, "So that's what this is about! I thought you were leading up to some sort of... never mind, it doesn't matter. I'll just explain how it works in your terms." She paused to think about it, and Draco gave her her time.

"Gryffindors work entirely off of friendships," Hermione began, humming in concentration. Draco found it rather distracting, but at least she couldn't hum when she said something important. "so your follower-leader thing doesn't really hold up. You do know how friendships work?" She inquired, as if it were the first page of a textbook he'd read a million times.

"Is there some sort of etiquette involved?" Draco shot back. She stopped in her tracks.

"Dear Merlin, you really don't know!" Hermione expressed, shocked. "And here I was thinking that you were pulling my leg or something... right. So you know how followers show respect for a leader?" She offered.

"Yes?" he urged her.

"Well, a friendship is like that, except that both sides are equally respected." She explained. "So I compliment Harry, and Harry compliments me, and we both help each other reach our goals. It's that simple."

"So nobody... follows anyone?" He put a hand to his temple, feeling an oncoming headache. "And they just... help each other? Whenever?"

"Pretty much," Hermione nodded approvingly. "So you see, all three of us respect each other equally. I'll admit that being with Ron has thrown us off a little, but I know Harry's been working on restoring balance. Just look at how far he's gotten with you! You're talking to us now, politely!"

Draco was suddenly reminded of every time that Harry had bothered to communicate with him over the past month or so. It had been as if their rivalry had never existed, and Draco was sure that Harry had simply wanted him broken further, without someone to natter at when the going got though.

"So when Harry was talking to me and offering me things," Draco said slowly, shivering a little at how weird Harry's name sounded aloud to him, "he wasn't trying to mock me for falling from grace, and instead trying to induct me into your... whatever it is? Friendship?" He watched Hermione's reaction closely, her guarded expression slipping into... relief?

"Thank merlin you figured that out," Hermione said, sighing in exasperation. "Harry never stops trying to see the good in people, remember that. Ron thought you were a lost cause, but I was more willing to give you a second chance after Harry described what he'd seen of your life at home," she continued. "consider yourself forgiven for anything that's happened before. Furthermore," she smiled, "if you need something, feel free to ask for help from us. We might not comply, but as long as it's legal I'll be highly likely to help out."

Draco was about to offer her something, but stopped. What was... the terms of friendship. That thing.

"You'd... just do that? What would you get from it?" He asked, feeling rather dumb.

Hermione shrugged. "Some people, Draco, get a buzz out of doing a good deed. Just like House Elves like to work a lot," she frowned. "I still don't get that, but whatever. Point is, don't be surprised if I ask for your advice in potions, and don't be surprised if I offer you some advice in History. Simple as that."

"Like a trade, with no parameters." Draco decided.

Hermione nodded. "Now, I'd really like to get back to Ron and Harry, they'll be breaking down the door if I spend much more time here. Unlike Harry and I, Ron has a hard time forgetting the past." Hermione sighed. "I'll turn him around to see you in a better light eventually, but do understand that until he stops being a stubborn, jealous git, he'll be giving you the silent treatment. It's a waiting game with Ron's friendship, you'll soon learn."

Draco nodded. That made enough sense to him. It took Ron time to think of Draco as anything more than the front he put out for people. He was okay with that; if it meant that upon graduation people would see him as a member of their group, maybe he'd actually have a future somewhere. Maybe, just maybe, his luck would win again.

He spent the next few days working up courage, and finally asked to sit next to Harry. He had been thrilled when Harry allowed it; he was making progress, accepting Harry's offers, playing those games Ron liked and eventually even being comfortable enough to just sit there unannounced. That never happened in the Slytherin world; attention was always on one person, but here, it was shared. Like the orb of attention he remembered had changed to become a dust that floated in the air, brushing everyone but dusting others more thoroughly. He was happy to limit his contributions to a few quips here and there, and found it effective that everyone got a say. It reminded him a little of the Wizengamot, but much calmer, and people could talk about nothing-whatever, and even say as much or as little as they pleased.

The no-rules ideas were really getting to him, as well. They seemed to be functioning perfectly for him, getting him information, and while he had to put effort into holding his tongue when they condemned old friends of his father, he quickly realized he didn't give a damn about his dad's friends and was more than willing to give up those things, considering what he got. He got understanding, he got information, he got answers, and he got a sense of meaning that he'd found new and different, filling a hole in his chest where his followers and family had been before. It was different, but Draco was pleased to find he could get used to it.

He dried off his hair as Harry went in - this week, Draco got bathroom rights, and he was going first, damnit - and reached for his quill and some parchment. He began writing, but quickly after he'd started the first line the quill ran out. When he reached for his ink pot, he found it empty.

He was about to resign himself to a visit to Hogmeade for ink when he saw Harry getting out of the shower. Maybe he could get something from Harry to write with?

"Harry," he said, before he could stop himself, "Have you got any ink? My quill and ink pot ran out."

"Sure," he replied readily, shocking Draco. He walked over to a cabinet at the side of his bed, adding, "what for? Does it have to be an ink pot?"

"For writing a letter to mum," he said, still flabbergasted, "and, uh, I guess it's fine as long as I can write."

"Oh, good, I only have one ink pot left," Harry sighed in relief. Draco, however, was even more confused.

Harry would have sacrificed his last ink pot to Draco? Just because he asked for it?

Instead, Draco got a small plastic shaft with ink residing inside of it. "It's not much," Harry admitted openly, "but it should be better than the quill. Less spills, same concept. The ink's already in there; just push the end without the metal tip, and use the metal tip to write." Draco nodded, feeling rather odd, and pushed the end of it, seeing a metal nib come out of the end.

"Strange," Draco commented, and Harry laughed.

At Draco's expression, he explained, "That's similar to Ron's reaction, just much more eloquent. It's called a pen, muggle invention. Really convenient and they basically never spill." He shrugged. "I use a quill mostly, but for homework I use the pens. It's just easier."

Draco was intrigued now. He placed the pen on the paper like he would a quill and began by writing the capital 'D' in 'Dear'. It worked perfectly, perhaps better than his quill, and he quickly got to work.

Harry was content to leave him be, using his pen. His letter was much more substantial now that he had the Golden trio to speak to.

Dearest mother, the letter began. I have been working hard, as you wanted, and am happy to say that my marks in Transfigurations and Charms have increased substantially, as well as some other subjects. You were always telling me to not make enemies, and so, in that endeavour, I believe I have found a unique relationship with the three I mentioned throughout the years.

You know the ones. To treat them right, I'll use their names; I've been using them often enough, with what has happened.

Hermione Granger, the girl of the group, has spoken to me and, however reluctant I am to admit it, helped me through some ideas that are prevalent in the Gryffindors and other houses outside Slytherin. What surprises me is that she, along with Harry (!) and Ronald (!x3) have reluctantly allowed me to be involved with them. I am now on a first-name basis with Hermione and Harry, and Hermione has assured me that with time, the Weasley will also come to accept my presence, though at the moment he is remaining tactfully ignorant to my existence. I am fine with this; after all, it is he and his family I so wrongfully insulted on my first day here. I know you remember it well.

