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It was over. The war that had claimed so much of Harry's life, passion, and energy was over. He almost didn't know how to feel. Before he could do anything, however, there were certain things that needed tended to. Harry left the Great Hall, ignoring everyone who tried to hug him, praise him, or tearfully thank him. Ron and Hermione looked at him questioningly, but he declined them with a slight shake of his head. They understood immediately that this was something he would have to do alone. Harry dodged Nearly Headless Nick, who, for the first time, wasn't upset when his wobbly head fell off his shoulders, and finally made it into the Entrance Hall. He'd already repaired his holly and phoenix feather wand but clutched the Elder Wand tightly. It was time to start putting the past behind him.

He walked outside, burying his hands in his robe pockets and making a beeline for Dumbledore's tomb. It was cold and dark, which was soothing after everything he'd been through. Rather than shrieks and burning, it was calm and quiet. Once Harry reached the cool white marble, he didn't delay. Whispering a spell to open the top, Harry took the Elder Wand and returned it to Dumbledore's grasp, who was so still and calm in death he might have been sleeping. Though the implications were peaceful, Harry felt unbearably sad. Now, more than ever, he was alone. His parents and Sirius were already gone, but in the Final Battle, Tonks, Remus, Fred, and countless others had fallen as well. On top of that, Ron and Hermione's relationship seemed inevitable. They'd been dancing around each other for far too long, but still he worried that he'd become an inconvenience and that the friendship they'd built would never be easy again.

His task completed, Harry retreated from the tomb and sat with his back against one of the tall trees in the clearing. Maybe sitting here long enough would complete the task that Voldemort started almost eighteen years ago. Now that his purpose was complete, what else was there?

"Potter?" ventured a soft voice.

Harry sprang to his feet, drawing his wand instinctively. He must have been far deeper in thought then he'd realized if someone had been able to sneak up on him like that.

"Who's there?" he croaked, nonverbally lighting his wand and brandishing it wildly.

"Calm down, Potter," the voice sniped. "You're going to take my eye out. What kind of wizard are you? Treating a wand that way, honestly."

There was only one person who would still be willing to insult him not even an hour after he'd defeated Lord Voldemort. Harry lifted his wand to confirm his suspicion and, unfortunately, was dead on. His nighttime visitor was Malfoy, as pale and pointed as ever, though even in the wandlight Harry could tell how emaciated his former rival really was.

"What do you want, Malfoy," he snarled, lowering his wand again in an attempt to project a nonchalant aura.

"What makes you think I want anything at all, dear Chosen One?" Malfoy spat out the last two words like they had personally offended him.

"Oh, I don't know," hissed Harry, "Maybe because you've followed me out to Dumbledore's grave? I know you're not out here to mourn; it's not like you gave a buggering shit about him."

Malfoy's face twisted. "Now, now, Potter," he said slowly, "Try not to think so hard. It's difficult to make assumptions about things you know nothing about."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked disbelievingly. "I know you, Malfoy."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes and loudly snorted, before concluding, "Like I said, you know nothing, Potter."

Sufficiently goaded, Harry demanded, "Fine then, Malfoy, why don't you enlighten me? I know you want something, or you wouldn't be here. Want to ask me to testify at your trial? Fine. I'll even throw your mother's in for good measure. Now leave me alone."

He seemed to have touched a nerve. Malfoy's face closed, and he breathed, "Potter, you ask me to enlighten you and then continue judging why I'm here? Make up your mind, Savior, as they're calling you now. One or the other."

Through gritted teeth, Harry relented. "I'll listen."

Malfoy seemed satisfied. He walked towards Harry, who stiffened, before gracefully lowering himself down and leaning against the tree next to Harry's. "Sit, Potter."

It was bizarre to hear Malfoy extending an invitation, rather than spitting a command, but even more disturbing was that Malfoy had injected no malice or sneer in his words. He almost sounded friendly.

Harry returned to his spot against the tree, drawing his knees up tightly against his chest. Malfoy waited for him to respond, but Harry stayed quiet. Now that they were sitting rather companionably, Malfoy seemed almost at a loss for words.

After a few minutes of silence, Malfoy sighed. "Potter, I didn't hate Dumbledore. Had it not been for his blatant displays of favoritism, I might've even liked him."

