Harry glanced at the books on the table and bit his lip with indecision. Then he moved to the door and hurried after Malfoy. Despite his pretence at humanity, Malfoy moved quickly without a fleshy body and Harry had to run to keep him in sight.

Instead of heading down, Malfoy went up. Harry lurked back, trying not to be obvious about following, and wished he had brought his cloak along. Of course, he was a grown man now and carrying an invisibility cloak around would be silly. And he really shouldn't be eavesdropping, anyway. He was only curious.

After a moment, Harry knew where Malfoy was going. Partway up, the Astronomy Tower contained several round, private rooms, generally used for storage and off limits to students, but two of the rooms had large windows that looked out on the grounds. They contained a number of desks and tables and were used by older students for revising and preparing for their exams.

Harry stopped. There was nowhere for him to wait without being completely obvious. He was not even sure why he felt like spying. Surely it was normal for a mother to visit her son, even if he wasn't… alive.

Harry left the tower and kept walking, waving vaguely at students as he passed them. He recognized only a handful and knew it would take a long time before he knew more of them on sight. Only Minerva seemed to know every single child, as had Dumbledore before her. Harry wondered how they did it.

Harry decided to lurk on the front steps. He Conjured a scroll and quill and pretended to write a letter to Hermione. It was a good idea, so instead of pretending he decided to actually do it. He had just seen her, of course, but she got ridiculously excited whenever she got mail. Harry understood. She had theorized it was somehow related to "only-child syndrome" but Harry figured everyone liked to get a nice letter or package now and again.

He had a good page filled with descriptions of his classes and students when the door opened and Narcissa Malfoy stepped out. She stopped short when she saw him and then composed her features.

"Hello, Mr Potter."

Harry put the scroll and quill away awkwardly as he stood up. "Hello, Mrs Malfoy. It's good to see you again." He reached out his hand and she took it. Her fingers were slender and cool. Her lips moved as she attempted a smile, but the sadness in her face seemed too great to sustain it. "I'm, um, sorry about Draco." Harry nearly winced at how insincere his words sounded.

She nodded and took her hand back and then pulled the hood of her black hood over her pale hair. "Thank you."

She started down the steps, obviously making for the front gates. Harry felt foolish, thinking he should talk to her. She had saved his life, after all. He hurried to catch up with her.

"Do you mind if I walk with you for a bit?" he asked.

She glanced at him askance and the gesture was so reminiscent of her son that Harry smiled.

"Of course not," she said. "Your return to Hogwarts was newsworthy, or rather your departure from the Ministry."

"Yes, I suppose it was something of a surprise to most people."

"Not to me."

Harry nearly stopped walking. His steps hitched and then he regained his equilibrium. "Excuse me?"

Narcissa smiled at him wanly. "It seemed obvious. You spent your entire childhood running from a madman. Why anyone expects you to open yourself up to more of the same as an adult seems foolish. I always thought you might hide yourself away, or perhaps travel."

Harry glanced at her, amazed at her insight. Even his closest friends had been shocked at his decision. "I considered it, but travelling alone did not seem particularly appealing."

"The press had you all but married to that Weasley girl."

"Ginny? Yeah, it was a close thing. We were looking at rings one day and she suddenly blurted out that she wasn't ready and I nearly passed out from relief. After having a huge laugh we moved on to being great friends. She's in Argentina now, playing Quidditch." Harry had spent a lot of time explaining himself to Ron and the other Weasleys. He knew they all wanted him and Ginny to marry and settle down, but Ginny's latest correspondence hinted at growing feelings for one of her teammates. Harry wished her well.

"People should not marry too young if they plan to marry for love."

"Did you?" he asked and then wondered if he had overstepped his boundaries.

"No. My marriage to Lucius was arranged when we were both young, but we used to play together as children. Strangely, we always knew we were meant for one another and we never questioned it. Of course, it did no harm that Lucius grew up to be beautiful, but I fell in love with him long before then. He was a somewhat awkward teenager, although I would never admit that to him."