You might be wondering why my writing is so clean today. Well, since the three show such an affinity for muggle things, I have reluctantly accepted to try one, when the time arose. Harry (yes, I know, crazy that he is my roommate of all things, but you know my relationship with luck) has kindly allowed me to borrow an object called a 'pen' which is the muggle equivalent of quills, and furthermore is woefully superior to it in almost every way. Harry admits that it is somewhat inefficient in that your pens must be replaced instead of refilled, but I am sure that with people using it that it will quickly advance to the stage where its flaws will be stamped out. I'm debating asking to send one to you; you'll know if I managed to acquire one.

As far as owing Harry Potter, I have interesting news as well. Hermione informed me of how they functioned and how it was different to father's way and my way of doing things; it seems that Harry forgives me entirely, and wishes to pursue a budding tolerance with me that I am rather surprised is even an option. He has baffled me in the past, and he baffles me now. He does not hesitate to aide me; what I have been able to offer him is pitiful, but surprisingly, he has begun to take my advice in potions. Whether for himself or for me, we both benefit; my in-class potions have become better, considering Slughorn goes out of his way to group Harry and I together, and Harry has commented to all of us that his Potions mark has 'soared'. I am glad I could offer him this; he has offered us so much that I doubt it does much to dent the debt we owe, but it is much more than I'd hoped to achieve at the beginning of the school year.

I hope you are doing well; I know that being without my presence can only affect you negatively. I hope my letters make up for that while I am here at Hogwarts, what with you being alone in the house.

Draco decided that was enough and put down the pen, only to realize Harry was behind him. He jolted and immediately hid his letter, clinging onto it protectively.

"What?"

Harry seemed nervous. Nervous did not suit Harry, but it was gone quickly. "You're writing to Narcissa, right?"

"Yeah? So?" Draco responded protectively. "I invoke my rights to privacy."

"No, that's not it... I just wanted to ask if you could tell her that... I said hello? And hoped she was doing well?" Harry tried.

Draco gaped.

"Erm, make that better. Sorry, didn't think there," he added, shaking Draco out of his shock.

"I'll... add that on the end." Draco scribbled it down quickly.

For whatever reason, Harry has caught me writing this and sends his regards, commenting that he hopes you are feeling better.

Harry smiled as Draco wrote this, and Draco wasn't sure who was doing the favour here. It was usually so clear who came out better from an arrangement, but here? Here, he wasn't sure. He decided it was a friendship thing and dropped the subject.

Harry sat down in his bed, legs off the edge, and stared out the window at the sky at night. Draco wasn't sure why he was conflicted, but he watched Harry for a while, finally giving in. Asking the Gryffindors questions hadn't had any negative effects so far; perhaps he could ask Harry his question.

"Why?" He started bluntly, too confused to care about finesse in the situation. "Why did you want to talk to my Mum? Why did you hope people like us were doing well?"

Harry seemed surprised, then resigned. "You saved my life. Your mother saved my life. I owe both of you a lot. The least I can do is hope for you two to be happy." He shrugged. "I'm sorry if I'm intruding on your personal life..."

Draco accepted that and put down his letter to be sent to Narcissa, giving it to the elderly Eagle owl he'd gotten so many years ago. He hoped it would last out Hogwarts; he needed an owl assistant.

He was surprised, therefore, when Harry spoke again.

"Say, Draco," Harry began, "If I told you something... would you keep it a secret?"

Draco nodded dubiously. What was so important it had to be kept secret? Was this about Harry's claustrophobia?

"I... really like the Weasleys. They're... the family I never had," Harry explained as best Draco supposed he could. "and I care about them all. What went on between your family and me was different, but it was equally as special. I know Ron would disapprove, and Hermione would be dubious... but sometimes I kind of wonder if your mother was like mine. I'm sorry if this is weird... but I kind of project my mother onto her sometimes. I don't like it, but sometimes it does happen." He sighed. "I really want to write to my Mum."

And suddenly Draco realized that Harry did not have that guiding star in his life.

It all made sense. Every time he'd mentioned his father, Harry had never retaliated in same because he didn't have one. It didn't matter that he was rich; he couldn't manage bank accounts or make withdrawals, he couldn't ask his mother for a birthday present.

Who even gave him birthday presents? Did he get any? Where did he live, if not with his parents?

Something struck Draco suddenly, and he found he had to ask. "Do you... know what she looks like?"

Harry nodded slowly. Something occurred to him, and he got up.

"Draco, I trust you by now to keep a secret," Harry said firmly, getting Draco's attention. "I'm going somewhere. I want to show you something. If I show you, promise you won't tell anyone, and that you won't go back?"

Draco gulped. "Alright, Harry. If I die, though, it's your fault."

And so, Draco found himself roped into the stupidest thing he'd ever done. Harry and he were under the cloak, sneaking along the corridors, and finally, they reached a room which was unfamiliar to him.

"You did a lot of sneaking, to find this," He commented as Harry worked on the lock with a complicated, but silent, Alohomora.

"Hush, and yes, I did do a lot." Harry opened the door, into a bare and ugly room which held just one thing; a beautifully exquisite mirror.

Harry shut the door and let go of his cloak, leading Draco on, until he could read the inscription. He wasn't that great at translating, so he stopped and instead looked in the mirror.

Harry stepped aside and put Draco in front of the mirror, directly. It turned cloudy, just a bit, but then shifted to show him something he'd never think he'd see.

Harry was standing next to him, hugging him around the waist, and behind them was a small house. His mother was walking down the path with a young boy and a young girl, both of which looked healthy and happy, holding either of her hands. Draco was smiling, smiling for some strange reason, and he found himself staring at the mirror as if it answered all his questions.

"What do you see?" Harry asked, breaking him away.

"Mum," he answered, his throat raspy, "and... a small house. She's so healthy. And... kids. Children." Something about that made Harry sad, but Draco didn't really care. "For some reason... wait, what? No, that doesn't make sense."

"The mirror of Erised rarely makes sense. Mind if I...?" Draco reluctantly obliged, the image fading away, and Harry stood in front of it, staring hard.

"Dumbledore told me about this mirror back in first year," Harry commented, touching it. "It's a very dangerous mirror, Harry," he murmured, in Dumbledore's drawling tone that he used with his favourite students. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, greatest desire in our hearts." Harry stopped and watched he mirror with a conflicted expression, and Draco walked up next to him.

"What's wrong?" Draco asked, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"It's... oh." He shook his head. "It changed. When I came here last... I saw my family. Not just my parents, either, but... well, so many people. Lots of people. They all looked like me, in one way or another. I saw something that would never exist." He sighed, chuckling solemnly. "The kid me spent weeks down here, barely sleeping. It was like they were right there, you know? I could reach out and take them, or at least that's what I wanted to believe." He turned away and to Draco. "It's interesting that your deepest desire involves your mother's happiness. Most of the people who look into Erised see themselves, and usually just themselves."

"Really?" Draco replied noncommittally, although he was interested now. "I suspect your friends were these... others?"

