Shout out to my Betas, Amber1015 and ShadowHeart175!

The characters and universe in this work are property of J.K Rowling.

Bleary eyed and exhausted, Draco was struggling to keep from dropping face first into his marmalade. He hadn't gone up to bed the night before, but he had managed to get a few hours of sleep on the couch by the fire once he'd returned from the owlery. The first peaceful sleep Draco had gotten in months was interrupted when Gregory gently shook his shoulder and told him he was going down to breakfast. Draco could have killed him, but he instead trudged up the stairs to pull on a fresh set of robes and join him. He tried not to be too put out by it, as today was a free day for the eighth years, but as Draco idly stirred his tea, he could not help but wish he were still sleeping.

It didn't help that Weasley was sitting two tables down with Finnigan and Thomas, all of them speaking lowly to each other and taking turns glancing at Potter in short intervals. Draco could tell he was finding it much easier to ignore them than Potter was. Potter wasn't saying anything to acknowledge them, but Draco could see his jaw tightening and kept his own mouth shut as Potter roughly pushed food around his plate. Hermione was nowhere to be found, but Draco wasn't surprised by this. It was highly likely that she didn't want to be faced with the choice between her friend and her boyfriend, and he was certain that if he popped into the library, he would find her hidden away under a mound of books.

A screech came from above as a flock of owls swooped in with the morning mail, and Draco tried not to get his hopes up. He'd only sent that letter to mother last night; there was no way Ulysses could be back already. Despite this, a giddy smile split his face as a familiar pair of amber eyes locked onto him. Draco held out his hands, and Ulysses dropped a rather heavy package into them before coming to rest on his shoulder. Reaching out, Draco pulled a piece of bacon off the tray in the middle of the table and offered it up to his owl who scarfed it down and nipped his finger affectionately.

"Thank you, old friend. You've had a long journey, haven't you? Go rest now," Draco murmured to Ulysses, and as the bird stretched his wings and flew away, he turned his eyes down to the package in his hands.

"That from your mum?" Gregory asked around the toast in his mouth, leaning closer to see.

Nodding, Draco sat the parcel on his lap and was moving to open it when Potter stood up violently and sent his dishes clattering. The blond watched Potter snatch up his bag and stalk out of the Great Hall. Glancing down the table at Weasley's very red face, Draco thought he may know what had caused this outburst, but he did not follow Potter out this time. Draco had done enough chasing yesterday and had enough sense to know that sometimes people just needed to sort things out on their own. Instead, he hefted the package up onto the table and unwrapped it.

"There's a letter here from your mum!" Draco passed it off to Gregory. "And one from mine – oh, she sent some sweets too. And this?"

Draco dug down deeper into the parcel and came up with a black leather book. On the front was the Malfoy family crest laid in silver. He couldn't recall ever seeing this book before, and had no idea what it could contain. They had gotten rid of every dark object in their home, heirloom or not, before Draco had disappeared that summer, but some sense of foreboding about the book settled deep in the pit of his stomach. Though his fingers itched to open it, he stuck it back inside the box instead.

"What is that?" Gregory asked, and Draco saw him tuck the letter away in his robes.

"Nothing, just a book my mother thought I might like. You're welcome to any of the sweets there that you want. She always packs too many for just me."

"Thank you," Gregory answered cheerily and peered over the edge of the box to check out the treats.

"What've you got planned for the day?" Draco asked.

"I've got to study for an exam in apparition, and then I promised to help Hermione quiz herself on some runes for her exam."

"Oh, do you want any help studying?"

Draco had not made any plans himself and was not looking forward to a lonely afternoon.

"No, that's alright." Gregory shrugged. "You deserve a day off, yeah? We can meet for lunch though, if you want."

"That sounds really great, Gregory. I'll see you later, then. Good luck with your studies," Draco said as he stood up and balanced the parcel on his hip to leave.

...

Pushing open the door to the common room, Draco was surprised at how empty it was. However, a quick glance out the window revealed most of his peers out enjoying the last of the warm days before chilly Autumn came in full force. A yawn fell from Draco's mouth as he sank low into the couch and fished the thin book back out of the parcel, and running a slender finger over the silver crest a few times, he tried to work up the courage to open it. When he finally flipped the cover open, tears sprang to Draco's eyes at the sight of photos.

He was reaching down to touch one when Potter came thundering down the stairs, startling Draco into snapping the book shut. It seemed that Potter was in a much better mood, because he stopped on his way to the door to acknowledge him.

"What's that?" he asked, jerking his head at the book on Draco's lap.

