Time and Time Again

by rain-beee

Draco doesn't know why he keeps stepping into his own future, nor why it involves a hallway covered in Harry Potter's blood.

Draco steps onto the lift. It's packed with ministry workers, like always, and he shouldn't be so annoyed considering he is one. The air is damp and heavy, pungent with the scent of early morning exhaustion. Paper aeroplanes fly above their heads, but nobody pays them any mind. Draco presses the button to his floor and waits as the lift doors begin to close with a grinding creak before someone calls out-

"Hold it!"

Draco sighs. A hand reaches out and holds the lift door for the latecomer because anyone could recognise the voice of the savior of the wizarding world.

Harry Potter steps into the lift, sweaty and dishevelled, his Auror robes hanging off of his lithe form. He throws a "thank you" over his shoulder and he slides in between Draco and an elderly witch with a large briefcase. He doesn't look at Draco. Draco doesn't look at him.

They do this every Tuesday and Thursday, but Draco pretends they don't. It's a Russian nesting doll of pretending, because to pretend it's a thing they don't do, he has to pretend that Potter doesn't notice him as much as Draco doesn't notice Potter. They stand side by side as the lift descends into the ground, and they let themselves get jostled by the other people leaving and entering the lift, and they don't look at each other. They let the silence grow heavy and still until the lift reaches Potter's floor first and Draco has to pretend he isn't watching him as he walks down the hall to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Today, like every day, the lift jerks away before Draco can see Potter disappear through the door at the end of the hall. It continues downward slowly and Draco waits patiently until the doors ding and he steps off of the lift and

- out into the hallway. Everything is dark and silent and still. Draco can hear his own panting breaths as he steps back in horror. Only one of the lights lining the ceiling hasn't been shattered; it flickers weakly, illuminating the carnage below. The ugly linoleum floor, the tan walls, even bits of the ceiling are streaked and splattered with blood. There's an acrid scent to it; the smell of iron makes Draco sick. He heaves and doubles over, closing his eyes before remembering why he came here.

Harry.

He straightens and takes a step forward. His shoes slide in the blood on the floor and it stains his soles. He takes another step, then another, and suddenly he's running again, his feet pounding and sliding against the blood soaked floors, his hand reaching for the door handle

- "Oi," a voice says from behind him. He can feel someone kicking at his back foot. "Can you step out of the lift? We've all got places to be, mate."

Draco looks back at the frustrated faces behind him and moves his foot forward. The lift door slaps shut and it begins to descend once more. He rubs his face wearily as he turns around and continues down the hall to work. Suddenly, his head is pounding.

The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is a horribly organized conglomeration of over-piled desks and overworked employees, Draco being one of them. He weaves through the desks and the tottering piles of paperwork, nodding to a few of the coworkers that he's managed to keep on relatively friendly terms with, and to his own desk. He takes off his coat and hangs it on the back of his chair, but just as he's about to sit down, he hears the rap of knuckles against the corner of his desk.

"Mr Malfoy," comes a harried voice from behind him. He plasters a tired smile on his face and turns to face a short woman with greying hair and worry lines so deep they look carved on. "Oh, put that away," she says.

He sighs and drops the fake smile, replacing it with a smaller, but more genuine one. "Dr Bennet. Good morning."

"If you say so," she says, and holds out a file. "We have something new in. I'm sure you've heard about it."

His eyebrows raise in interest as he eyes the file in her hand. It's thinly packed and the date indicates it's brand new. He had heard something, but he wasn't sure if he believed it.

"I'm putting you on it," she tells him, placing the file into his hands. She watches as he opens the file and leafs through the pages, reading and rereading.

"But this is…" he says, and she nods grimly.

"It is," she agrees. "It came in through a smuggling ring. We're lucky we caught it before...well." She gives him a sharp look and he closes the file to give her his full attention. "I'm sure I don't have to remind you how dangerous this animal is."

"No ma'am," he says quickly, standing up just a bit straighter under her scrutinizing gaze. After a second, she nods.

"O'Grady will be walking you through the procedures tomorrow afternoon. You have the key for the back room?" He nods, so she continues. "In the meantime- research. This is a big responsibility, Mr Malfoy."