"Ron, yeah," Harry confirmed. "Hermione hadn't really come to be a close friend yet. At the time, Ron wanted nothing more than to be better than all of his brothers." He shrugged. "It was sort of ridiculous, but when you're in a family with that much competition, it makes sense that you'd want to outshine everyone else."

Draco nodded. "I'm surprised by mine, as well. I guess... I do most things for other people, now that I think about it."

Harry smiled. "Now if only Ron could see that."

Life moved on, so when Draco got a letter back from Narcissa, he decided to pay it more attention. He hoped to suggest in his next letter that he return for the holidays; he'd wanted to stay at Hogwarts for the Halloween celebration, but maybe it would be better to cater to his mother instead. He felt a great deal happier at the prospect.

He opened the letter that night and shut himself in, reading it in the privacy of his four-poster bed.

Dearest Draco,

I am so glad that you've found success. You are my lucky charm and always will be. Remember that fate smiles on you often.

Your marks please me greatly. I was ever so happy to hear that your marks have picked up; I was worried that you would fall back on your behind, as you had when Harry rejected you in your first year, after being rejected like that by your former dorm mates. I was happily wrong in that concern, and I hope you continue your success.

The Hermione girl was always intelligent, I could tell. I'm glad she managed to bring Ronald and Harry around and am glad that you share mutual respect for them. Remember, Draco, women are always the most cunning and powerful when it comes to getting what they desire. I am sure you know what I mean; respect Hermione, as she has deemed it worth her time to help you, and that is a great gift coming from a girl with a future like hers. I have heard the ministry hope to adopt her into their ranks; she will do well there if she decides to go there. If you find an opportunity, show her my support alongside your own. Being muggleborn, I am aware that our status means nothing to her; do it anyway. The gratitude of our family, more than anything, is most important. While in the past I held her lower than myself and thought it wrong of her not to respect me, I have made strides in understanding. Her emotions towards me are legitimate now.

This 'pen' you speak of interests me as well. I noticed your clean writing once you mentioned it; I hope you showed gratitude for it. Harry is a kind boy, and while in the past wizards have always been superior, I am no longer one to believe myself or our family above using these new tools the muggles can offer us. I give my full support and advise you look into some of the muggle objects Harry and his friends use; I approve of these new things, loathe as your father was to so much as accept their existence. They will help the wizarding world out of a rut that appeared in the road to modernization.

I am so very glad you worked out your differences with Harry. That you have helped him makes me prouder than I believe any mother could be. To think of it - my own Draco, helping and working alongside Harry, it makes me very happy to know that you can offer him something in return, small as you may think it be. It genuinely helps that your grades improve with his as well.

I do hope you'll change your mind about staying over the Halloween weekend, but that is alright if you choose to stay, my son. As long as you continue to make me proud to hold the title of mother, I will remain by your side, no matter where you wish to go.

I know, furthermore, that you have denied it in the past, but I wish for you to re-evaluate your choices, Draco. I know that you have given your attentions to many a girl and boy, and while your father may have closed you off from marrying a muggleborn by eliminating contact, I still believe that you can find someone who will truly make you happy. I want you to remember that, Draco, because you rarely think of yourself nowadays.

The house elves send their regards to Mister Harry and his friends, and hope well to you too, Draco. I also hope that Harry is as well as the press reports - they have a habit of stretching the truth, after all, but this is one truth that would be better off a reality.

Love,

Narcissa

Draco smiled softly. Well, re-evaluation. He'd already done that, sort of, with the mirror. Since his selfish desire was out of the question, he would focus on getting a decent job and getting what Narcissa had in the mirror; happiness and a home away from bad memories.

He'd definitely have to go to the Manor over the Halloween break, as much as he didn't want to remember the place. He had to stop avoiding it because of his own damned self-pity.

He put the letter to one side - he knew that Harry would no longer attempt to read his private letters - and got up to face the dinner in the great hall. It would be stressful, but worth it, he supposed.

Harry always seemed to interrupt him, however.

"Question," Harry said suddenly, as he, in a manner that definitely wasn't sexy at all, pulled off his Quidditch shirt. "where are you going for the weekend?"

"I was going to stay, but I think I'll go to the manor, now." Draco smiled softly. "Thanks to the mirror, I guess. I've been avoiding it for too long."

Harry nodded slowly. He pulled on his uniform and began walking slowly to the door.

Just as he was about to leave, Draco sighed in exasperation. "Alright, what's wrong?"

Harry turned. "Say what?"

"You just randomly asked, then did nothing. That never happens." Draco expressed. "What were you hoping to get?"

"I just wanted to know," Harry shrugged, but he avoided eye contact. "I'll be alone over break, I guess."

"Your friends not staying?" He asked sympathetically. Harry nodded.

"I want to stay, I guess, but..." he sighed. "Was it foolish of me to think that maybe I could join you? I don't have a passport, and, well... Hermione is going to France, Ron is going with his family to Bulgaria again, and life at Hogwarts gets boring when all your friends go elsewhere. I was sort of hoping you'd stay, or that I could go with you. Never mind."

"No, wait," Draco said suddenly, stopping Harry this time. He quickly weighed out the pros and cons, but after a moment it became irrelevant. "Look, I know my mum would welcome you, even if she didn't like you that much at all before. If you really think you'd be happier at Malfoy Manor, then I'll take you with me."

Draco had never seen Harry happier.

In an attempt by the House elves to make Malfoy Manor presentable, they had charmed some pumpkins and pumpkin replacements and set up some lumos spells to hover around the perimeter of the property. It was far less exciting than previous years, but for some reason Harry simply adored it.

"This is amazing, what you do with the place," Harry commented, pure awe seeping out of every pore. Draco could barely stand to be next to such a ray of sunshine and glory, he was so happy. He didn't even notice that he'd need to reintroduce himself to his mother, which would be... awkward.

Draco hoped that his luck would strike again.

He had already owled his mother, and he knew they couldn't very well refuse Harry a place to stay, but he was worried his mother would, outside of her letters, continue to treat Harry like he was the source of her problems. Surely, after a week in the same room with Harry and Draco, she would notice what was happening and want to put a stop to it, but Harry's smile, for now, was worth every bit of it, for some stupid reason. He'd have to do a lot to make this up to his Mum, but perhaps she'd be lenient since it was Harry Potter.

The house elves opened the door, and Harry dipped his head as greeting and waited for Draco to enter first. Draco, seeing an opportunity to lead for once, stepped forward into the house and took off his shoes, placing them on the mat and watching closely as Harry did the same.

Just then, Narcissa, in a rare bout of wellness, stepped elegantly down the stairs and stood before the two of them, observing silently. Draco gulped and stepped forward.

"Hello, mother," he said amicably. "I'm sure you already know, but this is Harry Potter." Harry waved shyly, nodding a greeting silently. "Harry, I know you've met, but this is my mother, Narcissa."

Harry stepped forward and offered his hand to shake. "It's nice to be able to talk under less... excruciating circumstances," he said carefully, smiling. "I'm sorry for how I've behaved towards you before. It was uncalled for, and while I was young and undereducated, it still isn't an excuse."

