Four exhausting days later, Draco was ready to resume his duties in chaperoning him. Harry was more than done with being a living statue, and he vowed to himself to never warrant such a punishment again. He veered far from the stone circle, ignoring Nagini's whine that she wanted her brother with her for yet another long day of basking.

He turned his face to the warm sun and smiled at the knowledge that he was once more, relatively, free. Free from punishment. Free from responsibility. Free to wander and explore and, above all, relax. So what if his ankle hadn't completely healed, and that he still had to hobble along with a cane (graciously presented to him that very morning by his Master)?

"You look happy," Draco said as they wandered along one of the manor's many flowered avenues. He hadn't complained at Harry's slow progress; he was making slow progress of his own.

"It's been a rough few days," Harry said. But they were over. Over. He sighed in contentment. They had the whole day before them, and he wasn't confined to a stupid rock for the next eight hours. Life was good.

Draco looked at him stonily. "You don't say?"

Harry's heart dropped a foot. He'd just decided that Malfoy wasn't the biggest shit on the planet (after Bellatrix, of course), and wasn't ready to lose the easy camaraderie they'd forged earlier in the week. "I'm so…" he faltered. "I'm…"

"Do you even know how much the Cruciatus hurts, Potter?"

Harry could only nod. Of course he knew.

"Mother told me that another minute and he'd have destroyed my mind. I'd be catatonic. As it is—" Draco lifted his hand. It was trembling, as if suffering an earthquake of its own. "I can't stop shaking, and that's after double doses of nerve-restorative tonic specifically brewed to counter the effects of the curse."

Harry swallowed. "I think even he was surprised that he reacted so violently. I don't think he meant to. He was just so angry."

"When is he not?" Draco asked bitterly.

A lot of the time, Harry thought, thinking of the times his Master would visit with him and listen, amused, as Harry told him his thoughts on the books he was reading. How he'd patiently tell Harry about his day working for what he believed would make a better Magical world, for all wizards and witches.

Instead of that, Harry said, "I'm glad you're okay." At Draco's incredulous expression, he added. "I can't believe I missed you, but I did."

Draco didn't say anything for a while. They'd reached a bench looking out over a pond. "I can't go through that again," Draco said quietly. He sounded so vulnerable, so young. But worst of all, he sounded resigned.

Harry nodded. "We'll just be careful. Take no unnecessary risks."

"Circe, we'll be so bored," Draco said. He sighed. "But it beats dungeon duty, I suppose. Or going on raids."

"Who do you still have in the dungeons," Harry asked.

"Mostly just rebels you brought back from your mission," Draco said. He scuffed his shoe in the dirt.

Harry gaped at him. "The rebels?"

He'd forgotten about them.

"Sure. The Weaslette, some Irish half-blood, a Mudblood—not sure why he's still alive, to be honest. A whole pile of living statues, too: Weasley; one of the Patil twins—the stupider one. Oh, and that kooky blonde Ravenclaw. My father keeps eyeing her up. It's kind of creepy."

Harry shuddered. "You don't think he'd…?"

"I try not to think about it, Potter."

That was fair, Harry decided. He'd do the same if it was his dad. At least Luna was petrified and couldn't be harmed. Or would at least be unaware if she was.

Poor Narcissa, too. What did she do to get landed with such a scumbag? Though surprisingly, the couple seemed well-suited to each other most of the time. He supposed there was no accounting for tastes.

They fell into silence for a few minutes. A trio of Death Eaters wandered by, whispering amongst themselves. They paused when they came close, eyeing the boys with a mix of curiosity and contempt. One of them cast Muffliato, and their conversation cut off at once.

"As if we care about the Ministry Dark-creature emigration amendments," Draco scoffed. "It's not exactly top-secret. It's been in the work for weeks."

"I don't think they're talking about that," Harry said as he watched the Death Eaters walk away.

One of them kept looking back at the two boys, a vicious smirk plastered on his lips. Just before he disappeared around a hedge, he mouthed something at Harry.

It could have been anything. He could have been calling back a good-natured 'cheerio.' Judging from the silent laughter that shook the three men, though, it was nothing so friendly as that.

Besides, Harry knew exactly what the man had said. He'd been whispering it to himself for days. He could feel the shape of the words even now trespassing in his mouth. Such a simple word, barely a syllable really.