"Nothing. Just something my mother sent me."

Draco wanted to tell him to go away. That some moments deserved privacy, and that he wanted to look at the book alone.

"That's cool," Potter said as he came to sit next to him. "What's inside?"

"Why'd you storm out of the Great Hall?" Draco changed the subject, trying to tell himself he didn't actually care; that he just wanted Potter to leave him alone. Maybe making Potter uncomfortable would achieve that?

"It was stupid," Potter said, to Draco's surprise, "but Ron was really pissing me off. The way he kept looking at me and whispering – if he had something to say, he could just say it to me."

Draco, despite his intense desire to be left alone, could not help but interject in the face of such stupidity.

"Potter, you are a fool, which in itself is dangerous, but you are a fool with too much pride, which is even worse. Weasley was looking at you because he misses you, and he was whispering to those idiots, because he can't work out for himself how best to apologize."

"I understand that you think you know everything, Draco, but you don't know Ron," Potter shot back, looking quite annoyed.

"Please," Draco rolled his eyes. "When has Weasley ever been good at apologizing? Tell me one time he's properly told you he's sorry, and I'll drop it."

Draco knew it was an impossible task, but he watched Potter struggle anyway.

"See? You're blowing things out of proportion by trying to analyse everything he's doing. Just relax and let your guard down a little. Things will work themselves out."

Potter nodded, and for a moment seemed to muse on what Draco had said. Then, with hope rapidly deflating, Draco saw those stupid green eyes drop back down to look at the book in Draco's arms, and he wanted to scream.

"So, what's in the book?"

"Just some pictures my mother sent me," Draco caved. "It's stupid, I know – "

"No, it isn't. Wait here, I'll be back."

And then Potter was jumping up and bounding back up the stairs with such vigour that Draco was sure he'd fall on his face. This prediction was evidently wrong, and Potter was back in record time with a small brown book tucked under his arm. He squeezed himself onto the couch next to Draco once more and set it on his lap.

"I've got one too. Hagrid put it together for me my first year. It's got photos of my mum and dad, and some of Sirius too. I'm in a few of them. You don't have to show me yours, but you're welcome to look at mine."

Draco's curiosity was piqued. What did the Chosen One look like as a baby? Had he been ugly, or was he impossibly cute in the way only babies can be? Draco had to know immediately, and so he scooted closer to him and gestured for Potter to open the book up. Potter did just that, and a laugh spilled from Draco's mouth at the sight of the baby before him.

"You were so fat! No wonder, with all those sweets lying around."

The words were rushing out of Draco's mouth as he looked at a picture of tiny Potter reaching for a chocolate frog. There was a cat's tail waving in and out of frame, and a man and woman that Draco had never seen before were staring back at him.

"I was not! I was a perfectly normal size for a baby!"

"Come on, look at you! A perfect monster, you were!"

"All babies are a little chubby. I'm sure you were!"

"I assure you, I was not," Draco asserted with a sniff, pulling his own book into his lap.

Flipping to the first page, a photo of a new-born Draco, asleep in his mother's arms, greeted them. His hair was that same shade of white, but it was fluffy and sticking up in tufts. Mother was giving her usual demure smile, but Draco held no reservations as he cooed and grinned at the person behind the camera. He could recognize the backdrop as his parent's bedroom, and recalled then that his mother had not given birth to him in St. Mungo's. She looked so young there, no traces of stress lined on her face. It was the height of the first wizarding war, after all. Draco supposed there would have been no reason for her to feel any sort of fear with his father and family safe under the Dark Lord's protection.

"So, see?" Draco cleared his throat to keep the tears at bay. "I was a perfectly reasonable size for a baby."

"Are you serious?" Potter gawked. "Look at those cheeks! I was not that much bigger than you."

"Whatever helps you sleep, Potter," Draco rolled his eyes and flipped to the next page.

Father's cold, proud face stared back at him. Mother looked sadder here, standing beside him. Draco almost laughed at the photo of himself on the floating horse, but the look on his own, much younger face kept all mirth from the surface. Draco could remember that day quite clearly. Father had bought the horse instead of the broom Draco had so desperately wanted, saying that Draco was too young, and that this would do until then. Draco cleared his throat before he let himself fall too far in the past but still could not tear his eyes away from his father.

"I'm sorry. About your –"

"If you apologize to me for sending my father to Azkaban, I will hex you so badly. I mean it, Potter, don't you dare," Draco choked out around the lump in his throat and flipped the page quickly. "What's done is done, and if you apologize, I will begin to think there was no meaning to it all."