"Consider us even, then," Narcissa shared the smile. "at least in that regard. I have nothing to lose in admitting that I, too, was very rude to you and your friends. If you get the chance, do tell Hermione and Ronald that I formally apologize. How I behaved, while my views allowed it, still wasn't right and still hurt people."

Harry nodded solemnly. "I'll tell them. But for now, it's Halloween, so let's put the past behind us."

Narcissa agreed, and Draco found himself relaxing. This was better than he had ever dared to hope.

The day was spent jovially, as Harry told stories of previous Halloweens - particularly the one of his first year at Hogwarts, when he'd defeated a troll, which surprisingly made Narcissa laugh.

"I remember that. Draco sent me quite an energetic letter about your acts throughout the years." Narcissa confirmed, snickering. "I swear he spent six years obsessed with you."

Harry laughed along with Narcissa, making Draco blush furiously. He wasn't a child, however, so he didn't protest, instead saying calmly, "I think that's enough of what the eleven year old me did, Mother."

"Ridiculous! There's always time to talk about the eleven year old you. You were such a cutie back then!" Narcissa smirked, knowing that this irked Draco beyond belief.

Harry finally stopped laughing. "I don't blame him, I appear to be a very captivating subject," He offered, chuckling. "Mind you, I wasn't any better. I'm sure if I'd written letters to my parents that they would have gotten an earful and a half about Draco's escapades as well." He paused, then laughed at something in his head as Narcissa gave Draco a look that he knew meant something very suggestive. He shook his head and tried to show his disdain without Harry noticing, but apparently he did, because he continued.

"In fact, it got so bad at one point," Harry smiled at the memory he was about to share, "Hermione thought I'd swung the other way. I was obsessed, really. It was hilarious, looking back." Narcissa collapsed into giggles at this, and any frustration at sacrificing his dignity to Harry was replaced by thankfulness. Narcissa hadn't laughed for ages now.

"Well, then, do you?" Narcissa asked curiously, smiling. Harry chuckled lightly for a few moments before settling down himself.

"If I told you that, you'd sell it to the press," Harry smirked, "but since it doesn't actually matter much to me, yes, yes I do swing that way. Occasionally." He sighed. "Mind you, I haven't exactly told anyone, so if you end up talking to Ron or Hermione, please don't tell them. I still need to do that, but with how Ron's family has been, we haven't had the time or mood for it." He shrugged. "It would be disastrous. Ron may be a great and loyal friend, but he takes a long time to accept new things. He'd be accusing me of trying to woo him for months before he forgave me." Harry shrugged. "A bit too busy for a Ron-tantrum at the moment. I hope you understand."

"I do," Narcissa agreed, ignoring the way Draco's tea had spurted back in his face when he'd heard Harry fully admit his sexuality. "but I seriously hope your Ronald learns some mans up and deals with life. If he takes months to accept simple things like preferences, then I'd hate to see anything worse than that."

"You've hit the target dead-on with that," Harry agreed. "Ron does need to pick himself up. He has Hermione now, though, so I'm hoping he'll get better." He smiled. "Hermione makes everyone a better person."

"I was a little doubtful of her at first, I'll admit that," Narcissa said slowly, "but I agree. From what my son has told me in his letters, she apparently was the one to bring Draco into your group at school."

Harry nodded. "She was. She's got a good sense of justice going for her, and I guess she decided that he deserved better from us." He glanced at Draco, who up until then had silently been sipping on a cup of tea.

"Indeed," he agreed, "although you can't say I wasn't at fault myself, Harry. I made life a living hell for you nine times out of ten."

"Now there," Harry smirked, "is something we can agree on."

When Narcissa had commented that she needed to get the Halloween supper made, Harry had boldly offered to help out, and to Draco's surprise and amusement his mother had complied. She'd had a spare pie made too, of course, but she wanted to see how well Harry could cook. Wizarding men simply didn't learn, after all.

So they had both been pleasantly surprised when Harry had walked in about thirty minutes later with an awestruck house elf following Harry's heels as he brought over the pie.

"Mynx, may I please ask that you get me a knife? I need one to cut the pie," Harry asked her. She nodded eagerly, flashing away and back, a fancy pie knife handed over to him in moments.

The House elves quickly set the table as Harry cut the pie, giving a piece to Narcissa and then to Draco. "My cooking isn't perfect, but I hope you like it," Harry said positively, before cutting himself a thin slice and sliding it onto the plate. He put down the knife and waited for Narcissa to start.

"Well then," She beamed, "thank you, Harry, and happy Halloween." She took up her knife and fork and ate a bit of the slice delicately, her smile growing by the second. Once she'd finished the bit she took, she commented, "It's wonderful, Harry. I'd never have imagined you were able to cook."

"I cooked for the Dursleys," he offered, "so it's no surprise, but thank you, Narcissa."

The pie didn't last another thirty minutes.

As Harry decided to turn in early, Draco watched his form walk casually up the stairs and into the spare bedroom. He only turned away when he was completely out of sight, and was met with Narcissa, a glint in her eye that told Draco danger was on the horizon.

"Mother, if you try to set me up with him, it will lead to disaster," He said plainly, though it only served to increase the intensity of her gaze.

"Mother knows best, Draco," she teased, "and after all, you are completely and utterly smitten. I saw how you looked at him, so don't lie to me," she halted his defence with a delicately raised hand. "But more importantly, I must discuss Hary with you. More specifically, his well-being."

Draco listened. Mother only used that tone if she was absolutely serious.

"I have my concerns for that boy," she revealed, sighing softly. "he's so much more tender than you are, Draco. You've seen how happy he was to be here, even when no happiness remains in these walls save for you." She shuffled over onto the sofa that Draco was sitting on, leaning against him fondly.

"I love you very much, and I know with all my heart that I could learn to love Harry, too." she admitted. "I give my blessing, even if you decide to deny the existence of any attraction. But listen, and listen well, Draco; Harry needs someone right now, I can tell. He is alone and afraid, and now that his friends are together he is afraid they will drift away from him too." She trailed a hand down Draco's arm gently. "It's not normal for a boy his age to be so thin. He's not supposed to be lanky like that if he plays so much Quidditch. I'm afraid that someone did permanent damage to him."

She looked forlornly at the pan in which Harry had cooked the pie. "No wizarding boy would bother to learn to cook unless he had to, and furthermore, he only ate one slice, and a small one, too. It's almost as if he's starving himself." The house elf, Mynx, rushed into the room and began cleaning up the tables, smiling sadly at the pan, as she, too, knew that Harry's behavior wasn't normal.

"Mother, are you saying Harry was abused?" Draco said softly. "Mistreated? Because I highly doubt Dumbledore would have let it happen, and his friends would have noticed, too."

Narcissa shook her head. "He's smart, that boy," she said firmly. "And while Hermione is good at analyzing data, she isn't good at retrieving it. Don't get me started on Ronald, he doesn't notice much of anything. No, they wouldn't have noticed if he was acting odd. You remember it took an entire year for them to get concerned about him following you, and even then, they did not act on it, or prevent him too much." She shook her head. "No, they may be good friends, but you, Draco, really watch him. You are the only one who bothers to take note of his quirks and habits."

