Chapter 10

Draco descended the stairs, his gut twisted in an unusual combination of trepidation and rage. He was mad at Potter, of course. Fucking Potter just had to go and run his mouth off to everyone. But more than that he was furious with himself for telling Potter anything in the first place. He still couldn't even figure out why he had done it, what had possessed him to go baring his soul to Potter, of all people, in the middle of the night. As desperately as he wished he could chalk it up to grief or insomnia, he also couldn't lie to himself that easily. Some part of him had truly felt like he could trust Potter.

He was going mental locked up here with all these Order people.

All these Order people who were now going to be looking at him, their cautious eyes filled with artificial sympathy. He didn't want their sympathy. He didn't want anything to do with them. He wanted to leave, to go mourn his parents. He wanted to have gone to their funeral. He wanted to go back and tell Potter to fuck off, maybe throw in a punch for good measure. He wanted to give his mother another hug. He wanted to erase every meeting he'd had with the werewolf, so he could take away all the false hope that he had let himself feel. Hell, he wanted to go back and just kill that woman if it meant he was still with his parents.

His breath caught. He stopped, having just reached the bottom of the stairs outside the kitchen door. The thought had run wildly through his head in an fluid stream of consciousness that he had not been prepared for. Would he really have killed her? If he had, he never would have come here. He imagined himself, sitting around the table at the Manor, the Dark Lord hissing plans to his followers, some nameless, faceless muggle now suspended above the table. He, himself, sitting between his alive mother and father, with the full knowledge that he was a murderer. Knowing that he would have to be a murderer again. And again.

A murderer.

He couldn't be a murderer to save himself, he'd proven that already, but could he be a murderer to save his parents? Would his parents have wanted him to kill to save their lives?

Potter's words from the night before drifted into his mind. If they died trying to save you...

But, Draco thought, they wouldn't have needed to save me if I had been able to follow orders.

It doesn't matter what you did.

Draco pushed open the door to the kitchen, trying to get Potter's voice out of his head. The conviction, the sincerity with which Potter had spoken still ringing clearly in his thoughts.

"Hello Draco." The werewolf looked ill-at-ease leaning against the kitchen counter. Each time Draco saw him, he couldn't help but be surprised at his shabby appearance, as if he always forgot exactly how bad he looked. "I'm sorry to have been away for so long. I should have come sooner to speak with you about your parents."

Draco shrugged his shoulders, letting the door fall shut behind him.

Lupin wasn't deterred by Draco's silence. "I'm very sorry about the other morning when you found out. We should have told you in private, explained the situation. Draco, please understand that none of us knew until that morning, only minutes before you did yourself. We had no intention of..."

Draco found his thoughts drifting while the werewolf went on his monologue. It doesn't matter what you did. The fuck it doesn't matter, Potter. It was their choice. But they wouldn't have had to make that choice if-. You are not responsible. Well I didn't cast-. Voldemort killed your parents. I know that P-. It's no one's fault but Voldemort's.

"I understand you've been talking to Harry."

Draco stiffened at the mention of Potter's name, his eyes snapping into focus on Lupin who was standing closer than he remembered. He had to fight the urge to take a step back. "Yeah, we've run into each other a few times." Draco could hear the sourness in his voice, and he could tell the werewolf didn't miss it either.

"Hmm. I was surprised when we spoke earlier. But, Draco, I do not think you are wrong to trust him. Harry-"

"Trust him?" Draco repeated incredulously, cutting him off. "I tell him one thing last night and this morning the whole bloody house knows. How fucking trustworthy."

Lupin thought for a while before replying, staring intensely into Draco's eyes. Draco almost faltered under the gaze, more piercing and knowing than he would like.

"I need to go, so I'll make this brief. Harry has been through a great deal more than most people ever will suffer or understand. And, despite it, Harry has a nearly unrivaled ability to care about others and look for the good in them. I wont say that, in this instance, he was necessarily right. But, what you are seeing as a betrayal of trust, Harry may see as an extension to compassion. Let me rephrase: You are wrong not to trust him. Maybe try to talk with him again." Lupin spoke in a carefully measured voice, and when he finished he nodded to Draco and departed the Burrow.

It's no one's fault but Voldemort's. Potter's words, again, entered his thoughts.

As Draco stood in the empty kitchen, it was like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle had finally been pressed into place. Voldemort asked him to kill that woman, the woman he never could have killed. Voldemort tortured him. Voldemort decided his parents love for their son equated a death sentence. Voldemort killed his parents.

It was Voldemort's fault.

He was furious.