"Do any of them work in the dungeons?" Harry asked. "Or had spent time with my uncle?"

Draco looked to where the men had last been, as if in doing so would conjure them back to examine. "Most likely," he said. "Dungeon duty is drudge work, and gets pawned off a lot. There's a lot of guard rotation. Why?"

Harry shrugged. He didn't know why this was even bothering him still. He'd almost come to terms with what Vernon had said. So he surprised himself when he said to Draco, "My uncle said something to me on Midsummer. Something nastier than usual, that is."

"Yes, I remember," Draco said quietly. He'd asked Harry to talk about it almost a week ago, after all.

"I keep hearing it in my head, over and over. It's not going away."

Draco nodded attentively as Harry spoke. After a moment he said, "And you think one of them—" he gestured at the hedge—"heard him that night? And is now repeating it amongst the other Death Eaters?"

"No." Harry ground his teeth. "Someone planted the word in my uncle's mind. Someone's spreading lies about me."

Lies for now, an unhelpful voice reminded him.

Draco sighed. "That kind of character assassination amongst the Dark Lord's troops is not unusual," he told Harry. "But no other Death Eater is in a position akin to your own, nor with such a history with our Lord. Perhaps you should raise the issue with him. He might think it warrants investigation."

"Maybe," Harry said, knowing full well that he'd say nothing about this to his Master.

"What did your uncle say to you?"

Harry glanced over at Draco. The other boy looked genuinely concerned, so open and willing to listen to any of Harry's problems, even when he was still suffering on account of him. Harry made a quick decision. "He called me a whore."

Draco paled. "And you think one of the guards told him that?"

"I thought it was you," Harry told him. "You'd said to me earlier that day that you'd seen him and Dudley. I thought you'd fed him those words."

"Fuck, Harry, I swear I—"

"I know. It wasn't you. Bellatrix, maybe—though I honestly think she's too jealous of our Lord's affection to say anything like that. No, she'd have come up with something else to slander me."

"I think you're right," Draco said. He swallowed. "You really don't think it was me?"

"It wasn't you, was it?" Harry asked quickly, then snickered at Draco's horrified expression. "No, I don't think it was you. And Malfoy?"

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. "Yeah?"

Harry grinned up at him. "Do you realize you just called me Harry?"

...

It was a turning point in their friendship. And wasn't that strange? Being friends with Draco Malfoy? Their quiet carefulness around each other gave way to something more boisterous, more playful.

Even their shared horrors fell prey to their good humour. Harry supposed it was healthier than the alternative.

"Don't those idiots know he's banned you from broomsticks?" Draco said, laughing, as they passed a scornful group of Death Eaters in the corridor. His lewd gesture brought the innuendo to life, in case any of the other men were too stupid to figure it out for themselves.

Harry felt his face heat up. But he grinned and shot back, "They wouldn't know a broomstick from their wands."

"And from what I hear," Draco said, trying to keep a straight face, "those are already on the shorter end. No matter how thick they may be, with tools like that at their disposal, their reach will always be way too short."

One of the Death Eaters glared at Draco. "Wait until I tell your father about this," he spat before he stormed off.

Harry and Draco looked at each other for a moment before they both burst into fits of laughter. Draco wiped tears from his eyes. "I used to be such a little shit," he gasped out when he finally found his voice again.

It was the second Saturday in July. The boys had been shut up for nearly a week due to rain. Nagini had sulked by the fire the first day Draco came by to pick them up to wander the manor, but eventually Harry's pestering payed off and she followed along. So far Harry had been introduced to the conservatory, the formal dining room, and at least five beautifully appointed parlours. Harry didn't understand why Narcissa needed such diversity in order to entertain pure-blood witches over tea and scones, but he'd complimented the rooms just the same.

Today Draco led him into the Malfoy library. The ceilings were high and rain-spattered windows stretched up the wall to let in the soft, diffuse light. A table, circled by low-backed chairs, was set in the centre of the room. Comfortable looking armchairs, replete with brass lamps, were scattered around the elegant space. Myriads of shelves, all of them brimming with handsome leather-bound books, filled the rest of the space.

Harry whistled. He wasn't even particularly interested in reading and he still found the library intoxicating.

Draco grinned. "I think even the Dark Lord gets gooseflesh when he comes here."