"Yes, ma'am," he repeats. She nods once more and, seemingly satisfied, gives him a small smile before rapping her knuckles on his desk one more time and walking away.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Pulling out his chair, he opens the file again and scans the sparse information provided. He

- sits on the cold, hard earth and can already feel the damp morning air seeping into the wool trousers of his uniform. Pansy's hand grips his shoulder as she lowers herself beside him, crossing her legs daintily as she settles into his side. Professor Grubblyplank has already started her lesson and she paces back and forth in front of the class with an apathetic expression and a droning voice.

Across the class he can see Potter and his ridiculous friends pressing blades of grass between their thumbs and blowing into them. It gives off a shrill sound, but the professor either doesn't notice or doesn't care. Granger, the swot, hits Weasley on the back of his head as Potter laughs.

In front of them, Grubblyplank is saying, "The boarya is one of the most dangerous creatures on earth, both because of its strength, but also because of its unique adaptive abilities."

Draco turns his attention away once more. It's not hard to admit that Hagrid's replacement is a better teacher and a better fit for the role- Umbridge had been right to replace that oaf- but they'd already had a lesson on boaryas. Draco flipped back to his notes from several weeks ago, where he had filled out a page and a half on angler fish and Magalasy soil acidity. If it's awful and dangerous, Hagrid knows about it, and as much as he wants to, Draco can't fault him for the efficacy of that lesson.

On the other side of the class, Potter and Weasley seem to have forgone note taking as well, although it seems to be as a form of protest rather than because of previous knowledge. They're pulling out clumps of grass and throwing them at each other and then laughing when one of the Patil twins (Draco always forgets which) turns around and hisses an insult at them for getting some in her hair.

"Can I use your notes?" Pansy whispers into his ear, her breath tickling the hair at his temple. "I just can't be bothered today."

He rolls his eyes. "You can't be bothered any day," he whispers back, but he knows that he'll always let her use them. "Let me know if she says anything new. I'm going to say I forgot my textbook. I can't sit here for another minute- I'll die of boredom."

Pansy leans away from him as he hides his textbook back in his bag and

- pushes himself to standing. He leans backwards, cracking his aching back. He's read the file four times and is ready for a break. But first, he wants to see the creature.

He moves past the other desks and past Dr Bennet's office until he reaches a small door at the back of the room. It's nondescript and windowless, with a simple padlock hanging from the handle. As he moves closer, he can feel a wave of notice-me-not charms push against him and then slide over him like a breaking wave. He takes the key out of his pocket and presses it into the padlock, waiting several seconds before turning. The door opens slowly inwards, but he remains where he is, waiting for the ping of the wards letting him in.

When he steps into the room, it's dark. He blinks several times before his eyes adjust to the dimness and he can see the gold shimmer of layers of wards in front of him.

"Malfoy," the current guard, O'Grady, says, nodding to him. "I thought you weren't coming for training until tomorrow."

"I'm not," Draco says, taking a step forward. The magic is so thick in the air it almost hurts to breathe, like a dry rasp at the back of his throat with each inhale. Behind the wards is a glass cage, and beyond that… "I just wanted to see it for myself."

"Not much to see," O'Grady says. "It mostly just hides in the shadows. It won't even eat the food we put out for it."

"That's because it only eats things alive," Draco says, recalling Hagrid's lesson from fifth year. In the corner of the cage, he swears he can see the glint of an eye, staring back at him.

"I don't remember that in the file," O'Grady says, scratching the back of his neck. He looks at Draco curiously as he sighs.

He takes a step back from the cage and shakes his head. "That's because it wasn't in the file. I'll update it before I come in tomorrow."

"Thanks, mate," O'Grady says and Draco waves him off as he opens the door and

- steps off of the lift and onto the second floor. He's carrying a bag of take away, swinging it as he walks to the end of the hall, and opens the door to the DMLE. He steps into a hectic scene. Aurors are rushing about, robes only partially buttoned as they pack vials of potions and powders into their holsters and slip their wands up their sleeves. Draco stops by the door, overwhelmed, and looks across the chaos to Harry's desk.

