Five minutes. Twelve times. Twelve tries. Twelve failures, as Potter becomes more and more frustrated, Waters becomes more and more disappointed, and Draco himself becomes more and more exasperated. He can't do this.

"Tomorrow," Waters says, his voice flat. Draco simply nods. And, with that, they move on.

"Concealment and disguise. One of the big factors of being an Auror – especially for the two of you, I suspect, given your notoriety. You still do some basics in school, correct? Human Transfiguration?"

Harry's face goes an odd shade at that, and Draco raises a questioning eyebrow, at which Harry sniggers slightly in a somewhat embarrassed way.

"Okay, Harry. Explain that reaction."

Harry's lips twitch. "It's… a long story. Involving Luna and a yellow eyebrow. You probably don't want to know."

Draco's other eyebrow rises to join the first. "Lovegood and a yellow eyebrow. You're probably right."

"I want to know!" Waters puts in. He's grinning broadly.

Harry sighs, shaking his head. "Let's just say I'm not particularly good at human Transfiguration, okay?"

Waters allows a grimace. "Normally, that would be very bad. We'd have to work on that. But, as you know, the training for your particular incoming class is… peculiar, to say the least. Far shorter, more intense, much more partner oriented. The goal is to get competent Aurors in the least amount of time possible." He pauses for a moment, then continues. "I'm not entirely sure I'm meant to tell you this, but I can't see that not telling you is doing any good… The exams at the end of your year of training will be taken in pairs. The reasoning, I think, is that because they're cutting your training time to a third of what it normally is, and you don't ever really operate alone in the field anyway, it just makes sense." He sighs.

"I think it's ridiculous. I think they're preparing you for complete and utter dependence upon one partner. What if you get separated? What if you – Merlin forbid, but it's possible – lose your partner?" He shakes his head. "I'm not going to train you that way. I'm going to train you so that each of you can function on your own. But disguise… Well, if you get separated, you're either already in disguise or you shouldn't need to be. It isn't a priority, as long as one of you can manage it."

Harry shrugs. "It's called concealment and disguise, isn't it? Can't I just use my Cloak?"

"Cloak?" Waters asks.

"My Invisibility Cloak."

Waters' eyes widen as Draco muses that Potter in possession of an invisibility cloak explains a lot – most notably the floating head that once threw mud at him in Hogsmeade, but other things, as well.

"You have an invisibility cloak? How old is it?" Waters asks – and Draco frowns internally. He should have considered that. If Potter's had the cloak for a while, the charms are probably already wearing off.

Harry shrugs. "I don't actually know. It was my dad's."

Draco can't help but notice, before he really notices the implication of the words, that Harry's voice shudders slightly on the last word. Then the meaning registers in his mind, and his eyes widen like Waters' did moments before.

Waters, now, is frowning. "And it still works?"

"Oh, yes." The expression on Potter's face is almost… smug.

Waters' eyebrows furrow. "Harry, I'm sorry, but that just isn't possible. It's beyond the capabilities of our charm work."

A small, knowing smile flickers across Harry's face. "Have you ever heard of the Deathly Hallows?"

"The children's tale?" Draco asks, slightly befuddled by this new direction of the conversation.

Harry nods. "But they aren't just a children's tale. They're quite real. At some point or another, I've possessed them all – though not simultaneously."

Draco doesn't stop the expression of doubt from flickering across his face. Harry laughs. "Feel free to not believe me. I'm used to it. But I assure you, it's true."

Raising an eyebrow now, in skepticism, Waters says simply, "The Resurrection Stone?"

Harry nods. "Broken, now. And buried somewhere in the Forbidden Forest. But it exists. And it worked." His eyes are lost in some memory of the past.

"And the Elder Wand? Because that's a bit difficult to lose possession of and live."

Harry meets Draco's eyes, a knowing smile on his lips. "Draco's done it."

Waters turns a curious gaze to Draco, who suddenly remembers the story Harry told at his trial. About how Albus Dumbledore was the Master of the Elder Wand, and when Draco disarmed him, it transferred its allegiance to him. About how the Wand didn't care that Draco never killed the Headmaster. About how, though Draco had never possessed the Elder Wand, he had been the Master of it. And when he'd allowed Potter to disarm him, it had transferred ownership to Harry.

"So that was true, then?" he can't help but ask.

Harry frowns. "Of course it was true."

"All of it?"

"Yes."

And that single word stops Draco cold. Because he'd deduced – or, assumed, apparently – that Potter was spinning tales when he told the Wizengamot stories of Draco Malfoy as a good person who'd been mislead by family ideals and the only life he'd ever known. But if Potter truly believes that… Merlin. That idea is… Wow. It's somehow terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. He has always known that Harry has an unusual ability to see the best in people – it's something that Draco is, frankly, somewhat leery of. It could, potentially, cause issues if Harry is seeing the good in whatever criminal they're supposed to be hunting. But even knowing that, he didn't expect… this.

But then, Harry has always had a knack for impossible things, hasn't he? Like seeing a better side of Draco than Draco himself can find.

Waters interrupts Draco's musing. "Okay, fill me in here."

And Harry explains the whole thing again, starting with Draco's role in Dumbledore's death – only Harry doesn't explain it that way. He explains how Draco was ordered to kill the Headmaster, only, when the moment came, he couldn't.

He explains how the Elder wand transferred its allegiance to Draco, but Draco never physically possessed it, never wielded it.

He explains how they – the Golden Trio – were captured by Snatchers and brought to Malfoy Manner, and when Draco was given the chance at glory, he didn't take it. He didn't say anything, though they both knew that Draco knew it was him.

And he explains how disarming Draco caused the Elder wand to recognize him – Harry – as its new Master, which wound up being a key factor in winning the war.

Listening to Harry explain all of this for the second time, knowing that Harry actually believes it in the light he's telling it, almost scares Draco. Harry sees him as a hero – as having helped won the war.

Draco's never been a hero, before.

It's sort of a daunting thought.

The scariest part, though, is the expectation. Draco is well and truly sick of expectations – of people always having their own ideas of who he should be. And expecting him to be a hero is just – or almost – as bad as expecting him to be the villain. He's sick of being what he people expect him to be.

"Don't," he says, softly, before he's even truly decided whether or not to say anything to Potter.

Harry looks at him, questioningly. Draco shakes his head. "Don't put me on a pedestal like that."

Harry's brows furrow. "I'm not putting you on a pedestal."

Face calm, Draco says, "Yes, you are. I'm not as… good… as you think I am."

Harry's face turns angry. "Just because you don't see it, Draco-"

"Potter, stop! Just… You don't know me." His tone is a bit colder than he meant it to be.

Potter shakes his head. "Maybe not. But we're more alike than you think."

"And we're less alike than you think. Experience isn't the only thing that shapes a person."

Because that's what Potter doesn't seem to understand. As many similarities as Potter can draw between their experiences, it will never be enough to override innate differences – Draco is and always will be Slytherin through and through. He's a thinker, where Potter is a doer. Potter believes in charging in full speed ahead, whereas Draco believes in taking the time to formulate a plan and consider every possible outcome.

And so it ceases to matter that neither of them had a choice, it ceases to matter that both of them have always had too many expectations to live up to, and it ceases to matter that both of them were forced to play key roles in a war they'd rather had never existed. None of that makes them the same, because they're too intrinsically different.