At his desk, Harry worried about Draco. In the cafeteria, Harry worried about Draco. While out on a mission, Harry tried desperately not to worry about Draco and become distracted, but only succeeded about half of the time. Lying in bed, just before sleep claimed him, he smiled softly at visions of Draco, but didn't remember it afterwards, so that when he woke up, he worried about Draco some more.

He was worried because... because... well, he couldn't really pinpoint why, exactly. He just was. His subconscious probably picked up on something he hadn't consciously noticed, which was why it kept calling up images of Draco as he'd been when he'd first arrived, injured and alone, of his face sagging in defeat, of him locked in Harry's arms, terrified and shivering, and, most often of all, the few smiles and laughs that graced his face, made the color in his eyes dance. It had to be worry... right?

Yes, that must be it; he was worried about what would happen to the Slytherin when he left. He hadn't heard Malfoy mention one other acquaintance the entire time he'd been there, no one for whom he had any sort of regard. He wondered whether Pansy and Goyle and the rest had stopped speaking to him.

Draco was still so wounded, so fragile, he thought. One small slip and that'd be all it took to return him to the state Harry'd found him in- not the physical one, but the emotional one, overwhelmed and desperate and lonely. It seemed as if Harry was the last friend he had left- the brunette's eyes widened. He probably was all Draco had left...

"Going out for lunch!" he yelled over his shoulder to a confused Ron as he snatched his cloak and hurried down the hall. He Apparated the instant he was clear to, spinning into the compressing darkness.

"Draco!" he called as he appeared in the foyer, and stumbled a bit as he tried to take a step too soon after landing.

"What? What is it?" the Slytherin's voice cried, alarmed. Soon after he appeared at the top of the stairs, up which Harry raced.

"Where are you going to go after this?" he asked abruptly.

"I... hadn't really thought about it, honestly," said Malfoy slowly. Carefully.

Harry raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You haven't considered at all where you're going to go?"

"Not entirely, no. I'm quite sure Pansy or Blaise would take me in, they were always-"

"Draco, please stop lying to me," said Harry beseechingly. "You have an entire Manor waiting for you, yet I haven't heard one mention of it, the entire time you've been here, and it didn't seem to even cross your mind just now."

"Silly of me. Must have- must have slipped my mind." His voice rose in pitch slightly with nerves.

"Draco," asked Harry again, warmly, and placed a hand on Draco's upper arm.

"I... I can't go back, Harry," he whispered wretchedly. "The memories, the... I can't do it. I'm not as strong as you," he finished, tears filling his eyes.

"Yes you are," Harry declared firmly, squeezing. "You are, Draco, you just don't have anyone to help you see that, to force that inner strength to rise up. At least, until now you didn't."

"What are- what are you saying?"

"I'm saying I'm coming with you, Draco. I'm coming with you back to Malfoy Manor and together we'll face those demons, those memories. I'm saying that, if you'd let me, I'd be the one to help you find your courage."

Draco stood there wordlessly, entirely stunned. This was far greater than anything he'd ever expected, even of Harry... it took all he had not to launch himself forward and snog the daylights out of the man. But he couldn't do that. And he couldn't accept this, he couldn't, because it would lead to more attachment and it wouldn't work anyway and he'd be left worse than before.

Harry seemed to read some of that in his eyes, for his emerald ones got a hard, determined look. "I'm not taking no for an answer, Malfoy," he said. "You know how stubborn we Gryffindors can be."

Back at the Ministry, Harry strode purposefully into Robards' office. It was, naturally, the biggest one in the entire department, with obscenely large windows and a private, personalized image of a Muggle park enchanted behind it.

His boss looked up, and when he saw who it was he immediately dropped his quill and smiled sycophantically. "Harry! What a pleasure! Please, sit down."

"Er, I'm okay thanks, sir," he said.

"Would you care for a crumpet? Biscuit? I can have Demelza make a cup of tea if you'd-"

"No, I'm really alright sir."

"Very well," Robards said genially. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, actually, sir, I was sorta hoping to request a favor..."

"Absolutely, Harry, I love granting favors! What is that you need?"

"Some time off."

"Yes, yes," said Robards airily. "you've certainly earned one or two days, son, all the time you've put in."

"Er... I was actually thinking more along the lines of... a week?"

"A week?" said Robards sharply. His smile (fake though it was) faltered for a second before he hurriedly pasted it back up. "Now, Harry, we're all a little tired, but isn't a week a little excessive?"

"I don't reckon so, sir. I have some personal things to take care of, sir."

"And, and these personal things can't wait until your regularly-scheduled holidays, can they?"

"I'm afraid not, sir. I'd be willing to trade my holiday vacation for this one, though."

"No, no, Potter, that's not how it's done." Robards sighed resignedly. "I'm sorry, dear boy, but I have to deny-"

"You're denying me leave?"

"Well... at the present moment we have a bit of a, of a shortage of, er, qualified, that is to say, dedicated-"

"You don't want to lose the publicity," said Harry shrewdly. Robards' eyes widened.