"Is that Snape?" Potter asked, voice high in shock.

Severus looked down in apprehension as a toddler Draco played with his cloak. It was strange to see his godfather without his usual confidence, and a laugh was pulled from Draco as he watched his younger self grab up the edge of the cloak and bring it around to cover his face. Harry seemed to find this just as amusing and leaned in to get a closer look.

"Wild little thing, weren't you?"

"Only when Severus was watching me. He let me get into just enough trouble to have fun, but never let me cross that line into danger. He was a good godfather, and a great teacher. Everything I know about potions, I learned from him."

"I always thought he was letting you skive off and giving you the grade anyway."

"You're kidding, surely? Harry, did it elude you that I got the second highest scores on our examinations for every year but sixth? Hermione only ever surpassed me in potions by a point. Severus was actually quite hard on me about that," Draco said and turned another page. "Oh, look! My first potions set. I learned how to brew a forgetfulness potion on my own by the time I was eight."

A smile crept across his face, and Draco brushed a speck of dirt off the photo. Severus scowled at him as his finger crossed the man's face, but Draco just wanted to laugh. He hadn't seen his godfather since the funeral, and the thought of him made Draco's heart ache in his chest. A laugh broke from Harry as the large pointy hat atop young Draco's head slipped down to cover his eyes, and Draco was relieved to find a laugh of his own falling out of his mouth. Turning the next page, the chuckling turned to a roar between the boys.

"I can't believe you got away with that!" Harry cried, wiping mirthful tears from his cheeks.

A toddler Draco was clambering over a sleeping Severus. A copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard laid open across the man's chest, and it seemed that he had been trying to lull Draco into a nap. This had obviously backfired, and as he slumbered Draco played in a spilled bottle of ink. The evidence of his mischief was plain – ink covered the book, and tiny handprints decorated Severus's arms, face, and even bits of his velvet chair. Draco could remember that chair clearly. It sat in Severus's favourite corner of his small living room, and when the two weren't making lunch or brewing potions, his godfather was reading to him, or telling him stories from memory. Dobby always came for him far too soon on those days. That thought brought him to a question that had been burning in the back of his mind for months.

"Where's Dobby, Harry?" Draco asked and let his eyes flick back up to his face.

Sadness dwelt there, and Draco felt his heart growing heavier and heavier as Harry stared back at him.

"That day, at your Manor? When Bellatrix threw that knife – Dobby didn't make it. He's buried at Fleur and Bill's cottage."

"Oh –" Draco answered softly. He was fond of the little elf. "He was good, Dobby. He always listened when I complained, mostly about you, mind you, and he made really good treacle tart. I'd always thought that Father had killed him before I came home second year, so I was surprised to see him then, but now –"

"It was you?" Harry asked, eyes wide.

"What do you mean?"

"You're the one who told Dobby about me?"

"I mean, I complained a lot. You were sort of a ponce, and father was sick of hearing me talk about it."

"I'd always wondered, but I never thought it'd have been you."

"What are you on about?" Annoyance crept into Draco's tone as Harry continued to beat around the bush.

"Well, it's just that when I met Dobby he kept going on about how he'd heard so much about me and all of the great things I had done. I figured his master must have been some nut who was obsessed with me, but then when I saw him with your father I wondered –"

"I am not obsessed with you! It was just obnoxious how everything was about you first and second year. Every year, in fact! The rest of us never stood a chance if you had your nose in something."

Perhaps the words would have held bitterness if Draco had spoken them a year ago, but today they were filled with laughter and teasing. Draco turned to the last page to find a photo of him and his mother on Draco's first day of school. Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders, and though she hid it well, Draco could remember how hard she had cried before they left for the platform. Eyes lingering over the youth in her face, Draco could not help the tears that swam in his eyes.

"Your mum is beautiful," Harry said, tilting his head at the photo. "It's a little hard to believe that she looked so –" He cut himself off, as if suddenly aware that he was being offensive.

"Happy?" Draco asked dryly, and Harry nodded. "I agree. She always looked happiest when Father wasn't around, but she cried all morning the day of this photo. It was going to be my first night away from home, and she was losing me for almost an entire year."

"Your mum is an extraordinary person. I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for her, and I don't think I've ever thanked her properly," Harry added, and sounded like he meant it.

"I don't know, Harry, I think not sending her to Azkaban was thank you enough."

Harry broke into laughter and turned his head to look at Draco, who was trying not to laugh as well, as he sank down further into the couch. Their sides were pressed together as they tried to catch their breath, and Draco once more found himself in a state of self-reflection. Never in his short life would he have thought he would be laughing over his mother's trial with the man he'd sworn to hate. When Harry finally calmed down, Draco shut the book and gave him a smile.