Harry rested his hands on his knees and his head on his hands, turning to regard Malfoy skeptically. "Right, then why didn't you take the out when he offered it? On the night he died." The "when you helped to kill him" was left unsaid.

"You were there that night?" Malfoy met Harry's eyes, surprised. "Of course you were. I swear, Potter…" he trailed off. "I didn't take the out, if you must know, because I thought I was already too far gone. In addition, my father wouldn't have accepted it. He would have disowned me."

"What changed?" Harry asked, honestly curious.

"Voldemort and the other Death Eaters spending the past year at the Manor," Malfoy said. "You – well, maybe only you – would be able to comprehend the horrors, the things they had me do. I don't quite know how to live with myself now that it's over."

He even sounds sincere, thought Harry. Still a little peeved, Harry asked, "Has your father offered any suggestions?" A second later, he regretted it. Even for Malfoy, that seemed a little cruel.

Instead of being hurt, Malfoy's face shone. "I'm glad my father is alive, but I'll be making my own decisions from now on. That's why I'm here, Potter."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Even if he disowns you? Since you were so concerned before."

Malfoy laughed, a real laugh, and Harry's heart quite strangely lifted at the sound. "Potter, it would be a blessing to leave my name behind. I'm sure you can work out why. Anyway, he wouldn't do that now, not after his path royally screwed us all."

Nodding sympathetically, Harry took a moment to reflect on the oddness of this situation. Sitting by Dumbledore's tomb in the aftermath of the Final Battle, having a heart to heart with Draco Malfoy? He would have never imagined it happening in a million years.

"I realized how troubling our Pureblood views really were during the height of Voldemort's reign over my house. I honestly wanted to do more after you were captured, but couldn't without them knowing my heart wasn't in it."

"You managed to save my life," Harry pointed out, raising his head back up and shifting so his body was facing Malfoy. "If you'd identified me, things could have gone a hell of a lot differently."

"Still," said Malfoy, carding a hand through his perfect blonde hair. "I want to make reparations. And to…." He trailed off again, almost as if the words would not come off of his tongue.

Harry looked at him confusedly, unable to imagine what was coming next.

With a face that suggested he might be sick, Malfoy sniffed, "Thank you, Potter. For saving me – er, us – from him."

Harry simply gawked at him. Of the most unlikely, improbable things that Malfoy was likely to do, thanking him had to be in the top ten.

"It might be a bit selfish, I know," continued Malfoy, his pointed face back to neutral, "But I didn't only come out here to apologize. I want us to start over." He extended his hand in a throwback to the moment when they were eleven and the world was different, and Harry could only stare in stunned silence. After a long moment, Malfoy's face looked just the slightest bit hurt, and he started to withdraw his hand.

It wasn't logical, nor did the git deserve it, but in a moment of impulsiveness Harry thrust out his own hand and grabbed Malfoy's. They shook for a few seconds, and immediately both felt more at ease.

Harry stood up then, and after a second to consider, reached down the same hand to Malfoy, who grasped it, and helped pull him up. Now that the moment was over, it was hard to know exactly what to say to Malfoy.

"Ready to go back to the castle?" he finally asked. Malfoy nodded, and the two set off across the grounds. Harry reflected how fitting it was that he had chosen to give Malfoy a second chance at the foot of Dumbledore's grave, who had always advocated for the good in everyone.

"Potter," said Malfoy suddenly. "About your elf – Dobby. I regret what happened."

Harry closed his eyes. "Me too, Malfoy. They shared a quick glance before walking up to the castle doors, and Malfoy reached out to pull on the handle.

Before his hand made contact, Harry slapped it away. Malfoy looked up in surprise. "I was going to testify for you and your mother anyway," he blurted out. "Anyway, I'm glad you've thought about some things."

Malfoy met his eyes again, and Harry could see the gratitude and the desire for forgiveness reflected in the grey irises. Malfoy had quite expressive eyes, he noticed, ones he could almost get lost in. He blinked to break the spell.

This time, Harry reached out to open the doors, and they parted ways once safely back inside the castle.

