The castle was completely still. "If castles could sleep," thought Harry Potter, "I would say that this one was sleeping off too much Firewhiskey." Hardly daring to breathe, he crept down the stairs of Gryffindor Tower and swiftly crossed the common room to the portrait hole. The Fat Lady snorted and came half awake as she swung open, but immediately drifted back into her slumber. Harry grinned to himself; no doubt, her celebrations with her friends had involved copious amounts of alcohol. It was nice to know that some things never changed.

He set off along the deserted corridor, feeling almost nervous at first. Even though he technically wasn't a student anymore, he still couldn't quite shake the unsettling expectation of hearing Mrs. Norris' accusing mews or seeing Filch's gleeful face looming up out of the shadows. He saw no one, though; the corridors were entirely deserted. Everyone was sleeping, and rightfully so; the past several months had been stressful beyond description for all of them. Now, at last, they could finally rest in peace.

There was no rest for Harry, however. He had tossed and turned for hours in the dark, but despite his physical exhaustion, there was no way he could slow his mind down enough to relax. Finally, he had heaved himself out of bed, knowing there was one place he needed to go...the only place where he felt he might begin to wrap his mind around the immensity of Voldemort's defeat.

More quickly than he had really wished, his steps took him to his destination—the Astronomy Tower. He had not been up there since the events of the previous year, and he wondered if perhaps that simple fact was behind his restlessness. After all of the events that had transpired, all of the revelations he had experienced—he needed that sense of closure regarding the night that had turned the tide for good.

He trotted up the steps and paused, lingering for a moment in the doorway as he felt the faint, breathy chill of the night air ghost over his skin. There, by the edge of the tower, he recognized the spot where he had stood, hidden beneath his cloak and immobilized by Dumbledore's spell...there, in helplessness and horror, he had watched the events which he only now truly understood.

Shaking himself slightly, he looked around. The sky was cloudless, and the stars shone brilliantly in its inky depths, as they had on so many nights of Astronomy studies with Professor Sinistra. The moon was nearly full and had risen high enough to shed its soft beams on the tower. And there—Harry drew in a quick breath and made to step backwards—he was not alone. The moonlight glanced off a head of pale hair, the owner of which was sitting not far from the edge of the tower, his chin resting on folded knees.

Immediately, resentment rose up within Harry before he managed to quash it down. There would be no closure for him tonight. Even as he moved to turn away, though, a quiet voice stopped him.

"I know you're there, Potter...you may as well stop hiding in the shadows."

It was the absence of that voice's usual malice which made Harry's decision. He stepped out from the doorway and hesitantly crossed over to where Malfoy was sitting. Without a word, he lowered himself down to sit next to the other boy...and somehow, it felt right. Malfoy, too, must need the closure this tower offered. After all, they had both been present that fateful night a year ago.

Harry didn't know how long they sat in silence for, both of them staring straight ahead into the peaceful depths of the night sky. The silence was companionable, surprisingly enough. After a while, he chanced a glance over at Malfoy—and was somehow unsurprised that he could find no trace of the old hatred for the boy within him. Their childish boyhood rivalries seemed to belong to a past entirely removed from reality, and none of it mattered anymore. Perhaps they would never be friends; there was too much history between them for that. But they understood parts of the events of the past year in a way that no one else truly could.

Suddenly overwhelmed with the immensity of Malfoy's courage in coming back to this spot, of all places, he gingerly reached out a hand and lightly touched the blond-haired young man on the shoulder. Malfoy jumped and looked warily around, catching his gaze. The cool grey eyes were suspicious and mistrustful, but Harry looked into them levelly.

"It wasn't your fault, you know," he whispered.

Malfoy instantly recoiled, his expression growing even warier. "And how would you know that, Potter?" he all but spat, bringing to life an echo of the malicious boy he had once been.

Harry felt his heart go out to Malfoy in spite of himself...of course, Malfoy hadn't been privy to Snape's memories; he had no idea that Dumbledore had been a dead man anyway. As far as Malfoy understood, he had been the one to disarm the old headmaster, eventually leading to his demise. While Harry knew that Malfoy had no special love for the headmaster, he also knew that he was not a killer; he had seen the trembling wand hand lower before the other Death Eaters had burst in upon them.

"They had it planned," he replied steadily, refusing to drop his gaze from the Malfoy's face. "Snape and Dumbledore. Dumbledore was dying anyway, he had been cursed..."

Malfoy's eyes widened in shock and sudden realization. "His hand...?" he queried hoarsely. Harry nodded in reply, unable to speak around the lump in his throat for a moment before continuing.

"Dumbledore asked Snape to kill him...so Snape could protect his position among the Death Eaters...and to protect you."

For the briefest instant, Harry could have sworn that Malfoy's lower lip quivered, and his eyes glistened suspiciously. Then the moment had passed, and Malfoy nodded briefly and turned away again. They resumed their easy silence, watching as the sky gradually faded into a pale grey. At last, Harry rose and, not looking back at Malfoy, made his way to the top of the stairs to head back inside. Once again, a voice stopped him as he paused on the threshold.

"Potter?"

He glanced back. Malfoy had also risen, and was looking straight at him, the faintest of smiles touching his eyes. "Thanks."

Harry nodded slowly in answer—and then Malfoy approached him cautiously, holding out his hand.

Smirking slightly at the irony of the situation, and at the folly of youth, Harry grasped Malfoy's cool, pale fingers in his and shook his hand.