Draco considered that, how Harry behaved. "I figured he was being helped..." he said softly. "since it was so incredibly obvious."

Narcissa snapped her head back to look at Draco from her position leaning on his shoulder. "It was obvious?"

Draco nodded. "He reacted violently to some words... I'm ashamed to say I blew up at him once. He tried to get out of doing a potion, spilled it, and during the intervening time I told him he was a nuisance." He shuddered. "I can't forget the look on his face. It wasn't that he was scared of the word, mum, but he reacted automatically. He told me sorry the first time, and then looked like someone had slapped him in the face."

Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "I'm not happy that you did that, Draco, but I will let it slide, as it gave us information. So his trigger word is nuisance?"

"Yeah." Draco confirmed. "Oh, and... no, never mind, I told him I'd keep it secret."

"What secret?" She snapped. "Draco, if it has to do with his health, then tell me. There will be no shame."

Draco gulped. Well, Harry would never forgive him, but he knew he had to obey or face deadly consequences. "I... he's... claustrophobic."

She sighed. "That's better. Right, let's see..." she thought for a long while, then got up.

"What are you planning?" Draco inquired, concerned. His mother was a smart, cunning woman, but sometimes she would take unsavoury steps to get what she wanted.

Narcissa sighed. "Draco, let's face it - Harry needs help. He's damaged somehow. I know you're going to go after him eventually, so I'd rather help my future son-in-law recover than face what plenty of our ancestors faced - people going mad, running away, making the wrong choices. I can tell that Harry's at a breaking point. He needs help."

Draco got up. "So you've got a plan?"

"We'll work on it," Narcissa admitted. "But promise me you'll watch him like a hawk. He needs someone to watch over him, and as much as I know his friends are good people, they aren't the ones doing it."

Harry drank the coffee without a second thought; he'd needed the buzz from it to keep going until midday, as they had a nice plan for Halloween.

Leaving the house to Mynx while they were away, Harry had told them both that he had some interesting Muggle things he wanted to show them. He had voiced to Draco how he was perfectly happy going somewhere magical, but that he'd rather be somewhere muggle, so he could introduce them to something new and exciting.

The cirque du soleil was new and exciting for the wizard-raised ones; they watched in awe as the people flew around the stage, colours and skills and movements combining into a living, moving piece of art. Harry had made a recording charm which he placed in a piece of glass he had tied to a string as a necklace; he recorded the whole thing and boxed up the glass, thankful he'd been seated behind Narcissa and Draco - they wouldn't know what he'd gotten them for Halloween.

It had taken the whole day to drive there and back - not being able to apparate due to Narcissa's poor but improving health - and attend the cirque du soleil, but it was worth it. Harry was smiling brightly; he'd never remembered being able to do something like this for anyone before. It felt wonderful.

Draco, however, was knackered, so he insisted that Harry head to bed and that he'd help Narcissa. He had led his grateful mother upstairs to her room, where she fell asleep. He went to his own room and dropped into his bed faster than he could ever remember.

Halloween morning, Narcissa trotted down the stairs at seven in the morning, brushing her hair out of her face and headed for the kitchen. When she caught sight of Harry there already, she frowned internally and cleared her throat loudly to get his attention.

"Good morning, Harry," She greeted him, sitting down in a sofa nearby. "I see you're up already."

Harry nodded. "The House elves told me you wouldn't mind if I made breakfast, so..." he pointed to the bread in the oven. "I decided to take that as a go-ahead for doing that. Sorry I didn't ask you first, but both you and Draco were asleep."

"Do you always wake up this early?" She inquired, watching him carefully. He nodded slowly, pulling the bread out of the oven and working it safely onto the china plate on the table.

"I usually just go back to sleep if I wake up early," he admitted, pulling out a seat for her as she walked over. "but, well, I slept long enough that I felt justified getting up early."

Narcissa picked the sentence apart. "Slept long enough? Do you not usually sleep that long?"

Harry jolted, but then relaxed, carefully avoiding eye contact. "I... well. I went through a paranoid phase where I'd wake up at midnight a lot, then go back to sleep. It became a habit."

"Why were you paranoid? Hogwarts is the safest place on earth." Narcissa stated, before returning to munching quietly on her bread.

"Not for me," Harry corrected her. "There was the troll in first year, then the basilisk, then Sirius escaped and everyone thought I was going to die. They were even more paranoid than me." He chuckled. "Then there was fourth year where I doubted I'd survive five minutes. Don't even get me started on fifth year." He shrugged. "Funnily enough, in sixth year it was Draco keeping me awake. I was terrified he'd try to kill me in my sleep." He looked down at his hands. "Sorry about that. I guess by that point it made sense to me that people would try to kill me."

Narcissa shook her head. "War breaks people. I forgive you completely."

"Thank you," Harry said sincerely. "and sorry for bringing thoughts like that to the table. Let's just enjoy Halloween."

"Agreed," Narcissa smiled, pushing another piece of bread forcefully onto Harry's plate. "Now, eat."

Draco came down to see Narcissa laughing wholeheartedly at something Harry had said. He stared at her in shock for a few seconds before shaking it off.

No, she's happy. I should be happy too.

Harry excused himself quickly and dashed up the stairs, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Draco. He shrugged and sat down with Narcissa, whom had moved to the sofa in the intervening time.

"Draco," she said seriously, getting his attention, "poor Harry must be an insomniac, too. I found him here at six making breakfast with the elves."

Draco sighed. "He never usually wakes up at that time. It's probably a one-time thing."

Narcissa nodded slowly. "True, I guess. I'll trust you on that, Draco, but please look out for his health for me."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I know we owe him, Mother, but you've taken a rather personal interest in him lately."

"He's like a son without a mother," Narcissa gushed, sighing fondly. "treating us both like we rule the world, Draco, even when we don't. Do you see the way he looks to us for recognition and confirmation? It's like he wants to be part of the family. Even you didn't go to the effort to make breakfast."

"Harry grew up without house elves," Draco pointed out, "but... yeah. He treats his friends like we treat family."

Just then, Harry came back down the stairs, holding a pair of packages carefully in both hands as he reached the sofa and sat down across from them. Narcissa raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, awaiting an explanation.

"I give gifts to my friends during Halloween season, like at Christmas," he explained, blushing sheepishly. "Don't worry about giving back; this is something I did for both of you voluntarily." He took the first package, a cubic one with a green packaging and a black lid, and handed it off to Draco.

"You are too generous for your own good," Draco informed him, lifting the lid and daintily taking out the packaging. He stopped and stared for a bit at the box inside.

"Is that a portable cauldron?" He inquired, taking it out. Harry nodded, and they moved to one side so that Draco could expand it.

It was made of platinum, and inside it was a stirring rod that looked like it could stir cement if it wanted. Draco gulped and turned to his mother.

"The potions I could make with this..." he murmured, grinning. "Thanks, Harry."