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Draco had worried about the inevitable trial ever since he'd first realized the certainty of Voldemort's downfall. Fortunately, he knew the Golden Boy would keep his word. Harry Potter was nothing if not noble and honest. With Harry's testimony, he and his mother were sentenced to community service and a fine and the Malfoy vaults retained most of their fortune. His father wasn't so lucky. Lucius received a fifteen year sentence in Azkaban, but Draco couldn't bring himself to feel pity. His actions enabled the Dark Lord to return to full force in the first place, and he'd pressured Draco into taking the Dark Mark. For that, Draco would never forgive him.

The Ministry gave the two free Malfoys a short list of approved places where they could complete their several hours of community service. Narcissa chose the London Gardens while Draco decided to start at Hogwarts. Before the school could be re-opened, major renovations were necessary. After Harry's testimony, the Minister of Magic himself declared Draco would be cleared to attend Hogwarts to finish his education, also noting he could complete the volunteer hours at his own pace during the academic year. That's exactly what Draco had been hoping for. Securing any kind of employment was impossible without stellar NEWTs, especially as a former Death Eater.

Bright and early on Monday morning after the trial, Draco prepared for work. Clearly there was a first for everything. Draco tried to be enthusiastic but failed, so there was only one thing left to do: channel his inner Potter. He Transfigured one of his father's old robes into a set of muggle jeans and a black T-shirt, hoping his efforts went unnoticed. Draco dreaded meeting his former classmates at Hogwarts who would no doubt delight in witnessing the downfall of the Malfoys.

He Disapparated from the Manor, aiming for the school's outer gates. Unfortunately, several of the other volunteers had the same idea. Draco slammed into a couple Hufflepuffs he used to love to torment, Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott.

"My apologies," he said with as much dignity as he could muster up. It was a futile attempt.

"What are you doing here," sneered Macmillan in a way Draco didn't know Hufflepuffs could sneer.

"Helping rebuild the school," Draco stated, trying to replicate his usual confidence by adopting proper Malfoy posture. "What does it look like I'm doing? Wait, don't answer that. Hufflepuffs aren't the sharpest tools in the broom shed."

Macmillan puffed out his chest as a dull flush came over his face.

"Leave it, Ernie," commanded Abbott. "I plan to speak with Headmistress McGonagall straight away as to why a Death Eater would be allowed to help rebuild Hogwarts."

Stung, as he always was when someone called him a Death Eater, Draco could only give them his most superior, condescending Malfoy glare as they strode away. It was going to be a long day if every encounter was like this.

There were no words for the rest of the morning. Even the Gryffindors were cruel, seeing as one of their own had saved the world while most Slytherins did nothing. Potter's friends Weasley and Granger stared at him, dumbstruck, for a full minute, before the Weasel started running pell-mell towards Draco with a murderous expression on his face. Draco didn't go for his wand – he couldn't think – but he was spared from the muggle beating because Granger saw fit to stun her moronic boyfriend. The relief in his face must have been palatable, but Granger quickly dispelled Draco of her good intentions by glaring and hissing "I did it for him, Malfoy, not you." Seamus Finnigan, another boy from Potter's year, redirected a cascade of falling rubble to rain down on Draco when he was busy trying to herd up a group of baby Mandrakes. It had hurt, and he wasn't as familiar with common healing spells as he should be. As such he would have to suffer his bruised back and broken toes until he could ask Mother for help.

Draco ate lunch alone – the Hogwarts house elves had prepared a simple but hearty meal for everyone involved with the renovations – and hoped for the rest of the afternoon to go smoothly. He decided to join Lovegood in repairing the structural damage to the Ravenclaw Tower, but halfway through she went away to take a break, declaring that the Wrackspurts were bothering her. Draco didn't mind working alone. In fact, it was almost relaxing, strengthening what was left of the tower's foundation, and creating new scaffolding as necessary along the way.

Focusing hard on his task despite the fog since that morning's incident with Finnigan, Draco was oblivious to four burly Hufflepuffs coming up behind him. Only when one shouted "Levicorpus!" and Draco was brutally yanked in the air and turned upside by his right ankle did he realize they were there. Looking back down to the ground, Draco couldn't recognize any of them. He thought that they might have been in fifth year. Old enough to remember him lording his prefect badge above their heads, if this was the little Hufflepuff group he was remembering…

"Oi, Malfoy," the only girl in the group cooed sarcastically. "You think you're so clever, always putting yourself on a pedestal, we thought you might appreciate it if we stuck you up there permanently!"