Furious with himself for his naivety, furious with Voldemort for everything, furious with Saint Potter for being right, Draco stormed out of the kitchen, went straight to his room, and slammed the door behind him.

Later, when a knock came to his door, he knew it was Potter. He knew by the sound and weight of the footsteps as then came up the stairs, he knew by the hesitation that preceded the knock, and he knew by the pattern of the knock at his door. He didn't even wait for Potter to announce himself.

"Sod off, Potter."

"Malfoy, I just need to...there's something...come downstairs with me for a few minutes?"

Draco was surprised, and he'd be lying to himself if he said he wasn't intrigued. Potter hadn't just said "come downstairs", he'd said, "come downstairs with me." But, he wasn't giving in that easily. He got up and walked a little closer to the door, grateful that no floorboards squeaked under his feet to announce his movements.

"Try again, Potter."

"I want to show you something downstairs. It'll only take a minute." Potter's voice sounded different, and it was nowhere near his self-assured, confident voice from the night before. Draco walked to the door and edged it open. Potter was standing there, looking down at his hands, picking at his nails. Draco noticed more than one of them was bleeding, and wondered how long he had been doing it. Potter looked up after the door had fully opened and, noticing Draco's gaze, shoved his hands quickly in his pockets. "Right, come on then." Potter said, and turned to walk away.

Draco followed roughly five paces behind him. Draco expected Potter to walk him to the kitchen, but Potter turned instead and went through the den to a door on the opposite side. Draco let his eyes wander over his surroundings, realizing that he hadn't truly been in the room since he first came here. He thought about that night and a shiver ran down his spine. He felt somewhat dizzy. His eyes traveled back to Potter who was standing next to the door looking apprehensive. Draco recognized it as the door he had tried to leave through his first morning at the Burrow. His eyes narrowed. Potter was watching him cautiously.

"Mr. Weasley and I talked some after he came home today." Potter started. Draco's rage rose again. He knew where Potter was going now. He started to leave

"Merlin, Potter, did you tell every fucking..."

"No. No, Malfoy. Listen." There was a kind of hidden desperation is Potter's voice that made Draco stop. "We talked some about how you haven't really been outside since you got here. Mostly you've been in your room."

"Because you lot warded me into this house!" Draco responded hotly. But an excited curiosity was edging out his anger.

"Well, yes. But, today Mr. Weasley adjusted the wards. He finished just a few minutes ago."

Draco let these words sink in for a few seconds. Finally, he spoke tentatively, not wanting to come across as being too eager, and not wanting to feel let down if he was wrong.

"I can go outside?"

Potter actually smiled. Not a shy smile, not a hidden smile. Draco felt the corner of his mouth twitch in return.

"Yes. Only to the boundary of the existing wards. But yes." Potter opened the door and stepped outside. Draco, in a kind of trance, followed him.

He hadn't realized how much he had missed the sunlight on his skin. The day was warm, nearly cloudless, a day so rarely perfect it was almost blinding, surreal. The air smelled of grass and hay, and sunlight. He stopped, a few meters outside the confining walls of the house, and stood, simply staring in awe at the landscape that surrounded him. The grounds at the Manor had always been immaculately maintained, planted, and pruned, their beauty indisputable. But here, here he was in awe of a different kind of beauty, a kind that radiated peace and contentment, where nothing was perfect and so almost everything was, careless, innocent, and freeing. And in the midst of it his eyes found Potter, looking back at him with the smile still playing on his lips, and Draco's throat went curiously dry. His smile soon faded, and he took a few steps towards Draco.

"Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have betrayed your confidence like that. Ron and Hermione are my best mates, they knew something was up, and I can't lie to them. And I really didn't tell anyone else exactly...except Lupin...but...and I thought maybe you'd like a place to go that wasn't your room." Potter was picking at his hands again. Draco nodded at him. They stood there a minute longer, not quite looking at each other, when Potter said, "Dinner will be in about an hour." With that he strode past Draco to re-enter the house, and Draco muttered a quiet "alright" which he wasn't sure Potter heard.

He walked to a tree nearby, still within the perimeter of the wards, and leaned against the trunk, once again taking in his surroundings. He took another breath of the clean, sweet air, and was surprised when he realized that he had already forgiven Potter.

oOo

Draco spent the majority of the next few days outside, basking in the glory of warm days, sunshine, and solitude. No one ever came to bother him when he was outside, not that they had ever bothered him inside intentionally, but outside he found a kind of peacefulness that had been absent in his life for longer than he could remember. Outside he took time to look at his surroundings and appreciate his relative freedom. He watched the chickens curiously as they interacted with each other, and he watched as some gnomes walked a worn path under a hedge into the garden. He examined the plants contained within the garden itself, some magical, some not. He walked through patches of flowers that grew, and he stopped short when he came across a group of daffodils. Narcissus. He stood gazing at the flowers and allowed himself to mourn, crouching down and picking only one. The one that was the palest white with a fiery orange center. The one that he would have picked for his own mother, because they were her favorite.