For some reason, Draco considered the greater gift to be the beaming smile that Harry showed when he said that.

Finishing their inspection of the cauldron and stirring rod, Harry went to the other package and handed it daintily to Narcissa.

"Careful," he warned her, "it's glass, so treat it with care." Narcissa raised an eyebrow and pulled away delicately at the wrapping paper, vanishing away the garbage and beholding what seemed to be a regular glass pane.

"Just say, 'Cirque Du Soleil'," Harry told her, "and touch the gem at the bottom of the frame. You'll see." She shrugged and reached out, touching it.

"Cirque Du Soleil," she murmured, and the glass flashed to life. The sounds rang out clear as the glass shifted to show the circus they had attended the day before.

"It goes from the beginning right up to the final applause," Harry told her brightly, smiling. "It took a while to get the right charms on it, but it was worth it."

Narcissa got up, walked around the table, and hugged Harry tightly, murmuring a quiet 'thank you' into his ear before pulling away.

"Mynx, come here!" She called, smiling. The house elf apparated at her mistress's side. "Mynx, have this pane mounted on the wall in my room, and be careful! It's very delicate!"

"Yes, Mistress Narcissa!" Mynx agreed, eagerly snapping away and back with a few more house-elves at her side. They rushed to work, apparating away with the frame which would otherwise seem strange and cheap.

"I'm glad you like it," Harry said honestly. "I was a bit worried it wasn't nice enough-"

"Harry, Harry, please," Narcissa patted his shoulder, "you're the nicest person on the planet! It's the best gift I've ever been given!"

Draco figured that Harry would have had a mental breakdown if he didn't have to leave for Hogwarts right then.

The return to Hogwarts was littered with Harry begging Draco not to tell Ronald and complimenting his mother's politeness and how she treated the house elves, oddly enough, although Draco supposed that he did have an elven rights activist for a best friend. They got a few stares from the other years which remembered them as being enemies, but Harry ignored them, so Draco ignored them too. After all, where Harry went over the break was none of their business.

Ronald and Hermione returned a day later, looking flustered and happy. Harry didn't seem to notice, but Draco politely declined to comment on how they looked like they'd just had an excellent snog, instead telling Hermione that her hair looked rather fluffy today. She put two and two together very quickly.

"Um... ah, thank you?" She tried, looking down at her feet to hide her blush. "I'll brush it out when we get to the dorms."

"Indeed," Draco agreed, smirking. He went into the great hall and immediately forgot about everything else.

It was a week later that Harry invited Draco to Hogsmeade.

After calming his racing heart, Draco quickly ran himself through sensible trains of thought. Definitely, absolutely, this was as friends. He found himself watching Harry walk away a few moments later, calling out something like...

"See you at eight in the Three Broomsticks then!" He'd called, waving. Draco had stood, stock-still, not even believing his luck.

After that, he'd been in a daze, wandering from class to class and wondering if he imagined it. Finally, he decided that he would go either way. If Harry was there, he'd stick with Harry, and if he wasn't, he'd just... sit there. And contemplate how ridiculous he must have looked.

So he took a seat in the Three Broomsticks and reclined in his seat, drinking a small cup of tea from the bar. He held back a gasp when Harry walked in wearing what must have been the cutest clothes he'd ever seen someone wear.

He put down his cup and got up, nodding to Harry and following him out, leaving his payment on the table. Draco found it hard not to stare at Harry - his sweater was adorable, and his pants were way too close-fitting for his own comfort, but he had no leeway to complain - but somehow managed, letting Harry choose the stores they visited.

"Don't tell," Harry said as they walked into Zonko's, "but I was thinking maybe I should get something for George, too. He's been hit so hard by the war, after all." He shrugged. "I'm not sure what he'd want, though. I always got gifts two people could use together - they were never apart, those two." He idly turned over a gadget that Draco didn't recognize in his hand. "What do you remember about them?"

Draco thought hard. "I mostly remember them for freeing the school with fireworks," he admitted sheepishly. "and... well, pranking people. A lot. Especially the Slytherins. It irked me a lot."

Harry nodded. "Me too, but they were the best when it came to gifts and compassion. They cared about everybody, never did anything that would intentionally hurt someone, only embarrassed people." He sighed. "I don't think I could ever give a gift that could compare to what they gave me."

"What did they give you?" Draco asked, turning to Harry, "What could be so great that even you couldn't repay them?"

Harry bit his lip, and quietly, he said, "They were the brothers I never had."

As Harry and Draco walked down the street, it began to snow. It was, as with any snow in Britain, soft and thin, but loved as much as rain in the desert; Draco smiled at it. It hadn't snowed for a while.

Harry pulled a camera out of his pocket that Draco didn't know he had and watched in amusement as Harry took a few pictures of Hogsmeade, mostly shops and the sky, but then Harry turned to him with a glint in his eye.

"Draco, stand there quick, don't move," he requested, adjusting a few things on his camera. He pushed the button and suddenly rushed up to Draco, grabbing his hand and turning to face the lens just as there was a bright flash.

Draco was still paralyzed when Harry returned to the camera, picking it up, and turned back to him. He shook himself out of it but said nothing.

"C'mon, let's head back before Ron comes with a pitchfork," Harry joked. Ron had been rather indignant when Harry had finally caved in and told him where he'd gone for Halloween - Draco recalled Hermione having to shut him up the way only she could - but surprisingly, he hadn't come to murder Draco in his sleep yet. He hoped that that would last; he didn't exactly want to be left for dead at the hands of a family like the Weasleys. Harry was his sole line of defense at the moment.

Draco breathed out a long sigh and followed Harry down the street, not really watching where he was going, so when Harry suddenly stopped, he ran headfirst into Harry's back.

"What?" Draco asked indignantly, stepping back and favouring his nose. "Harry, why'd you stop walking...?" He peered over his friend's shoulder at the woman approaching them.

She was not particularly unique, in fact she was average in every sense of the word, but with her was a legitimately menacing bulldog. She began nattering on about something or other to Harry, but Draco found it curious that Harry seemed not to be paying her any attention at all.

"And it's just such an honour and-" she stopped. "Are you listening?"

"Harry, for Merlin's sake, what's wrong?" Draco asked, gripping Harry's shoulder. Harry shook himself and took a step back.

"Oh, sorry, I got distracted," He apologized sloppily, glancing between her and her dog. "Sorry, I've got to get back to Hogwarts before dinner."

As they passed, Harry quickly took to Draco's side, a nervous aura coming off of him in waves.

"Harry, you were really rude to her," Draco frowned. "What happened back there?"

"Bulldog." Harry said shortly.

That wasn't enough for Draco. "What about Bulldogs? I thought that one was rather lethargic, actually. Barely batted an eyelash at us."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I guess. I got chased up a tree by a bulldog once, though."

"You?" Draco snorted. "Bested by a bulldog?"

"Hey, I was a kid," Harry retorted defensively. "And anyway, aunt Marge wouldn't call him off me."

Draco frowned. "Wait, this was one of your aunt's bulldogs? Your aunt has a bulldog?"