"I have no such motivation, Potter! And I find it-"

"You gave Parvati an entire year off to go visit India! You let Neville go without a second thought."

"Entirely different circumstances," he huffed. "Besides, if I were to grant you leave, who would cover your casework?" he asked, rather nastily.

"You give Ron and me more than double what the rest get! I'm sure they'd be delighted to get some of the good cases, which seem always to fall on my desk. All the actual Death Eater ones. Admit it, you give those to me!"

"Well... Potter, if I do it is only because you're the best we have."

"That's rubbish and you know it," said Harry harshly.

"I never! You, Potter, you can leave my office immediately!"

"Fine, as soon as you give me my holiday." He crossed his arms defiantly. Harry wasn't entirely sure where this was coming from, but after a year of hating the man's blatant favoritism and habit of giving promotions based on name rather than skill, he was almost sorry he held back.

"You really aren't in any position to issue ultimatums like that," Robards ground out through clenched teeth.

"Fine, fine. I'll leave. Consider this my two-week's notice then." It was an under-handed ploy, and Harry knew it, but he felt pretty confident nonetheless. Robards cared too much about his poster child.

"I- what- that's- oh alright!" He yelled finally. "You can have your holiday, Potter, but you had better be back here bright and early in a week's time."

"I will, sir. Thank you, sir," said Harry cheerily, not quite managing to hide his smirk. He had just made an enemy out of Robards, but if the grapevine rumors were true (and Harry was fairly certain they were, given the subtle smirk Kingsley'd gotten when he'd been asked) by that time he'd have a new boss to befriend.

He returned to his office, grinning madly, to break the news to Ron. But his partner wasn't there, nor was there any note saying where he'd gone. Frowning, he decided he'd pop in at his house on the way home.

Ron and Hermione's flat was in a rather nice section right at the edge of Wizarding London. Hermione had been delighted to find that, with a small channelling charm, electricity worked in the place, which had made her determined to buy it. Ron agreed after much cajoling.

He knocked on the door to number 14 and could have sworn the eagle on the knocker winked at him. He shook his head, chuckling, as Hermione opened the door.

"Harry!" she cried in welcome as she stepped back to admit him. "How wonderful to see you!"

"Yeah," he grinned, surveying the room. Crookshanks was certainly right at home on the windowsill.

"Ron's not here at the moment, said he was going out with some friends. I thought that would've been you."

"No," said Harry. "Might be George and Lee, though. He'd been saying he might."

"Oh," said Hermione pleasantly. "Well, what brings you here, Harry? Are you staying for supper? I'll go whip something up."

"No, that's okay, Hermione. I only came to tell you that I'm going on holiday for a few days."

"Holiday? Where are you going?"

"The country," said Harry easily. It wasn't technically a lie, either. He didn't know why he was so reluctant to tell his friend the whole truth, though... well, part of it was that he knew it'd get back to Ron, and Ron would most definitely not be happy.

"Oh, how wonderful, Harry! I take it Malfoy's better, then?"

"Yeah, he's great."

Hermione raised her eyebrow infinitesimally as she perceived Harry's buoyant tone, but didn't comment. "Glad to hear it. I was starting to worry, since you hadn't said anything to me..."

"I did promise, didn't I? Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"Not to worry, Harry," she said, and the look in her eye convinced him she'd brought it up purposefully to make him feel guilty.

"Yeah, so, you'll let Ron know, won't you?"

Hermione nodded. "Harry... you are doing okay, aren't you? After Ginny?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, I'm fine," he said happily.

"That's so great to hear." Seeing her friend's impatience, she continued, "I hope you have a fantastic time, Harry."

"I sure will!" he exclaimed, grin growing hugely.

"I'm glad," the witch said earnestly, and with a cheery wave the raven-haired man was gone. Hermione smiled softly, judging from the spring in his step as he practically raced down the hall and the irrepressible smile he'd worn that Harry was truly happy.

xxxx xxxx

"Harry!" Draco called. Since he was alone for the moment, he allowed the smile to blossom on his face; he'd decided he really loved saying the name, and resolved to do it as much as possible while he could.

"Yeah?" He stuck his head around the door, black hair mop-like as always, sticking up in odd angles and shapes that were somehow endearing.

"Are you sure that you-"

"You've asked every variant of that question at least a dozen times since I got home, Draco. The answer's never changed."

"Alright. I was just checking."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you didn't want me around." He tried to keep his voice light and airy, but Harry had always been rubbish at controlling his emotions, and Draco heard the slight sadness that hid just under the surface. It gave his heart a little thrill, knowing Harry wanted him to want him to be around.

"That's not the case at all," he said firmly, looking straight into Harry's emerald eyes. Every time, a beam of tension stretched between them until one of them broke contact. Draco wasn't sure how much more he could take, but most of the time, he didn't really care.

Harry broke the gaze this time, averting his eyes shyly. "I'm glad..." he said softly, and Draco's heart fluttered erratically again. He really needed to stop using that tone...

"So, er, how's the packing going?" Draco said, awkwardly. Damn, awkwardly?

"Really well. I'm actually just about finished... just need a few more pairs of socks."