"He's with Robards," someone says to him, and Draco turns to face Seamus Finnegan, who is sitting at one of the few occupied desks, filling out what looks like a stack of reports. The brace is still around his ankle and he gazes wistfully at the other Aurors, obviously longing to be back in action.

"What's going on?" Draco asks, setting the takeaway on his desk.

"New case. Looks like Harry's going to be the lead," Seamus says, peering into the bag. "Is this curry?"

"Biriyani," Draco murmurs, tugging the bag away from Seamus' searching fingers. "But he just got off a case."

Seamus shrugs. "That's the job, I guess. Here, look- he's coming out."

Draco watches as the door to Robard's office shuts behind Harry, who closes his eyes, a pillar of momentary calm amidst the hubbub. When he opens them again, his expression is grim, the set of his eyebrows determined. He lifts his face and looks over the room, but when he spots Draco, the tension seems to drain out of him and he smiles tiredly. Draco lifts the take-away bag as Harry strides forward.

"I brought a midday meal," he says as Harry peers over the edge of the bag.

"Biryani," he says, still smiling, although Draco can see that it's strained. "My favourite."

"Do you want to go eat in the courtyard?" Draco offers, and Harry's smile slips.

He glances at Seamus, who is suddenly dutifully working on his reports and not looking at them. Harry looks back at Draco, a line forming between his eyebrows. "I can't," he says, his voice apologetic. "We've got a new case and we're going to be leaving soon."

Draco lowers the bag in disappointment. "How soon?"

"Half an hour," Harry says, and he's looking at his shoes, so Draco looks at them too. They're the disgusting trainers he always wears instead of the Ministry-approved dragonhide boots, the bottoms worn and the laces always coming undone.

"Okay, well," Draco says, looking back up and placing the take away back on Seamus' desk. He takes out one of the containers and hands it to Harry. "You should still eat."

"Thank you," Harry says, accepting the container with a small smile. "It shouldn't be too long. Just a few days."

Draco nods sharply, trying not to let on just how concerned he is. He almost misses when he only saw Harry on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the lift, almost misses the days when he only knew him as "Potter." He picks up the bag and strings it along his wrist. Around them, Aurors are still packing up, glancing at Harry and then the clock on the far wall. "Be careful," he says, just because he can't help himself.

As he leaves, he sees Harry place the container of Biryani on his desk and slide his wand into its holster. Draco turns and steps

- into the backroom. He hates how the wards make him want to sneeze; he can't tell if it's the sheer amount of them or if it's O'Grady's particularly peppery magic. O'Grady glances up at him from his chair and then quickly stands when he realizes the time.

"Ready for training?" he asks with a grin. His eyebrows dip when he looks at Draco. "You alright?"

"Just a bit of a headache," Draco says, although it's more than a little. He can feel his pulse in his temples and he rubs them to try to soothe it away. The strange thing is, he can't remember how it came on- just the pain.

"Ahh, I'm sure you'll be alright. There's potions for that in the first-aid cupboard, if you need them."

"I'm alright," Draco says, dropping his hand and straightening his posture. O'Grady gives him a once over before shrugging.

"Alright, well, this shouldn't take too long since this is pretty standard."

"Is it?" Draco asks.

O'Grady gives him a grin before saying, "No, I suppose it's not. First things first"- he points to a thin, yellow line painted on the ground. "Don't cross this line. Not even when you're feeding it. It can get into your head at six feet, so we put it at seven, just to be safe."

"Don't cross the line," Draco repeats, nodding.

"Next: feeding. Since you're going to be mostly taking night shifts, right-?" Draco nods and O'Grady chuckles. "I don't envy you for that," he says. "I'd miss the wife too much. Anyways, since you're mostly on night shifts, you just have to feed it once, at eight pm. Just levitate it to the glass and when you're sure it's at the far wall, you can slide it through the flap- see?" He draws a long stick from the wall next to him and points it through the wards and to the glass. A flap that Draco hadn't noticed before opens up.

Quickly, O'Grady withdraws the stick and the flap closes with a snap. "It's not very fast," he explains to Draco, "But it's better to be safe than sorry." He sets the stick against the wall once more. "There are ten layers of wards set up around the cage, and seven outside the door. The ones outside the door are permanent, so you don't have to worry about those, but the ones around the cage need to be renewed every night at midnight on the dot. The outer seven layers are just the ministry standard, to keep people from coming in, but the inner three are a bit more complicated."