Harry grinned. Lucius was handsome enough, he supposed, if you liked them tall, blond, and evil. The thought drew his mind back to her son. "You came to see Draco?" he asked.

She nodded. "I probably shouldn't. It would be easier to accept the loss, I think, if I did not." She stopped walking and clasped her hands together, even though her features remained placid. Her knuckles whitened. "But… he's here and he looks like himself and he remembers everything and…" She looked away, staring out over the heather-crusted hillside. A gasp made her chest hitch and Harry felt his heart clench in sympathy. He thought of all the times he had wished Sirius had remained behind as a ghost and for the first time he saw how horrific it might have been.

"I can't… I can see him, but I cannot touch him, or stroke his hair, or even hold his hand—" She buried her face in her hands for a moment and then lifted her face and glared at Harry through eyes that gleamed with tears. "Damn it, he's dead! Draco is dead. Why can I not accept that my son is gone forever? Why can I not let him go?"

To Harry's dismay, her shoulders hitched and she began to cry in earnest. Harry touched her shoulder sympathetically and then held her gently when she turned and sobbed on his shoulder. It was something of a surprise to find he was taller than her, and she was not a short woman. He patted her lightly on the back and tried to make soothing noises.

"I miss him so much," she said, voice roughed with tears. "I miss my Draco. Oh god, I would give anything to bring him back. It's not… It's not fair. He was so young. He was so young and full of life."

Harry felt his throat tighten and tears well in his eyes. Bloody hell, he was crying for Malfoy. Narcissa's pain was like a dark well of despair, pulling him into its depths. Harry blinked back tears and held her until she slowly pulled away.

She stepped back firmly and wiped at her face with a lace-edged kerchief she pulled from a pocket. "Circe, you probably think I'm a wailing ninny. I am terribly sorry, Mr Potter, for putting you through that."

Harry forced a weak smile. "Please don't apologize. Grief takes time and never really goes away, even though it gets easier as the years pass. There is no shame in tears. And please call me Harry."

"Well, thank you for indulging me. I have not broken down like that in some time." She shook her head and then attempted to smile. "You know, I had once hoped you and Draco would become friends."

Harry's grin turned genuine. "That would have been a trick."

"Oh, stop. You might have found you were more alike than you knew. I admit Draco was spoiled, but he had a good heart." She turned and began to walk once more.

Harry found it hard to imagine Malfoy having a good heart lurking under all the prattishness, but he held his tongue, doubting Narcissa would be amused at Harry's lack of faith after her breakdown. He managed to give her an encouraging nod and then they were at the gates.

"Well, Harry Potter, thank you for your time. I am sure you had better things to do than listen to my weeping."

Harry shook his head. "No, I wasn't busy. And I still owe you, you know." He made a vague gesture towards the forest where she had saved his life, and thereby saved the wizarding world.

She waved her hand and the gates opened. "There probably will not be much opportunity for you to repay your life debt, Mr Potter. Harry. But do not fear; I will not ask you to expend it on something frivolous."

"I know." She stepped through and the gates swung shut with a clang, locking them apart with iron between. Her eyes met Harry's. "Goodbye, Mrs Malfoy."

"Goodbye, Harry Potter." She lifted her wand and vanished.

O….O

Harry did not see Malfoy that afternoon, nor did he make an appearance at bedtime. Harry was tired, but he found himself lying awake wondering about Malfoy. Did he still feel sorrow when he saw his mother? It seemed likely, if he could still feel anger and annoyance.

What was Malfoy doing now? Brooding? Where did ghosts go to brood? Moaning Myrtle mainly resided in the girls' bathroom where she had died. Where had Malfoy died? It disturbed Harry that he had no idea. It seemed important to find out and he resolved to search old Daily Prophets for the details.

Still thinking about his conversation with Narcissa, Harry drifted into a fitful sleep.

He awakened sometime later and rolled over, blinking into the darkness. His room was quiet. He peered at the chair where Malfoy usually sat, trying to make out his ghostly form, but the seat was empty. He sighed and closed his eyes, burrowing deeper into the blankets.