Harry nodded, though he wasn't really listening. His thought had turned to his former best-friend. Hermione would have loved it in here. Her eyes would have lit up, her sharp mind cataloguing the books as she trailed a finger along their spines, restlessly pulling one out here and there to browse the contents. Such thoughts were absurd, though, for the Dark Lord would fall before a Muggle-born would be allowed to peruse the Malfoy library.

And the Dark Lord would never fall. Harry had made sure of that.

Draco must have noticed his conflicting thoughts. "You can borrow books if you'd like, Harry."

Harry forced a smile. "That would be great. Thanks."

"Or we could play chess. My father keeps a set somewhere around here."

Harry's chest tightened. "No." At Draco's concerned look, he added, "Ron played chess." It felt explanation enough.

Draco stared at him for a moment. "I didn't know that," he said softly.

"He was really good at it," Harry told him. He swallowed against the lump that had formed in his throat. Why was he even telling Draco this? Draco had hated Ron since they'd met. Given wizarding family feuds and the antipathy of Blood Purists to Blood Traitors, he'd likely hated him long before that first train ride to Hogwarts.

Memories of that day washed over him without leave. Dirt smudges and corned beef sandwiches. Chocolate Frog cards shared. Friendships forged.

And were those tears? Fuck—was he crying? Why now?

"What else was he good at," Draco asked him.

"What?" Harry wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I think you need to talk about them," said Draco gently. "So talk. Tell me about your friends. About Weasley. About Granger. Merlin's balls, tell me all about Longbottom if you want. Just talk to me."

He led Harry over to a pair of leather armchairs, and—thank fuck—there was Nagini coiled on one of them. Harry hissed at her to make room for him, and she shifted over and he petted her silky, soothing scales. She didn't seem to care if his motions were harder, more frantic than usual. She hissed happily under his attention.

Once he'd calmed a bit, he tried to explain. "It was the books. I saw them…then I saw her. I saw Hermione wandering the stacks. Smiling. Happy. She'd have loved it here."

"She does love it here," Draco said. "She was granted library privileges over two weeks ago."

Harry's mouth fell open.

"So long as she is escorted and her selections censored. My father was rather displeased, but our Lord's word is law."

"The Dark Lord said she could use the library?" That was unexpected.

"He said it was your idea," Draco said, confused. "That since she was adjusting well to her new status, she could be allowed a research position rather than work in the scullery."

Harry's mind flashed to that awkward afternoon following his mission to Hogwarts. He had suggested that Hermione might help them in their work. And what had his Master said?

"I will, in time, give her a number of tasks to perform. Research tasks, if she is well-behaved and dedicated to the work."

His Master had kept his word to a promise that Harry had forgotten all about.

Harry hadn't even noticed Draco calling a house-elf, but suddenly a teacup was put in his hands. "Watch the snake," Draco cautioned as he retreated into his own chair. "Don't spill any on her."

"Thanks." He leaned over the armrest, away from his sister, and took a few sips before placing the cup on an end table.

"Granger comes in around now most days. I'd thought you'd like to see her. But if you'd rather not…"

"I would," Harry said. "No, I would. Very much. But I'm not so sure she'd like to see me."

"We can leave if it gets awkward," said Draco with a careless shrug. "Or make her leave. After all, it is my library."

It wasn't a terrible plan. He had to see her sometime. And without his Master there, perhaps Harry would actually get a chance to say something to her. He said, "Let me make the call for us—or her—to go. And is there any way I can talk to her alone?"

Draco shook his head quickly. "Not a chance, Harry. She might not have a wand, but neither do you. I won't have you defenceless against someone who might want you dead."

Harry scoffed. "She doesn't want—"

"You don't know that. You helped bring about the utter ruin of the Light side. You pretty much doomed England's Muggles and Mudbloods. Muggles like her parents. Mudbloods like her."

"Her parents aren't even in the country."

"You're deliberately missing the point." Draco breathed deeply, then tried again. "Look, I know that you and Granger were close." All at once he looked disturbed. He grimaced and asked, "You weren't…um…together, were you?"

Harry shook his head. "She and Ron were, though."

Draco nodded, satisfied. "So, think about it. You condemned her to slavery. Pretty much had her boyfriend killed. She has ample motive for wanting revenge. And as much as I hate to admit it, she's smart enough and resourceful enough to find a way to act on that."

