Hey! I just wanted to say, again, how happy I am that so many of you are taking the time to read this, and that you like it enough to put it on your story alerts. That means a lot to me, it really does. BUT reviews also mean a lot, possibly even more, because it's your actual words telling me how you felt. So, if you could take a minute to review, even one chapter, I'd love you forever.

Also, for information purposes: I'm planning on updating this fic every other day; I figure, since it's done, there's no point waiting too long.

Now, onward!

-AmayaSora

Mondays were usually great days for Harry, surprisingly; he was generally eager to go back to work and start helping people. Today, though, he was oddly apathetic. He definitely had more fun at home with Malfoy than at work, and he was beginning to suspect that he was having just as much of a positive impact at the former location as the latter.

Nevertheless, he trooped into the Ministry as usual, after a pleasant breakfast with Malfoy. Things had gone back to normal after last night. It's odd that I'm thinking about pleasant meals with Draco Malfoy as normal now, he mused. The day had passed in the usual monotony that pervaded those stretches between cases, but Harry was in good spirits upon returning home.

"Hello," he called as he stepped in the door.

"Welcome back," came Draco's voice from the dining room. Harry entered to find Draco comfortably ensconced in a chair, reading the Prophet. Oberon was perched on the back behind him; that was shocking, because Oberon took to very few people. As Harry crossed the room to stroke the bird, Malfoy looked up. "You're in here, you know. 'New Wing to be named in Potter's Honor.'"

Harry made a disparaging noise in his throat. He'd seen that, of course, and found it utterly unwarranted, and, if he was honest, a bit embarrassing. He didn't need any more press. "St. Mungo's, too? They really shouldn't be thanking me, all the people I've sent there. Indirectly, of course," he hastened to add, referring to all those injured in the battle and during the course of his missions to capture the more dangerous Death Eaters.

"Of course," said Malfoy delicately, amusement evident.

Harry flicked a stray ball of lint at him. It bounced off the paper. Malfoy smirked.

"What have you done today, besides reading embarrassing articles?"

"Pasting embarrassing articles up, all throughout the house," said Draco evenly, but the corners of his mouth traitorously twitched upwards. Harry raised an eyebrow, and Draco smiled. "More cleaning, actually."

"You didn't have to do that," the raven-haired man said.

"That was the agreement, remember?"

"Bollocks on the agreement," said Harry with a grin. "If you're here as my friend, on invitation, you don't have any weird sort of payment requirement, do you?"

"No. But I'd want to help anyway," he added softly. "I don't exactly... hate your company anymore."

"Gee, thanks," said Harry, but warmly. "What did you clean today, anyway?"

"One of the rooms on the second floor. I figured it was time you had your master bedroom back."

"Draco, you didn't have to do that."

"You've already said that," he said fondly. "And, yes, I am aware of that fact, but I wanted to anyway. Not only Gryffindors can be nice, Potter."

Harry grinned stupidly, ridiculously happy once more. "Thank you," he said earnestly.

"You're quite welcome," Draco responded, slowly raising his head until his eyes locked with Harry's. The latter felt another odd jolt in his chest, and broke the connection. He was surprised to find his heart hammering, but dismissed it quickly as Kreacher arrived with supper, ham today.

"Another fantastic-looking meal, Kreacher!" Harry praised.

"Certainly, Master. Kreacher lives to please," the elf said modestly.

"Won't you sit down, Kreacher? Come have some of this," Harry urged, gesturing to the seat next to him. He thought he saw the briefest look of annoyance cross Malfoy's face, but the next instant it was gone.

"Thank you, Master," Kreacher replied, and soon he and Harry were having an in-depth conversation about the Ministry's plans for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (some of which had Hermione's name all over them). Malfoy interjected sporadically, but otherwise remained fairly silent. Harry could tell he had something to say, but was too shy.

Harry managed to steer the conversation to food (with some very creative leaps), and Kreacher shuffled off to bring in dessert, which was pudding today. After serving them, the elf retreated to another room to wash the dishes, leaving Harry and Malfoy alone.

Harry tried to smile encouragingly at Draco whenever the blonde glanced up at him, but he never seemed to be quick enough to catch the Slytherin's eye.

Eventually, Malfoy seemed to have plucked up the courage. "May I ask you something?" he said timidly.

"Of course," he responded at once.

Malfoy's voice was so soft it was almost a whisper. "Why did you save me? That night, in the fire? I, I'd been nothing but rude and downright mean and... unworthy."

"No one's unworthy, Malfoy," Harry said thoughtfully. Really, it was a stall tactic, because he'd never really thought about it before. And, he needed to give a good answer, because although the question had come out of the blue, he could tell it had been on his companion's mind for quite some time. At that moment, with the swirling flames and choking smoke, no other choice had presented itself; he couldn't do anything but help the boy. "I saved you because that was the right thing to do."

Malfoy nodded, an enigmatic expression on his face.

"Can I ask a question now?" Harry asked.

"It's only fair," the other replied, still lost in his recollections.

"At the Manor, why didn't you give us up? Me and Hermione and Ron, when they asked you who we were."

"I wasn't sure it really was you," he said, staring into the depths of the pudding bowl. "Wrong answers did not go over well with the Dark Lord." He shuddered.

Harry wasn't sure why, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the blonde was lying, or at least not telling the whole truth. Those he let slide, however; they were questions for another night.