Something cold brushed his ankle and his eyes snapped open again. He sat up to see Malfoy perched cross-legged on the bed. His elbows were propped on his knees and his face rested on his palms.

"Malfoy?" Harry questioned. "What are you doing?"

"Sitting here."

"No ingredients lesson? No singing? What's wrong?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Don't feel like tormenting you, I suppose. It's interesting watching you sleep. You look different without your glasses. Younger."

Harry frowned. It occurred to him that he was now older than Malfoy, who was frozen in time at nineteen and would remain so forever while Harry moved on. Eventually Harry would grow old and die while Malfoy would retain the semblance of youth.

Harry pushed his pillows up against the headboard and scooted into a half-sitting position. He rubbed his eyes and debated casting a Tempus Charm, but supposed the time was irrelevant; he had no need to rise early.

"You okay?" he asked instead.

"No, Potter. I'm dead, in case you haven't noticed."

"Very funny. I meant... I don't know; does it make you sad when your mum comes round? Today she seemed very—"

"You spoke to her?" Malfoy's voice seemed to have a catch in it.

"Yeah. She misses you."

Malfoy was silent for a minute and then he said, "Of course she misses me."

"You miss her, too," Harry ventured.

"Shut up, Potter." Malfoy words were surprisingly quiet and without venom.

They sat in silence and then Harry asked, "How did you die?"

Malfoy was silent so long that Harry feared he wouldn't answer at all, but then he said, "Greg killed me."

Harry let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I know that much. But why?"

Malfoy shrugged, a barely-visible movement of silver in the darkness. "He blamed me for Vince's death. I thought he'd got over it, considering Vince was the one who set the damned fire in the first place, but..." He sighed. "We were sentenced to work on rebuilding Hogwarts. Did you know? That's why we were here. Probably not, if you don't even know how I died. Didn't care much about my pathetic life, did you, Potter?"

Harry couldn't deny it, so he said nothing.

Malfoy kept talking. "We were working on the castle doing trivial, mundane tasks. They wouldn't allow us wands, so everything was manual labour, clearing out broken desks and rubble and whatnot. That day Greg and I took a break and walked down by the lake. We argued about something stupid and it turned ugly fast. Greg said I was responsible for Vince's death since it was my fault we came back to Hogwarts during the battle. He claimed I was obsessed with you or something like that. I got angry. We fought like Muggles, wrestling and grappling—a stupid move when you're a foot shorter and four stone lighter. Last I remember was him choking me."

Malfoy's hands went to his neck and Harry realized why there were no marks on his body—Goyle must have strangled him to death. Malfoy's hands fell and it wasn't until then that Harry noticed faint, bruise-like marks in a slightly darker shade of grey, just visible around Malfoy's throat. Harry shuddered.

Malfoy snorted a laugh. "Yeah, choked to death by my own best friend. I always was the lucky sort."

Harry nearly said, "Maybe you should have chosen better friends," but then it occurred to him that Malfoy might have tried to do just that in his first year, only to have Harry rebuff him in favour of Ron Weasley. Harry held his tongue.

"I hate being dead. I miss my mum and I miss food and I miss things I shouldn't even miss, like the feel of pond slime and the prick of nettles, or the icy bite of air when you leave your blankets on a cold morning." Malfoy moved suddenly, shifting forward and reaching out a hand. Harry held his breath as Malfoy's hand slid over his cheek. "Can you feel that?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, it's… cold."

Malfoy's head bobbed curtly and he pulled his icy hand away. "Well, I can't feel anything. Not cold, not heat, not soft nor smooth nor rough nor…" Malfoy floated off the bed and headed for the door, gliding like a ghost instead of pretending to be alive. "Enjoy your solitude, Potter. I'm going to see the thestrals." With that, he went through the portal and was gone.

Harry frowned as he slid lower into his blankets and punched his pillow into a more comfortable position. He hated to feel pity for Draco Malfoy, but it was too late; the damage was done. All of Harry's anger and satisfaction were gone, drowned in a deluge of compassion.

As he closed his eyes and tried to sleep the last thought flitting through his mind was, Did he say thestrals?