Harry started to say something, but Draco held his hand up. "No, Harry, let me finish." He ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm just trying to warn you; she might not be the friendly face you're hoping for. And I don't trust her. You can talk to her, fine, but I'm not leaving. And don't forget that she'll have her own escort."

Harry had forgotten. "Can't you both slink behind a shelf or something and watch us discretely? Be all 'Slytherin-y'?"

"Slytherin-y? What does that even mean?"

"It means sneaky, and you know it," said Harry. A smile re-emerged at his lips and Nagini urged him to begin stroking her again—as he'd calmed, he'd slowed his ministrations to a near stop.

Draco laughed. "If I remember right, it was you who sneaked all around Hogwarts in your invisibility cloak, Captain Gryffindor."

"Your father's invisibility cloak," came a pinched voice from about ten feet away. Hermione had just come in, trailed by some nameless Death Eater. She looked emotionless, as if seeing Harry meant nothing to her. "Dumbledore trusted you with that. If he'd known what you'd end up doing, he'd have never given it to you in the first place."

Harry's mouth went dry. He couldn't think of how to reply. He felt both wronged by her accusation and rightfully chastened, all at once.

Fortunately, Draco had a ready response. "According to Wizarding law," Draco told her pompously, "Dumbledore had no right to hold on to inheritances, Magical or otherwise, carried down through a Pureblood line to the declared heir."

"As though Death Eaters have ever cared much for the law," Hermione said. She kept all traces of emotion from her face, but still managed to convey her contempt.

Draco's pleasant mood soured instantly. He sneered disdainfully at Hermione and said, "We have only ever tried to keep hold of ancient Wizarding customs and institutions."

Hermione scoffed. "And that accounts for all the torture you and your Lord so enjoy? Do you know what I think, Malfoy? I think you're just trying to justify sadism and violence."

"Violence is sometimes the only way to bring about change," Draco countered.

Hermione shook her head. "Oppression is never justifiable. Nor is torture or murder. You speak as though you Purebloods were the minority."

"Those of us who wish to maintain our roots? To bring back our traditions? Yes, we are the minority. And it's all because your kind came along and ruined everything."

Hermione glared at him. "Muggle-borns have been around for as long as there have been wizards and witches. We're nothing new."

"Of course not," Draco said, sneering. "But historically, a Mudblood would have been summarily dispatched as soon as a local coven was alerted to her existence. Reviling filth is a nothing new. It's the natural way of things."

Hermione looked as if she wanted to explode something. Her fingers twitched, as if she desperately missed her wand. Harry hoped that texts on wandless magic was one of the subjects she was banned from perusing, for if she picked up that skill she would become trouble very fast.

"I won't ever believe that, and you're a fool if you do, Malfoy. Who do you think the first wizards and witches were? They were the aberrations. Not Muggles."

Draco was nodding. "You just proved my point, Granger. You newcomers simply refuse to acknowledge the Magical world's venerated history, reducing it to something you can understand. This is why our traditions have eroded. This is why our holidays have vanished. Because of Mudbloods like you, who could never begin to understand that which you deny and destroy."

"Any changes brought about regarding Wizarding traditions happened via lawful reform through the Ministry," Hermione declared.

"Exactly as our Lord is doing now." Draco said with a smile. "You can't have it both ways."

"Some of us apparently can," she said, glancing towards Harry.

Harry very much wished he had his invisibility cloak again at that moment. Forget sneaking around Hogwarts; the cloaks true value, he decided, was to hide from such hostile eyes. He settled for looking down at his feet.

"Harry did what he needed to do to survive," Draco snarled. "You have no right to judge him."

Hermione sniffed. "I won't need to. History will judge him well enough."

"This is stupid, let's go," said Harry. This wasn't what he'd wanted. He urged Nagini down and started towards the library door. As he passed Hermione, he said to her, "I know you'll never understand why I chose this."

"Oh, I think I do," she said. "It's really fairly obvious."

Draco scoffed. He looked about to say more, but Harry held up a hand and said, "The only one who could possibly have foreseen this, Hermione, was my uncle. And that was only because he only ever thought the absolute worst of me."

Hermione stared at Nagini, who was slithering around and around Harry's feet. Then she looked up at Harry's scar before staring coldly into his eyes. "I hope it was worth it."