"Should we really do it?" asked another, short and stocky. Draco thought about how he'd teased that one, in his own fifth year, from all the way across the Great Hall for eating an extra piece of treacle tart. This was not going to end well.

"Of course we're doing it, you dimwit," snapped the one Draco had instantly targeted as the ringleader. "A Permanent Sticking Charm to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom is better than what Malfoy deserves. Of course, we'll have to give him a taste of his own medicine first."

There was a strange noise from the largest and strongest of the four, and Draco vaguely recognized it as an adapted version of Voldemort's laugh. Apparently the fourth was just brute force and sound effects. Draco wasn't complaining – getting hit with hexes, jinxes, and curses from three casters would be marginally less painful than from four. He was starting to get a little worried from his vulnerable position in the air; his shirt was threatening to fall down over his head if he gave up and his arms were getting harder and harder to hold steadfastly to his sides.

"Immobulus!" shouted the short sidekick, and Draco had to stop struggling as the charm instantly froze him solid. Now he was just hanging there, floating back and forth in the breeze, as the four Hufflepuffs laughed at him; at least it took the pressure off his arms. More students rapidly approached, having heard raised voices and sinister expressions of mirth. Draco could only hope that one of them was merciful.

"Rictusempra!" yelled the female Hufflepuff as the crowd jeered. Though Draco was still frozen, he could feel a thousand tickles happening simultaneously all over his body. It was torturous, not being able to scratch. He wasn't muted, and noises of helplessness escaped him.

The ringleader walked towards Draco until he stood directly underneath him. He spoke quietly, so no one else could hear, and said, "You thought you were such a big man, with Daddy's protection and the threat of the 'Dark Lord' behind every word you said." He waved his wand, casting wordlessly, and Draco felt a strange pressure in his lower stomach. "Power always got to your head. When I was just a second year, you gave me a detention and took twenty points from Hufflepuff just because I had my tie done up the wrong way. Now it's your turn to suffer, arsehole."

Not knowing what to expect, Draco waited anxiously. All of a sudden came the cry "Crucio!" Pain lanced through him in the way he'd come to expect from his father, the Dark Lord, and other Death Eaters. He screamed, the sharp pain consuming him on top of the relentless tickling. He still could not move, but worst of all, there was hot, wet fluid running from his crotch down his torso.

"Er –" grunted the largest Hufflepuff. "Wilkins, are you sure about this? Malfoy never did anything that bad to us –"

"Shut up, Mikey," snapped Wilkins. "Have you forgotten what he is? What he did during the war?"

Chastised, Mikey stepped back into the crowd and with an evil smile, the ringleader addressed Draco again. "That spell I used the first time? Triggers the target to wet their pants. Good luck living this one down, Malfoy." He ended the Tickling and Freezing Charms, leaving Malfoy to pant off the effects of the Cruciatus Curse.

Immersed in mob mentality, the mixed crowd of Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, and Ravenclaws continued to revel in the sight of Draco Malfoy suspended in the air by his right ankle, shirt inside out over his face, and now dripping with urine. It ran down his chest and back in thin, warm lines before falling off of his body to the ground.

"Hey, look!" shouted one Ravenclaw boy with a particularly lowbrow accent. "Malfoy's pissed himself!"

The jeers, hoots, and snarls coming from surrounding company increased tenfold. Draco could make out assorted responses like "Someone grab a camera!" and "I told you that the Malfoys' shit still stank!"

Draco caught the ringleader's voice again as it declared "It is now time to join Malfoy to Moaning Myrtle forever! Please follow into the Great Hall–"

"WILKINS!" boomed a loud and very angry voice. Draco couldn't make out who it was, but he instantly eliminated Potter. "I'll have your ass for sure, this time! Wait until McGonagall hears that you've been torturing students who have been cleared of all charges!"

His savior uttered a quick "Finite!" and Draco found himself being slowly returned back to the earth. With flushed cheeks and a lingering sense of dizziness he turned to face his rescuer, who had also cast a discrete Cleaning Charm on Draco.

He bit back the automatic snarky response that rose on his tongue, because being forced to thank Neville Longbottom was a thousand times better than being strung up by fifth years.