The line of questioning had reminded Harry of something that had been bothering him for a while. "Draco, I dunno whether you remember... this is really awkward, ah..." Harry said, rubbing the back of his head. "Sixth year, in- in the bathroom? I, I shouldn't have used that curse on you."

The blonde looked up then, and his expression was oddly closed. "I was going to use an Unforgivable Curse. You had every right to defend yourself."

"No! No, it's not- It was stupid of me to go and use an unknown curse on somebody... I didn't know what that spell did, otherwise I never would've used it! If Snape hadn't been there, you could've- you would've died. I- that's not okay, Draco. I'm sorry," he whispered sincerely, eyes searching Draco's face.

Something of that barrier melted, and his countenance changed, lightened. "Thank you. But, I forgave you a long time ago, Potter."

xxxx xxxx

That night found Draco all settled into his new bedroom. The bed and headboard in this one were made of white oak, with intricately-engraved ivy patterns snaking around it. This room had a neutral beige carpet, and the curtains and sheets were a fine emerald color.

Green was Draco's favorite color, which was fairly common for a Slytherin. Although, now his fondness for it had little to do with his House and almost everything to do with a certain pair of eyes, which shone brightly when their owner was hap- alright, Draco, easy now, he urged, coaxing his mind down another path, a more appropriate path. Because, as usual, what he wanted he could never have, so there was no use dwelling on it.

This particular never-to-be-attained desire had been festering for quite some time. He had, of course, started off hating Potter for refusing his friendship on the train. Their rivalry brought them into each other's presence increasingly often, and at some point during third year Draco had realized- with no small amount of shock- that his feelings, though strong, weren't hateful anymore. And as the knowledge that he loved that black-haired, green-eyed boy sank in, he responded by lashing out more and more harshly, trying desperately to sway his heart to more, as his father would say, worthy objects. Obviously, this hadn't been successful; he'd hoped that after the war he could put the man out of his mind altogether. So much for that, he thought.

He had also wanted a normal family when all of the unpleasantness of the war was over, but almost immediately after the Battle of Hogwarts had realized what a pipe dream that was. All of them were too set in the old ways- not just the Dark stuff, although that was a factor. He meant the old ways of the purebloods, keeping to themselves except to influence Ministry policy or throw lavish parties with the same people every season- to really adapt to what was sure to be a new world.

Plus, he was scarred by the war; even though the physical scar, the hated Mark, had faded for good, the mental ones remained, reminders of the awful things he'd had to do, even though he so desperately wanted not to... his parents' faces as they took his punishment for him... the nightmares would haunt him forever. And now, with them in Azkaban for five years, that final goal of a return to ordinary life was even more impossible.

Yet, somehow, Harry made him feel hopeful, like maybe, someday things might really be okay. Here was someone who'd had every bit of bad luck imaginable thrown at him, but came through with courage and determination and, most striking, compassion. Apologizing for cursing an enemy... Draco had never seen anything like it, yet it was somehow no less than what he'd have expected from the man. Perhaps, subconsciously, he had known something of this hopefulness, and that was why he'd come to Harry; not only because he was in love, not only because he was the only person he could think of, because that's who he was supposed to think of. His mind wanted him to feel better.

So, he would take the kindness, enjoy it for as long as he could, use it grow a little stronger in the face of his memories. Maybe, he could learn to cultivate some joy and hope in himself. Although, if he were perfectly honest, leaving Harry would probably destroy a good chunk of what he'd built up, because he literally had nothing left except this... arrangement, whatever it was.

For now, though, he'd enjoy it, enjoy the few nights he had where green eyes would grace, instead of haunt, his dreams.

xxxx xxxx

"That looks much better!" exclaimed Harry in delight. Malfoy had taken the bandages off of his ribs for the first time, and indeed the bruising and swelling were down significantly. The Texerium measure had worked.

"It certainly feels better," Malfoy replied with a grin, buttoning his shirt.

"How about your wrist?"

"You know, that feels significantly better, too."

"D'you reckon we should try without the splint?"

"I don't see why not," said Malfoy, obligingly holding out his arm. Harry, who was sitting next to Malfoy on the edge of the bed, took it and passed his wand over the wrist, murmuring the spell to remove the splint.

He gently twisted Malfoy's wrist slightly to the right. "How does that feel?"

"Perfectly fine!" said Malfoy happily. Harry then carefully tried other angles for the wrist, and all except for the one where it was bent backwards yielded the same, pain-free result. Harry beamed, but when he looked up it was to see Malfoy's eyes closed. "Did that one hurt?"

"No, no, it feels great," he stammered hastily.

Harry smiled again. "Looks good. You're officially on the mend, Draco!"

"Wonderful news," the blonde said with smile. But by now Harry had been around him enough to determine that it was forced. He also knew that Draco still got a bit touchy about certain subjects, especially those related to his injuries, so he didn't know how to dig for information without alienating the Slytherin.

"Soon you'll be able to go home." There, that got a definite reaction; Malfoy's eyes looked sad all of a sudden, and his shoulders drooped slightly.

"Yes, I suppose I will. Delightful," he said with forced gusto.

There was something Draco wasn't saying, but for the life of him, Harry couldn't figure it out. But now, he was invested in this. Now, he really cared, not out of pity or duty, but from genuine affection. He'd grown to legitimately like Malfoy, to regard him as a real friend. And, that made him determined to find out the underlying cause of Draco's suffering, and fix it if he could. Maybe it would take awhile, but he would succeed.

I love my Draco POV here... he's very fun to write.