"Yes, socks are important." And that was a stupid thing to say. "I think Kreacher might have taken some to wash..."

"Bet he did, yeah," said Harry. "Erm, I'll go check that." And he fairly bolted from the room. That was certainly a new development. It was almost as if he made Harry as nervous as Harry made him...

Why did Malfoy suddenly make him nervous? Harry thought as he stumped down the stairs. It was the oddest thing, but whenever their eyes locked or their skin brushed he felt... weird. Good weird, but also awkward weird...

It was bound to be awkward when two people who barely knew each other were in such close proximity. Especially when those people had been considered enemies just two weeks prior. That was the nervousness, obviously. You were always nervous making new friends, because when you first meet people you have no idea what will offend them so you walk on eggshells. Yes. Exactly.

Had it really been two weeks? It seemed like much less... time always flew by for Harry when he was doing what he enjoyed, in this case helping someone in need. But, the calendar did not lie. Today really was Saturday.

Breakfast had been subdued. Malfoy picked listlessly at his eggs, refusing to look up. Harry didn't know how to break into a conversation, either, so they sat in silence, except for the occasional niceties of "Pass the butter" or "Need more juice?"

Nevertheless, Harry stood by the door, duffel bag full of clothes in hand. He felt excited, brimful of energy. There was something thrilling about this, about dropping everything for a friend.

Kreacher lurked conspicuously in the doorway to the dining room, passive-aggressively cleaning an imaginary spot. He hadn't taken too kindly to being left behind. After further discussion, Harry had realized that Kreacher didn't want to leave the house (otherwise the Gryffindor would have been happy to have the elf along), but didn't want to be left alone either. There was really nothing for it, however. He did tell Kreacher that he could pop over to visit whenever he pleased, and that a week wasn't really that long, but it did little to help.

"He'll get over it," Malfoy had said rather inconsiderately earlier in the morning. Harry had noticed that stress tended to bring out the worst in the blonde.

Speak of the devil... Draco was coming down the stairs now, having made one last check of the rooms on the upper floors.

"Got everything, then?" said Harry pleasantly.

"Not as if I actually brought anything with me," his companion said sourly.

Harry ignored it. "Right. Well, best be off then. Kreacher, remember to feed Oberon three times a day," he reminded the elf. Oberon was, unfortunately, not as smart as Hedwig had been, and wasn't as in-tune with Harry's movements. So, as he was out hunting at the moment, Harry would just leave him in Kreacher's care.

"Yes, Master. Kreacher hopes Master enjoys his little trip."

"Thanks, Kreacher," said Harry quickly, cutting across what would undoubtedly have been a spiteful comment from Malfoy. "I'll see you in a week then."

He stepped jauntily out the door and waited for Draco to shuffle along after him. The man's face was dreadfully white, he noted with concern. "Are you okay?"

"Marvelous, Potter," he spat. "Smashing."

"No, you're not... but you will be," the raven-haired man assured. Malfoy looked skeptically, but sighed resignedly. "Right. Well, shall we?" Harry glanced sidelong at Malfoy, who nodded minutely, and in synch the pair twisted on the spot and vanished into thin air.

"Are you sure no Muggles saw us?" said Draco after they landed.

"Positive. We were on the top step; Muggles can't see any part of the house."

"You better be. It'd be a bad lookout if your little stunt got us both arrested."

"We're not going to get arrested." Harry's mouth twitched as he fought back an amused smile. "Although you might look pretty good in prison gray."

"And I'm sure your lovely Death Eater friends would thank you most graciously for providing them with new accommodations," he snapped sharply.

"Yeah, they'd be thrilled to see me. Probably bought me gift baskets," Harry said, trying to coax a grin out of his companion, but to no avail. He sighed, and then looked around him. "Where are we?"

"Longsbock Valley," said Malfoy at once. "Just south of the Manor. Apparently the wards do still work..."

"Right," said Harry, shifting his grip on the duffel bag. "So we've got a bit of a walk, then?"

"Maybe a mile."

Harry nodded and then set off at a brisk yet comfortable pace. Malfoy trailed slightly behind him, silent. At last they crested the hill, and the yew trees that decorated the drive rose in front of them, and barely visible beyond them was the neat brown roof of the house.

Draco stopped dead at the sight. Harry turned around to look and saw the Slytherin's eyes widen, and his body go rigid. Abruptly, he clenched his fists at his sides and stalked away.

"Draco!" Harry called, but the man didn't stop. Harry dropped his bag and ran over to intercept him. "Draco," he said again, gentler this time.

"I can't do it," he whispered dejectedly. "I thought, maybe... but I can't. It's too much. The memories, I..." Tears welled up again and quickly spilled over.

"Draco," said Harry softly, grabbing his hand. "It's going to be okay. You can do this. I believe in you," he said, and reached up to brush away the tears with his thumb. Draco raised his own trembling hand to hold Harry's in place, and misty silver eyes locked with fierce, determined emerald.

"I believe in you," Harry repeated at a whisper and Draco smiled tentatively and let his hand fall. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he turned and strode purposefully down the hill.