Harry nodded. "Ripper and I didn't get along. Aunt Marge didn't make him leave until half past midnight."

Draco stopped in his tracks.

Mum, you were right, Draco thought, finally following Harry as he walked back to the dorms. Something's wrong.

Draco, over the course of the next month, noticed little things. He watched Harry like a hawk, or at least as much as he could without creeping Harry out, and noticed lots of little things he'd never seen before.

The first one he noticed was that Harry would always wake up at midnight. He would wake up in the middle of the night and write in his diary, as if he didn't want anyone to know. Draco understood that, but it was what Harry wrote that bothered him.

That was the second thing he learned; Harry spoke when he wrote. He would say everything he wrote, quietly and slowly, but he said it, and it bothered Draco.

He didn't usually catch much, and mostly it was quips and comments about school and what he was learning, or what they had done at lunch that day.

But there were a few that bothered him, particularly the one that he heard a few days after the talk about the bulldog.

"Ripper... was..." Harry murmured, the scratching of the quill barely audible. "...too...scary." He sighed. "Bulldogs... still... scare... me."

Draco bit back any comments he had and kept listening.

Unfortunately, that seemed to be the end of the entry, because there was a soft thump of a book being closed, and then another as it was put down on the bedside table. Draco laid back and listened to Harry breathe for a bit, feeling drowsiness take over.

Then he was suddenly wide awake, and Harry was murmuring something.

Draco strained to listen. He didn't know why, but this seemed important.

A question he asked ages ago got answered.

"Sorry, Vernon."

Then there was silence, but for Draco, the world was too awake to fall asleep.

From then on, Draco screwed up his sleeping schedule to make absolute sure that he could catch anything Harry said in his sleep. Draco would wake up at midnight every day and take a nap during lunch to make up for lost time while he listened for sleepily given hints to what was wrong with Harry.

During the weeks that he listened he heard phrase after phrase, things he didn't understand but wrote down and recorded. He got himself a book from Hogsmeade to write down things Harry said in his sleep.

The first few lines were domestic things, things he expected were common at Harry's home.

Yes, Aunt Petunia was the most common. Sorry was the second, though each one had a different tone, from resigned to strained to fearful, but none of them made Draco feel any better. Then there was I didn't do it, which frankly scared the hell out of Draco; what were they accusing him of? What had actually happened?

Then there were the ones he only heard once or twice. Vernon was often the subject of these, but Dudley was another name he heard once, and Marge was a third. Draco was really nervous now; what was happening? Why was Harry so nervous? Why was it that every word he said, he said with unmatched fear?

The one that scared Draco most, though, was freak.

Two weeks before Christmas, teachers called students into the commonrooms and made a speech.

"As you know," McGonagall said, peering down her pointed nose at the people in the commonroom, "the school is still being rebuilt. As this is the case, we are working on rebuilding some things that will require mass spells on the school. For this reason, we have decided to do it over Christmas break to avoid people being here while we rebuild." She adjusted her glasses. "Anyone who planned to stay over the Christmas break, I'm afraid, will have to change plans, because we simply can't risk endangering the students during that time. I apologize."

Draco heard the shallow breathing and tensed. He wondered why Harry was so terrified of the prospect of having to return home over Christmas. Would being alone in a castle really be better than going home?

Ron and Hermione ignored him completely. Draco was confused and upset; Harry needed them right now. Why weren't they coming over to comfort him?

Did they not see it? How Harry was scared and upset?

His eyes followed down from Harry's bugged-out expression to his broad shoulder, then down his arm to his dainty, yet powerful hands, which looked shaky. Draco carefully thought out the pros and cons of what he wanted to do, then promptly threw all caution to the wind and grabbed Harry's hand.

The jolt he felt relaxed quickly, and while Draco expected Harry to throw him off any second, he stayed still and let their hands intertwine. Draco pitied him; his hand was cold and sweaty, but soft, as well. He never wanted to let go.

They eventually did, but the silent smile that Harry gave Draco was worth it. He hoped Harry would be alright.

The night before they had to leave, Harry had already packed his things, so he was sleeping in. It was a Sunday; Draco shook his head. Harry did like his sleep, when he let himself get it.

Draco stared out the window in boredom. Hermione and Ron had left the day before on a vacation to Canada, of all places, and Draco had been stuck with Harry all day. His entire life revolved around Harry now; everything was for Harry. He allowed himself to want a day or two without thinking of Harry, even if he'd bring it on himself again anyway.

Harry grumbled and pushed himself up, observing Draco lazily through lidded eyes, and Draco fought the urge to push him back into the bed.

"What? Is there something on my face?" Draco inquired indignantly. Harry shook his head and let his face hit the pillow.

"Mmmri drmm whhn trr guh." Harry grumbled into the sheets.

"You are making zero sense right now." Draco responded, annoyed. "Just tell me. In English."

"I don't want to go." Harry said clearly, before throwing his face back into the pillow.

"Why?" Draco asked incredulously. He still didn't get how an empty school was better than a house.

"Aunt Petunia will be furious." Harry replied, flopping over onto his back.

Draco was even more confused now. "Why? Wouldn't they be happy?"

"Not to see me," Harry replied, groaning.

Draco twitched. He wasn't sure why he was about to say this. "I... I'll go with you."

"No."

Draco felt his stomach sink. "Why not?"

"Because... they would be... upset," Harry said slowly. "I don't know. They just... aren't very tolerant. Of new things." He shrugged. "It would be wrong of me to invite people. If it makes you feel better, if I'd thought the Dursleys would let be bring people, I would have invited Ron, and Hermione, to visit at least once in the eight years I've known them."

Draco looked gobsmacked. "They've never been there? Not once?"

"Nope." Harry shifted his leg idly, sending a hand through his hair, which was a disaster. Again.

"At least let me join you on the way back," Draco urged. "I can apparate away to the manor afterwards. Please?"

Harry looked very much like he wanted to stop Draco, but he caved in. "Alright," Harry allowed, "but don't be surprised if it isn't all it's hyped up to be."

Draco followed Harry down the street in a sweater and dress pants that Harry had told him were too formal. Nothing was too formal for meeting the parents, nothing at all, so Draco wore them.

It was a posh little neighborhood, at least by muggle standards, and Draco decided he did not like the place at all. While the park was nice, the school was miniature and the houses were also small, and moreover, they all looked the same. How people lived in such small houses, Draco wasn't sure, but he would have hated to see what the smallest houses looked like.

Harry was practically breaking out into a cold sweat. Draco found that Harry would let him squeeze his hand, and that that usually stopped Harry from stopping in the middle of the street, so he had been periodically giving Harry's hand a squeeze of support all the way to number four, Privet Drive.

Harry gulped deeply and knocked, a steady, measured knock, and stepped back. Draco raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

He has to ask to go into his own house?

Draco shook it off. It was normal, it was totally normal.

The door creaked open and one of the ugliest women he'd ever seen stepped out and grimaced at Harry like he was something the dog had done on the carpet. Her face was like that of a horse, Draco thought, and an ugly horse at that.

