A/N: Hi, this is my first fanfic (well, the first I've ever published) and I'd like it very much if you could give me some feedback, be it positive or negative. If you find any errors, or something, do let me know, and I won't make such mistakes ever again... At least I'll try not to. ;-)

Anyway, this is set about a month after the war, which sets it around the first week of June. It's not quite canon, not exactly.

Harry sat alone in the middle of 12 Grimmauld Place's front parlour, waiting for his friends, Ron and Hermione, to come by. They'd owled the day before to say that they would be bringing a special friend with them who wanted a word with him. He didn't particularly care about who was coming, though. It'll probably be Luna, he thought. Or maybe Neville.

Harry sighed heavily, thinking back to the times he had sat in this very room, and actually been happy. It was when Mrs Weasley got them— namely, Hermione, Harry, and a few of the Weasley siblings— to clear the room of doxies. No, it wasn't easy, but it had been fun, clearing the room with his closest friends, while listening to the comings and goings of the other Order members, most of whom were only living within memories now.

It was a month after the devastating Battle of Hogwarts, and Harry was trying to imagine what could have happened if things had been different. If there was no battle, and I'd gone to school, I'd probably still be revising what I could for my N.E.W.T.s right now, he thought to himself bitterly. Yet, here I sit, in the house of my deceased godfather, thinking of all the lives we lost on that fateful Saturday, trying to accept the fact that somehow, somewhere, things had gone awfully wrong.

Harry leaned forward in his seat, and covered his face with his hands, waiting for the tears that would never come. Ever since the Battle, he'd done his best to keep his emotions in check, locking them away to make sure he never broke down in front of everyone, but when he was alone, he found it hard to keep his feelings restrained. It was my fault they died, he thought, almost tearfully. If I hadn't dawdled on my mission, if I'd found all the Horcruxes earlier, if I could have acquired the sword faster…

There were just too many ifs. Thinking of all the people he'd failed to save, and the people affected by them… Harry was in a dark place, indeed; but he couldn't cry, couldn't ask for comfort. He didn't deserve comfort; he deserved the guilt and the pain. He was thoroughly convinced that their deaths had been his fault. And it was, he thought, hating himself in that moment, more than anything.

Surely, if he'd done better in his mission, Fred would still be running his joke shop with his twin, George. But no; he was gone, and he'd never come back, the same way he'd never see his godfather, Sirius Black.

Ah, his godfather, Sirius… If no one else's, then his death was the one he felt most responsible for. If only I'd learnt Occlumency properly, he thought morosely, Sirius would probably still be alive.

His heart slammed against his ribcage when he thought of Ted Lupin, who was only a little over a year old, the same age Harry had been when his own parents had died. Like him, Ted would never have any real memories of his parents. All he'd ever know about them is that they gave up their lives for the good of the Wizarding World, for him; and Harry Potter had let them die. If only I was fast enough, he thought woefully, rocking back and forth slightly, trying to calm himself, trying his hardest not to let his grief take over again.

Luckily, he heard the door to his house open and close and heard Mad-Eye's voice whisper, "Severus Snape?" He sighed in relief, straightening up in his seat and plastering a smile on his face. If it was one thing he knew how to do, it was to act like he was happy in front of others.

A minute later, Ron and Hermione walked into the parlour, where Harry still sat on the edge of his seat. The moment he saw them, he got up to greet them, but stopped short when he saw a rather tall, blond-haired guy behind them.

When he saw the blond's face, blood roared in his ears, his eyes flashed darkly, and he whipped out his wand in record time. Seeing what he was doing, Hermione's eyes opened wide, and held up her hands, as she called out to Harry, "Harry, wait! Don't! He's just here to talk!"

Harry lowered his wand infinitesimally, and regarded Malfoy, taking in his light grey eyes, his neat bright blond hair, and finally his arms, which were raised in surrender. "What is there that you could say to me?" he spat at Malfoy, who flinched at the tone of Harry's voice.

"I just wanted to… to say sorry for what I've done," he replied softly, ducking his head, lowering his arms to his sides. "When you were brought to the Manor, and they were forcing me to tell them who you were, I tried my best to feign ignorance; I was trying to save you. I was trying to buy you some time, so you could all escape. I didn't want the Dark Lord to rule. I was rooting for you!" At the end of this sentence, Malfoy looked up at him, his grey eyes practically shining with sincerity, instead of with arrogance, as they usually were.

Then Ron said something Harry had never have thought he'd ever say. "Just hear him out, mate," Ron cajoled, looking at him with his blue eyes. "You know I hate the git, but what he says makes sense."

Now that Harry really thought about it, Malfoy had tried his best to protect Harry and his friends back at the manor, without getting himself killed in the process. But Harry couldn't just forget about how Malfoy had tried to kill him and his friends in the Room of Requirement; he still had nightmares of running through a maze, Fiendfyre lapping at his heels, while the screams of his dying friends assaulted his ears.

