Keep Your Enemies Close

The Last Malfoy

It was dark, and the mist in the air shrouded the alleyway like a cruel, cold blanket. Nothing stirred, but on a closer look, one would find a man, sitting with his back against the wall. To a passer-by (not that there were any on that particular evening) the figure would have seemed to be an innocent tramp. But Draco Malfoy was anything but innocent.

He was deep in thought, as he took a long, thorough drag from his pipe. The words that Severus Snape had told him were swimming in circles around his mind. "Go east," he had said, "find Harry Potter. He will help you. That boy is too forgiving for his own good." But would he, thought Draco as he exhaled the smoke, frowning. Would a mere apology be enough to cover up seven years dislike, maybe even hate?

As reluctant as the young Malfoy was, it was his only chance. Not that he had anything to live for anymore, as the Dark Lord had taken everything from him. His house (once grand and noble, now used as headquarters for the Dark side...), his friends, his parents…he thought, mentally counting them off on his fingers. Draco knew little of what was going on, as he had kept out of touch of the wizarding world for such a long time, for his own safety. The Ministry of Magic had put a ten million galleon prize on his head, so Draco had lie low, hiding in muggle gardens and sheds. Tomorrow, he thought to himself, I'll head out to the Weasley's place. What was it they called it…the hutch? No, the burrow. He sniggered to himself silently, thinking of his own manor, with four floors and around sixty rooms.

"Happy birthday to yooooou!" the room finished, whooping loudly. Harry grinned. This was probably his best birthday yet, his coming of age. Now he was seventeen, he could do magic whenever he wanted! Lost in the thought of all the horrible things he could do to the Dursleys, he jumped when Mrs Weasley called his name.

"-rry? Harry, dear?"

Returning to reality, he began digging into the huge lump of birthday cake Molly Weasley had shoved in front of him. Absent mindedly, he shovelled it into his mouth, looking at each of the people at the table. Ron was in a deep conversation about quidditch to Sirius, who Harry guessed, wasn't really interested. Hermione was sat next to Sirius, talking to Lupin and Mr Weasley about werewolves. Ginny was positioned next to Harry, eating her cake so quickly that she wouldn't be able to talk to anyone even if she tried. Tonks, Charlie Weasley and Mad-Eye were sat to the other side of him, laughing loudly. Fred and George were sat, suspiciously, at the end of the table, with their heads down, talking to Mundungus. This made Harry feel slightly uneasy, as he knew Mrs Weasley wouldn't be too happy is she caught them buying stolen goods. In fact, she'd be furious.

But he needn't worry, because he spotted Mrs Weasley in the seat where Hagrid had sat five minutes ago (he got a little too enthusiastic about the brandy and had to lie down) pleading Bill to let her cut his hair, and glaring at Fleur when she covered Bill in sloppy kisses. Harry loved the Burrow. Today had been a fantastic day, thought Harry sleepily, as he and Ron trudged off to bed, herded by Mrs Weasley. She bid them goodnight as they got changed into their pyjamas. Nothing could ruin this happiness, though Harry, dozing off to the sound of Ron's snores, nothing. But he was so wrong.

Harry knew something was wrong when he couldn't hear Ron's snores. He opened his eyes, but it didn't make much difference, as it was pitch black. He swore he could hear someone else in the room. He groped in his pockets for his wand, but it wasn't there. "Where am I?" Harry said, trying to sound confident.

"Never mind that, Potter, I need to talk to you." came a hollow voice from behind him. It was a familiar voice that sent shivers down his spine, and caused the hairs on his neck to stand up. But who's voice was it? His first interpretation was Snape, but this voice sounded more…young. Then suddenly, it hit him, he knew who the voice was, it was-

"MALFOY!" screamed Harry, moving towards the source of the voice, his hands in front of him as if he was blind. He wanted to kill Malfoy, he didn't need his wand, he'd do it with his bare hands…

"Protego!" said Malfoy calmly, casting a shield spell between them. He muttered another spell and the lights came on. There was a split second where they studied each other faces hungrily, taking in the differences. Malfoy looked thinner and wearier, so very like his father. He'd grown a fair few inches too. Harry looked as he'd always done, but taller. "WHAT IS THIS ABOUT?" demanded Harry, his anger raging, when Malfoy sneered and laughed.

"Potter, Potter…" Malfoy said softly, "You're here to hear me out."

"I know what happened," said Harry firmly. At least he wasn't shouting anymore. "I was there. YOU let the death eaters in. YOU tried to kill Dumbledore. And its YOUR fault he died. In case you haven't noticed Malfoy, I don't do the dark side, so-"

He stopped suddenly. Malfoy was crying. Genuine tears were streaming out of his eyes. Harry stopped and walked over to him, patting him gingerly on the back. Any other person wouldn't have, but Harry had a very special power (or curse?) to forgive. Forgive, but not forget. "Mal-Draco…" he said awkwardly, "I know we aren't the best of friends, but we need as many people as we can get to rise up against Voldemort. If you really want to fight, I guess I can forgive you."

Malfoy let out a huge sob and choked out the words "H-he took ev-everything!" he wailed suffocating Harry as he flung his arms around his neck, in a very disorganised hug. "Shh…" Harry comforted, stroking Malfoy's soft, blonde hair, over the cries of "H-harry, I'm s-sorry! I re-really am!" When at last the snivelling had stopped and been replaced by soft gentle snores, Harry let himself fall asleep. That night, the boys slept soundlessly, still hanging onto each other, as if that was all they had left.

Who'd have thought?

Review pleeeeeease!

This is my first story...so yeah.

Inspire me, say nice things. :)

(If not, just call it 'constructive criticism). ;)

xxo