"Oh, now you come back. Did you fail?" She inquired coldly. "And after we'd just gotten our house back, too. Pity, we could have done without you around." Harry seemed on the verge of tears, Draco noted, but he didn't say anything about it.

"There's renovations going on at H- at school," he said quickly, much to Draco's confusion. "I was hoping you wouldn't mind, it's just a week."

"As if we'd take you back in," She spat, and Draco decided he couldn't deny the fact that she hated Harry's guts. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

He glanced at Harry, and realized that the faint tingling around his mouth was Harry's magic stopping Draco. He hadn't known that Harry was that good at silent, wandless magic, but he made no comment, mostly because he couldn't speak.

Just then, a boy walked to the door as well, and he said, "Oh. Harry."

"Dudley," Harry responded quietly, nodding. The pair of them looked nervous and awkward, like something was terribly wrong with how they were behaving, but they made themselves do it.

"You're staying?" Dudley asked tensely, still standing there in a defensive position.

Harry nodded slowly. "I have no choice."

"And him?" Dudley pointed crudely at Draco.

"Merely here to guide him," Draco replied, finding Harry's magic had gone. "I'll leave soon, just want to make sure he gets home safely."

Just then, there was a crash, followed by a whale of a man that Draco found extremely off-putting. His watery blue beads for eyes were glaring at him as if he needed glasses, which he probably did, and he looked as if he wanted to growl at Harry. He stormed forward and pointed at Harry with one chubby little finger, holding it to Harry's neck.

"Out," he hissed, glaring at Harry with everything he had. "You've caused us enough trouble already."

"Sorry, Uncle Vernon," Harry said monotonously, in a tone Draco only remembered from Harry's sleep-talking, "but I have to stay. The school is being renovated-"

"Sleep on the streets, then," Vernon hissed, pushing Harry away. Draco felt his chest squeeze up as Harry was pushed back onto his rump, not even fighting back a little.

"But-" Harry began desperately.

"NO BUTS," Vernon shouted, raising a fist, "or you know what will happen..."

Draco heard an audible gulp from where Harry Potter was getting up, shyly approaching like a meek house elf.

"Verno-" Harry began.

THWACK.

Draco's eyes went wide as the limp body of Harry Potter fell to the ground.

Then he whipped out his wand and pointed it at Vernon.

"I advise you refrain from violence," Draco hissed, recalling his pureblood training. Intimidation was a large part of being a pureblood; you had to be able to show that you thought of them as beneath you, that you were simply being merciful by leaving them be or generous when you gave them your time of day.

"That boy's been nothing but trouble!" Vernon seethed, peering down his bulging stomach to see Draco's wand, pointed at his non-existent neck. "Wasting our money and our time! Bringing in... monsters! Weirdness! It's unnatural, the bloody freak!"

Everything fell into place for Draco.

Freak. It was what they called Harry.

Vernon. This man.

Aunt Petunia. The horse-woman, standing to one side looking shocked beyond belief.

Dudley. The boy behind them, glancing between his parents in a panic.

Harry came to a moment later, gripping his forehead, and the first thing he managed through the blood in his mouth was a raspy, gurgling "Sorry." It sent shivers down Draco's spine.

"You bloody muggle," Draco hissed, "How dare you do that. Every moment of every day Harry is forgiving you, apologizing for you, relenting to you. Do you have any idea how much damage you've done? He might never recover! Do you see what you've done?" He pointed at Harry.

"Anapneo." Harry took a deep breath of relief as his throat was cleared of blood. "Episkey." The broken skin on his cheek sealed up immediately, his lips returning to an unscathed state.

Draco turned to the Dursleys, as he was sure they were. "I see that you're nothing but a bigot," he told Vernon. "at least your wife and child have the sense not to punch a war hero who, oh yeah, saved your bloody lives." He glared. "Some of you twice. Now, if you'll excuse us, I will be taking whatever things Harry has left here and returning to the Malfoy Manor, where I will report this thoroughly." He grabbed Harry by the arm and pulled him up, walking past Vernon without a second glance.

Dudley seemed to recover first, walking up next to Draco. "I'm sorry 'bout me Dad," he apologized quietly, not really sure where to go from there.

"Yes, yes, we all know he's a bigot, now tell me what things are Harry's so that I can get out of here." Draco dismissed, checking Harry again.

Dudley complied silently, leading Draco to Harry's room and to the cupboard, which he ripped open. Draco vanished a few things and pocketed the rest, considering the things in there were very small in number.

"Why did you keep Harry's things in the cupboard?" Draco murmured aloud. "There was plenty of room in the bedroom."

"He didn't get the bedroom until he came back from Hogwarts the first time," Dudley recalled, handing Draco a small plastic figure of a soldier. "before that he lived in the cupboard."

Draco stopped. "He what."

"He... lived in the cupboard," Dudley said again, nervous sweat trickling down his face.

Draco took the figurine silently, handed the bag of stuff off to Harry, and began walking through the door. Harry followed him, after a brief glance at Dudley, but stopped at the driveway, where Draco turned around again.

To Vernon, he said, "I am thoroughly convinced that the only person here who has yet to redeem himself is you, Vernon. While I would use magic against you in retaliation, I am not allowed to use any hexes, jinxes or curses, which means I am unable to harm you with my wand." he pocketed it, and Vernon sighed in relief.

"However, due to wizard idiocy or having too much to do, it isn't illegal for me to do this." Draco finished, before delivering a firm strike to the face.

Vernon stumbled backwards, and Petunia cried out in alarm. Draco smirked and grabbed his wand again, saying, "Tergeo." The small bit of blood on Vernon's face cleared away, and Draco continued, "Petunia, I would advise that you get your husband into line. If Harry so desired, he could press criminal charges against you both for inhumane confinement, neglect, and other criminal activities under wizarding law. Be glad that he decided not to do so. Good day." With that, he grabbed Harry's hand and began walking away, never looking back.

"Draco," Harry protested, "You can't... I need to go there," He explained frantically, "I don't have anywhere else to be."

"Malfoy Manor." Draco replied quietly. "You are always welcome there, Harry. I don't believe I ever want you to go to- to that place again."

Harry looked ready to protest, but held his tongue, eying Draco wearily. Draco sighed and bit his lip, considering what he was about to do for only a moment before turning and pulling Harry into a hug.

"I don't care what you think you should do," Draco said weakly, feeling emotions he'd pushed down well up and reach the surface. "I'm never letting you go back to that place ever again." He ended the bitter comment by pulling away from the hug and simply holding Harry's hand, pulling him along the empty streets of Privet Drive.

Draco didn't want to believe it, but he thought he might have heard Harry say something very quietly, something that made everything he'd done at the house on Privet Drive worth it.

"Thank you."

A/N: And here we go with one of my first one-shots! I don't think I'll add anything onto this, I like it how it is, but I might do an omake-type chapter if it gets enough attention.

Furthermore, I want to remind people that I'm not an expert, so if some facts are a little off from canon, do forgive me. There's only so much knowledge I can hold about Harry Potter.