"Longbottom," Draco said evenly, meeting his eyes. "Thank you." Longbottom nodded once, and Draco fought the urge to break into a run. Instead, he strode away with purpose, parting the silenced crowd who only seconds before had been in all their glory at the sight of him humiliated. The last thing he saw, out of the corner of his eye, was Longbottom rounding on the four that had initiated the encounter against him.

Draco didn't know where he was going; didn't know where there was to go, but his feet led him back to Dumbledore's tomb where he had sat with Potter. The area was equally deserted, as everyone was either hard at work on another part of the castle or back with the crowd.

Instead of resting against the tree, Draco found himself striding right up to the actual tomb and pressing his right hand against it.

"Foolish old man," said Draco. His eyes fell to the ground. "'My mercy?' 'Your mercy?' Ha!" he scoffed. "None of it matters now."

He sank to the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest, his head thudding as it hit the side of Dumbledore's memorial. Sighing, Draco reached up with a long, pale hand to wipe away a stray tear.

He didn't know how long he sat there as seconds gave way to minutes. When Draco looked up again, the afternoon had turned into dusk and the air was growing steadily cooler. He wrapped his arms around his legs, burying his face in his knees.

"Malfoy?" a voice questioned from the darkness. Draco buried his face tighter and didn't say a word in response. He just knew it was Potter, who had the worst habit of showing up at the most inopportune moments. Footsteps slowly approached, but Draco refused to look up. Of course Potter knew; Longbottom would have never lasted ten minutes without telling him. After a minute, he felt Potter sink down next to him. Neither of them spoke. The silence lasted so long that Malfoy had almost forgotten Potter was still there, but then he felt something warm and oddly comforting touch his back. Could that be Potter's arm?

A few minutes later, Potter's fingers started ghosting over his muscles, and Draco realized that yes, Potter was touching him, rubbing him even. He wanted to make a noise of protest, but he was only able to produce a strange noise of contentment. Draco desperately hoped that Potter hadn't heard.

Potter started moving his fingers in a circular pattern, with just a bit more pressure. It felt amazing. Malfoy was struggling not to push back into Potter's hand to demand more rubbing and petting, but then Potter spoke.

"I'm so sorry that happened, Malfoy."

It was too much. Words of sympathy, which he hadn't heard from anyone lately, were too much. Especially coming from Potter. Draco had no recollection of pre-war conversations where he and Potter were actually nice to one another. The care and warmth cascading through Potter's fingertips combined with the sweet words was enough to put him over the edge, and Draco began sobbing. As it happened, he was horrified with himself, but had no control all the same.

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Harry was trying to be comforting. Malfoy hadn't said a word since Harry had sat down next to him, but then again Harry hadn't really expected him to. Sure, Malfoy had done some shitty things in the War, but he was paying his debts now. Harry had heard rumors that Wilkins had even used the Cruciatus Curse on Malfoy, which could not go unpunished. But Malfoy was what mattered right now, if Harry could just break through his stony exterior.

After a good half an hour of sitting in silence, Harry tried petting Malfoy, who hadn't protested, shied away, or yelled. Instead, he'd made a soft noise which almost sounded appreciative. Harry had taken it as a good sign, and continued on, hoping for more positive reactions. Malfoy had remained stubbornly quiet. In desperation, Harry spoke kindly to Malfoy, knowing that was probably the least likely thing to work. He was dumbfounded when, a moment later, Malfoy's thin shoulders started to gently shudder. Though they were soft, Harry could even hear sobs coming from the blonde man.

Harry fully appreciated that this was the first time Malfoy had ever willingly been vulnerable around him. He'd witnessed Malfoy crying once before, and that had not ended well for either of them. As a result, Harry didn't want to do something that would bollocks up the moment. He wanted to put Malfoy at ease, not incite him into a vicious rage or slice his chest open.

After the sobs showed no sign of stopping, Harry made his choice. Carefully, he slid his left hand, which had been stroking Malfoy's back, to Malfoy's left shoulder. He started coaxing Malfoy towards him until Malfoy's head ended up in his lap. Harry kept his left hand on Malfoy's back, sliding his right into Malfoy's soft white-blonde hair. His former rival was still facing away from him, but Harry could tell that Malfoy's weeping had slowed. He'd also relaxed, if only marginally.