Outside, Draco began to find the dawning of resolution, and his heart began to feel a little less heavy.

Potter's birthday dinner was soon. The Weasleys had come outside to start setting up tables, and they were making somewhat of a spectacle of the ordeal, so Draco decided to wait out the time in his room. He hadn't really seen Potter since he'd received his freedom from house imprisonment, and he was almost apprehensive about the evenings events. He felt like he was in Potter's debt, and he didn't know how he could possibly repay it. It was such a small thing, being outside, but it had done so much for him already.

He was on the floor below his own when he lost his footing and stumbled clumsily into the door next to him. The door, instead of providing him with a steady surface, then proceeded to bang open and leave Draco sprawled on the floor in a strange room. He heard faint murmurs that sounded like oh shit and what the hell and, realizing he wasn't alone looked up to see Potter and the Weaslette standing, closely embraced. Potter's hands were even threaded in her hair. Draco's eyes widened, realizing what he had just interrupted, but he felt curiously lost for words. Heat started rising in his face.

"Shit, Malfoy, are you alright?" Potter asked, untangling himself from the Weaslette and approaching him. Draco quickly scrambled to his feet.

"Fine, Potter." was all he managed. He felt incredibly foolish. In an attempt to save face he managed to give the Weaslette his best sneer, which she impressively returned, before striding out of the room to nurse both his ankle and his ego.

OooOooO

Dinner, Harry thought, had gone by very smoothly. Lupin and Tonks had been the only additional guests, which meant that Malfoy had attended the party without any form of disguise. Lupin had greeted him warmly, if warily, and Tonks had greeted him stiffly. Harry remembered with a start that they were actually cousins, and he wondered if Malfoy really even knew who she was.

They had sat and eaten and laughed. His interactions with Ginny were still tense, and he could sense Hermione's unasked questions on the tip of her tongue. He shouldn't have kissed her.

He spent a lot of time during dinner thinking about the Scrimgeour's strange appearance earlier that day, and the items Dumbledore had left he, Ron, and Hermione in his will. I open at the close. What was that supposed to mean?

His gaze found its way to Malfoy regularly throughout the dinner, watching him attempt small talk with Remus and Mr. Weasley, watching him gaze at his plate with a frustrated expression, watching his face flush after briefly meeting Harry's gaze, and watching him steadily avoid eye contact from that point on.

It was like Malfoy was a magnet, and Harry couldn't stop his eyes from being directed to him.

Remus and Tonks had left. Harry had opened his gifts. They were in the den conversing, nearing the time to head to bed. Harry was surprised that Malfoy hadn't gone up to his room. He was sitting in an armchair on the emptier side of the room, looking around with a bored expression. Harry swallowed, and went over to him, Malfoy's eyes finding his and staring at him the whole way.

"Hey."

Malfoy nodded his greeting.

"Did you...er..."Harry faltered. What was he doing over here?

"Enjoy myself? Not as much as I think you did." Malfoy said with a smirk starting.

"How's the ankle?"Harry shot back. Malfoy flushed.

"Fine, thank you."

They stood in silence.

"Your birthday was recently, right?" Harry asked, desperate to say something.

"Yes." Malfoy replied. Harry could see his expression become guarded. He proceeded anyway.

"What was it like? I mean, your family surely..." Harry started, but trailed off as hostility started to overcome Malfoy's features.

"My birthday? On my birthday the Dark Lord told me that my gift was to torture muggles. Finally, I can use magic at home, and what do I get to do with it? Happy fucking birthday." Malfoy spoke in a quiet hiss, his eyes hard with hostility. He turned, and briskly went up the stairs. Distantly, Harry heard a door slam.

He stood in thought for a moment before an impulse overcame him. He walked towards the other side of the room and asked Mr. Weasley to join him in the kitchen.

"Mr. Weasley, I think we should give Malfoy back his wand."

AN: Hey guys! Sorry it's been a while. Some life stuff came up including traveling and short-notice moving (in-progress). So, it may be another week or two before the next chapter gets posted (you'll be warned this time). Hope everyone enjoyed this one! Almost time for the wedding.