After a lengthy silence, Harry broke it. "Ron, Hermione… Please join Kreacher in the kitchen, and keep him company," he said quietly. "I want to talk to Malfoy alone." When they'd left for the kitchen, he turned his piercing gaze back to his guest, his wand arm still pointing at him.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't curse you right now," Harry said, still in the same quiet tone. "Just give me one reason why I shouldn't turn in one more Death Eater, to avenge the tragic and unnecessary deaths of my friends and family."

Malfoy held up his hands in front of him again, but this time his eyes flashed a little angrily, as well. "Look, Potter, if I'd come here to harm you, or your precious friends, I'd have my wand out right now, but as you can see, it's still safely within my pocket," he said calmly, carefully studying Harry's reactions to his words. "And I didn't kill anyone. I didn't kill your parents; I didn't kill Lupin; nor did I kill anyone else for that matter. Dumbledore said that I don't—"

Malfoy stopped abruptly, as if he'd been about to say something he wasn't willing to reveal, and took a deep breath before continuing. "It doesn't matter; but what does matter is that I'm not here to do you, or anyone else, harm, otherwise Granger and Weasley wouldn't have brought me here in the first place," Malfoy proclaimed finally, a slight sneer crossing his face when he said Harry's friends' names.

At this, Harry finally dropped his wand, but his gaze was still just as piercing. "Fine," he snapped. "Apology accepted. Now get out." Harry pointed in roughly the same direction the front door was in, indicating that Malfoy was to leave.

This time, he didn't even bother to hide his anger; he let his emotions play all over his face, and said in a voice quivering with fury, "Potter, I came here to have a proper talk, to give you a proper apology for all that I've said and done since the first time we met in that blasted shop up to now. This may be difficult for you to fathom, Potter, but I do actually know how to feel guilt."

When what Malfoy had said didn't get a response, he tried the diplomatic approach. "I just thought that you would let me apologise; you, the only one who was willing to show Wormtail mercy, when he didn't deserve it," he said finally. When Harry looked shocked at how Malfoy knew about letting Wormtail go, Malfoy told him, by way of explaining, "He told the Death Eaters all about his encounters with you.

"So, may I please talk to you?"

After another lengthy silence, Harry gestured to a sofa on the left side of the room. As soon as Malfoy sat down, he followed suit and sat on the chaise opposite his. "So," Harry began. "Talk."

Malfoy started twiddling with his thumbs, looking down at them as he battled himself to a thumb war. Finally, he looked up and said, haltingly, "I… I'm sorry for all the years I tortured you. I'm sorry I almost killed Weasley in our sixth year, however indirectly, and I…" He trailed off again, before clearing his throat, and, continuing in a slightly stronger voice, "I'm sorry for almost killing you, Weasley and Granger in the Room of Requirement."

Malfoy then looked up at Harry, to see his eyes softening a little. He heaved a quiet sigh of relief at the sight. "You know," he began softly, "with my father now under observation for crimes against the Ministry and high treason, there really is no use pretending anymore."

"Why just observation? Why not a proper trial?" Harry asked, mildly curious.

Malfoy answered simply, "Because we changed sides, at the end. The Ministry knows that."

After seeing Harry's eyes softening even further, Malfoy became a little braver, and said something he'd never have dared to before. "Friends?" he asked tentatively, looking closely at Harry's face for some sort of reaction.

Harry squinted at him, and asked in a voice filled with suspicion, "Why would you, a respected pureblood, want to be friends with a half-blood like me?"

To Malfoy's credit, he did look rather abashed. "Though I grew up being taught the importance of blood status, I never cared much for it," he admitted a little indignantly, not looking at Harry directly. "I just kept up the pretence."

He looked up at Harry then, and continued, "I'm a Slytherin; if I didn't pretend to care about blood purity, I would have been cursed in my sleep."

"And being my friend now wouldn't result in you getting hexed?" Harry asked. "Do explain this one to me, Malfoy; I must say you've gotten my curiosity piqued."

Malfoy bristled but chose to ignore Harry's sarcasm. "Ever since the war ended," he began, "I've stopped caring about keeping up appearances, whether I believe in them or not. I don't care about blood status any more than you do, Potter; believe me."

"And you think that being friends with me will earn you points with your other fellow Slytherins?" Harry said snidely.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed a little. "Not at all," he said a little huffily. "I couldn't care any less about what they think, not anymore. I told you; I've stopped worrying about keeping up appearances.

"Now I'm free to be the person I've always longed to be," he continued, now a small smile on his face. "And if the Slytherins can't accept that, then they can sod off."

Harry snorted. "So what you're trying to tell me is that all those times you made fun of Hermione, calling her a Mudblood, you didn't actually mean it?" he said disbelievingly, leaning back in his chaise, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Well… yes."