Again, there was silence, but then Harry heard a quiet "Potter," so silent it was almost imperceptible. He brushed Malfoy's hair back in a question, bending slightly to bring his face closer to Malfoy's. He waited, until finally Malfoy whispered, "I can't–"

Harry understood. "We don't have to talk about it," he whispered back, right above Malfoy's left ear. Malfoy nodded.

On impulse, he lifted Malfoy's head and nudged his legs farther under Malfoy's back. Wrapping both of his arms around Malfoy's torso, Harry squeezed Malfoy and buried his face in the other man's shoulder. Harry felt a strong compulsion to nuzzle into the crook between Malfoy's neck and shoulder, but thought he was already pushing his luck enough. Surprisingly, Malfoy reacted a lot better than he'd thought, placing his own hands over where Harry's were joined at his own torso. They were almost having a moment here.

There was another long silence where neither seemed to want to move away, but Harry was drawn out of his thoughts by Malfoy calling him again.

"Say literally anything, Potter."

Even for Malfoy, that was a bit of a strange request. "Why?" Harry asked, confusion knotting his brow.

"Because anything hurts less than the quiet," whispered Malfoy.

Harry's heart was breaking. Trying to sound upbeat to preserve Malfoy's vulnerability, he asked in a chipper tone, "Maybe tomorrow you'd like to help me with rebuilding some of the dungeons?" He tried hard to sound like he wanted Malfoy's company and not like he merely wanted to ensure Malfoy's safety, admitting to himself both were absolutely true.

Malfoy met his eyes for the first time all evening, and nodded. Harry wasn't going to push him anymore tonight. He wouldn't have minded holding Malfoy for longer, but his legs were going numb after being stretched out in front of him for so long. He slowly released his grip, and Malfoy slid his own fingertips up Harry's forearms as he sat up. Malfoy turned to face him again, and Harry could see tear tracks from where the droplets had run off Malfoy's face. Impulsively, he thought about reaching out and wiping Malfoy's face clean.

"Can you make it home alright, or do you want me to Apparate with you?"

"I'm not made of glass, Potter, I'm sure I can manage a short Apparation without supervision." Malfoy's words lacked the usual sneer and bite, and for once Harry actually felt compelled to read into them. Clearly, Malfoy was frustrated about being vulnerable and not able to defend himself against would-be attackers.

"Right, then," Harry said, hoisting himself to his feet despite a brutal case of pins and needles. "Meet in the Great Hall tomorrow?"

Malfoy nodded again, and Harry felt that was his cue to leave. "Goodnight," he said, striding back towards the castle.

"Potter," came from behind him. Harry turned half around to see Malfoy carding his hand through his hair again, looking wearier than ever. "Thank you. Again."

"No problem. See you tomorrow," said Harry, appreciating the gesture.

"Goodnight," said Malfoy softly, and his bottom lip jutted out just a little bit to make him look more innocent than ever.

With difficulty, Harry left him. The more unreasonable side of him wanted to storm right back over to Malfoy and insist on Apparating him home. Merlin, what was wrong with him?

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Draco regretfully watched Potter stride away, eyes lingering unwillingly on Potter's arse. He wished suddenly that Potter would let him run his hands over it, squeeze it… Draco cut off that fantasy immediately. It was wrong to think of Potter in that way. He was only just getting to be Potter's friend, and already owed him too much. How many times was that now Potter had come across Draco crying? A hell of a lot more times than he'd ever seen Potter cry, that's for sure.

Draco had to admit, though, that Potter's lap had been really warm and nice. He loved having his hair petted, and Potter seemed to know exactly where to exert pressure. The hug, though, that was something else. Draco had felt warmth through every part of his body, and could have fallen asleep there if Potter hadn't rudely nudged him off. It was almost like a loving touch… But Draco couldn't afford to delude himself. He and Potter were friends, nothing more. Tomorrow's community service hours would be a lot more tolerable with Potter, and, as an added bonus, a lot safer.

With sleep overcoming him, Draco Apparated home. He sought out Mother, who helped him heal the injuries he'd incurred much earlier in the day, and then Draco treated himself to a shower. In bed, he found himself anxiously waiting for tomorrow. And he resolutely told himself that it was not simply because of Potter.

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