"Thank you for pushing me to open up. It was really good of you to sit with me while I did this. I don't think it would have been as happy of a situation if I had been alone. And thank you for sharing your book with me. It takes a lot to be vulnerable like that."

"I like showing off my mum and dad, don't think too much on it," Harry teased. "Besides, you looked like you could use a friend, and I was glad to be there."

"Friends, is that what you've decided we are?" Draco mused and raised an eyebrow.

"I'd like to think so. I mean, I've cried several times and gone through a crisis in front of you, showed you pictures of me as a baby, and gotten into a fight with one of my oldest friends because of you. If that doesn't make us at least friends, then I clearly don't know the requirements for the position."

"I think you may have a point. Besides, all I ever really wanted was to be your friend. Why else do you think I was so mean to you?"

"Oh, you make it a practice to be mean to those you're trying to befriend?"

"Only when they turn down my offer so rudely! You broke my eleven year-old heart when you rejected my friendship, Harry." Although Draco was smiling, he was quite serious,

"There's no way! Why would I have said yes? You were such an unbearable git!"

"It was my nature," Draco rolled his eyes. "My father had always talked so lowly of the Weasleys that I could see no redeeming factor in any of them. Not to say I wasn't a ponce, but I was bred to be one!"

"That may be the case, but I'm glad that you're different now."

"Yes, a series of life-threatening events and surviving a war will do that to a person," Draco deadpanned, nodding lightly.

He and Harry made eye-contact for a moment before dissolving into giggles once more.

"If I had known how fun it was to be your friend, I may have stopped being such a troll years ago. I'm really glad that we've gotten to this place."

"I am too," Harry agreed and pushed himself up into a sitting position. "It's a beautiful day, do you want to go play some Quidditch? I haven't been on a broom in nearly a year, so you may actually have a chance at beating me."

Draco scoffed and shoved at Harry's shoulder as he rose from the couch. Tucking the book under his arm, Draco grinned.

"You are so on. Don't cry too much when I destroy you, alright?" he countered and ran up the stairs to change.

Four hours later, and what started off as an intensely competitive trial devolved into two boys laying on the grass and seeing how many shapes they could point out in the clouds. Draco, with a bit of cheating, was up to fifteen, and Harry only ten when they decided it was time to return to the castle. As he returned his broom to the shack, there was a niggling thought in the back of Draco's mind that he was forgetting something important. He did not have much time to ponder on it, for at that moment Harry was telling him a joke, and Draco's thoughts were chased off by a bout of laughter.

It wasn't until they reached the Great Hall that Draco remembered his promise to meet Gregory for lunch. A glance at the clock told him it was half past one, and Draco swore under his breath. He was turning toward the staircase when he saw Gregory descending, and Draco rushed over to him with an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry I'm late, I completely lost track of time. Do you want to eat?"

Gregory's eyes were looking past Draco's head at Harry, and then they finally moved back to him Draco was surprised by the strange emotion residing there. Gregory's shoulders were tense, and Draco could see his hands clenched into fists. What had happened? Was Gregory mad at him?

"That's quite alright. I've already eaten, and I wouldn't want to interrupt you while you're having so much fun," Gregory answered as he brushed past Draco.

Heart sinking, the blond turned his head to watch him go. He wanted to call after him, to apologize a million more times, but Draco's feet were glued to the floor. The look on Harry's face made it all the worse. He could see Harry trying to hide the pity there, but the attempt was unsuccessful.

"Come on, Draco. Let's grab something to eat, and we can play Wizard's Chess in the common room," Harry said, putting up a cheerful front and steering Draco into the Great Hall.

The food was tasteless in Draco's mouth as he thought about how he had disappointed Gregory. Rather than listen to the conversation Harry was trying to make with him, Draco's mind was occupied with formulating a plan to make things up to his friend. Lunch rushed by faster than it ever had before, and by the time Harry was clearing his plate, Draco was pushing himself to his feet with a strategy in his back pocket and the courage to carry it out. Unable to hear Harry calling after him, Draco breezed out of the Great Hall and down the corridor he had watched Gregory disappear through earlier. However, he would have no chance to catch up with his friend that evening. As Draco passed by a dark alcove in the wall, a strong pair of hands reached out and pulled him into the shadows.

A/N: The photos featured in Draco's album were inspired by artists frokenpest, captbexx, and pauleonotis on IG.