But now Harry was on a roll. "And all those times you made fun of me, tortured me, ridiculed me… that was just because you were a Slytherin, and you were obligated to otherwise you'd have been cursed?" he bit out harshly, the dark light returning to his green eyes. "And the time you almost killed my friends and I in the Room of Requirement? What forced you to do it then; your concern for your well-being, or was it just because you ruddy well wanted me dead?"

He took a deep breath, and prompted in a much softer voice, almost as silky as Voldemort's had been when he was at his most dangerous, "Or was it both?" When Malfoy didn't answer right away, Harry screamed, "Answer me, Malfoy!"

Malfoy's lips were pinched in a tight line, as if he were trying to control himself from saying something, but then Harry saw that his eyes had also filled with tears. Are those… are those real tears? he thought, disbelief flooding through him.

"Please answer," Harry implored softly, this time his voice void of the underlying threat of throttling him, thinking about how it was his tone that was making Malfoy cry this time. Harry knew, the moment his voice took on the same tone as Voldemort's, that Malfoy knew it well, and dreaded it. The thought that only he and the Dark Lord were able to make him tearful almost made Harry sick to his stomach.

"I… I didn't actually mean to bully you," Malfoy started hesitatingly, his eyes downcast. "It's just that… that first day, on the train, when I offered to be your friend, I got mad when you rejected me.

"All those times I made fun of you, I was just… jealous, not to mention angry. You were the famous Boy Who Lived, and I was jealous that you wanted to be Ron's friend instead of mine, when you knew him about as well as you knew me; ergo, not at all," he admitted a little grudgingly, his eyes still cast downwards, not willing to meet Harry's.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, you were being a git; of course I didn't want to be your friend," he said snappishly, to which Malfoy finally lifted his eyes to Harry's, his mouth open in shock. But before Malfoy could respond to the well-deserved insult, Harry continued, "With that said, I must say that I am sincerely sorry I didn't accept your offer of friendship.

"But you didn't answer my other question; what of the Room of Requirement incident? If you didn't want me dead at the Manor, what changed your mind when you saw me in Hogwarts?"

Malfoy was quiet for a while, trying to think of a way to phrase himself. Finally, he just said simply, his voice not cracking at all, despite his nervous demeanour, "I didn't want you dead then, either."

Harry's brows furrowed in confusion. "Could've fooled me," he grumbled, not really directing this at Malfoy. However, he heard what Harry said, and an amused smirk crossed his face. After a moment had passed, he turned serious again.

"I wasn't joking," Malfoy said, now all trace of humour on his face wiped clean. "It really wasn't my intention to kill you; in fact, I was trying to keep you alive." At this, Harry's eyebrows shot up so far, they almost reached his hairline.

He opened his mouth to argue, but Malfoy held up his hand to stop him saying anything so he could continue. "If you remember correctly, it was Crabbe who wanted you dead. He was the one who directed the Killing Curse at Granger, the Cruciatus Curse at you, and it was Crabbe who used that spell to try and crush Weasley with all that old junk in the Room of Lost Things," he asserted, trying his best to try and convince Harry he was telling the truth. And then he added, quietly, "And it was Crabbe who started the Fiendfyre, not me."

After he was done speaking, Harry leaned back in his chaise, trying to digest what he'd been told. Was it true, then? he asked himself. Could it be that, in his own way, Malfoy had tried his best to protect Ron, Hermione and I those times we had met before the Battle?

Suddenly, it occurred to Harry whom Malfoy reminded him of, almost exactly. "Severus Snape," he blurted out, after which he blushed when Malfoy gave him a curious look. "Snape did and said many things, all of which were horrid, but only did them to protect those he considered friends."

Harry looked up at the boy sitting opposite, and said, quite slowly, as if trying to see whether there was a bitter taste to his words, "I accept your offer."

Malfoy looked at him as if he'd gone mad. "What are you on about, Potter? You're not making any bloody sense. First, you blurt out Severus Snape's name, compare us— at least I assume so— and then you say you're accepting my offer," Malfoy burst out, sounding quite infuriated and haughty. Harry pressed his lips together, to stop from chuckling. He found it hilarious that Malfoy could revert back to sounding almost exactly like how he used to so abruptly. Not to mention that what he said was actually true. "What exactly are you accepting?"

Harry laughed. He just couldn't hold it in anymore. Even Malfoy's mouth twitched, though he worked hard to keep his frown on his face. In the end, he lost, and a small, grudging smile replaced the frown.

"Your offer of friendship," Harry managed at last, once his laughter had died down. This time, a proper smile crossed Malfoy's face.

So... how do you like it so far? Would you like for me to upload chapter two? Do you think there are some things I should improve on? Or maybe you think I missed out some key Harry Potter details? Let me know in the 'Reviews' section. Thanks for taking the time to read this. :-)