O'Grady takes out his wand and gestures for Draco to do the same. Draco mirrors him as he begins to swirl and jab the tip through the air while muttering a short incantation. They repeat it several times until Draco can do it himself.

"The incantation is also written down on page three in the file, so if you forget it…"

"I won't forget it," Draco says.

O'Grady nods. "Alright. Then that's you trained. When is your first shift?"

"Tonight."

O'Grady sucks in air through his teeth. "I don't envy you. I don't envy you at all." Behind them, three quick knocks sound at the door. O'Grady looks past his shoulder and then gives Draco a commiserating look. "That'll be the boss lady, here to check on us. You mind telling her we're finished?"

"Sure," Draco says, just as three more knocks come in succession. He puts his hand on the knob and

- pulls the door open. Warm air wafts over him from inside his flat, as does the scent of tomato sauce and the sound of someone moving around in his kitchen. Closing the door behind him, Draco hangs his work bag on the back of a chair as he walks through the dining room and into the kitchen, where Harry is standing over the stove, knocking the wooden spoon in his hand against the edge of the pan.

"How'd you get in here?" Draco says, coming next to Harry and looking down into the simmering contents of the pan.

Harry knocks his shoulder against him and stirs the sauce. "I broke in," he says, removing the spoon and tapping it three times against the edge of the pan before setting it on the counter. "Using that handy key you gave me."

"Don't make me regret giving you that," Draco replies, reaching over the counter to grab plates.

Harry grins. "Why would you even say that when I'm cooking you this lovely dinner?"

Draco raises an eyebrow, setting the plates down on the counter next to him and opening the cutlery drawer. "Are you sure? Because I think the pasta is boiling over."

Harry looks at the pot, which is currently spewing water all over the stove, and swears loudly. Draco grabs an oven mitt and takes the top off of the pot, letting the water settle into a calmer boil.

Harry lets out a deep breath and leans a hip against the counter. "Thanks." Draco just shrugs him off, but he can't help smiling when Harry adds, "No, really, thank you. I don't know what I would do without you."

Draco rolls his eyes and steps away, removing the pasta from the burner as he says, "Oh, because you're such an invallid?" He taps Harry's cast as he passes behind him.

Harry laughs. "No, because I didn't know what I was doing until I met you."

"So…" Draco says, pouring the pasta through a colander. "Until age eleven?"

Harry smacks his shoulder with his uninjured hand. "Prat. You know what I mean. Until I met you. Until I knew you."

Draco sets the pasta down and crosses his arms over his chest. Harry's voice sounds too soft for just-friends, and what he's saying sounds too sweet, but Draco doesn't want to allow himself to hope for anything more. He can't let himself read into things; he doesn't want to end up hurt. He turns away from Harry as he says, "I do. I know what you mean." When he's met with silence, he lifts his head. Harry is watching him, his eyebrows raised and his eyes fond. Draco can feel want pulsing through his chest, so he nods to the pan on the stove and says, "The sauce is burning."

"Shit," Harry says, breaking away from him and taking the sauce off the stove.

"I thought you were supposed to be the chef," Draco comments, moving away.

Harry just laughs and nudges him aside, taking the spoon from the counter. "I can save it if you stop distracting me." He nods to the plates on the counter. "Go take those to the dining room."

"Oh, it's me distracting you," Draco mutters, but takes the plates anyways, smiling as he walks

- into the office. He slings his work bag on the back of his chair and throws himself into it before pushing his head into his arms. His head is throbbing again; it feels like someone cast a stunner on his brain. Under the cover of his shirtsleeves, he counts the seconds until he has to lift his head once more and get to work, get to that infernal creature and all of the peppery wards that O'Grady left that afternoon.

He sits up and sighs, stretching his back and rolling his neck and casting his eyes over the office until they land on a particularly unexpected figure. Harry Potter is standing at the door to Dr Bennet's office, leaning against the wall. His Auror robes are buttoned to his chin, the first time Draco has seen him looking professional in all of the Tuesdays and Thursdays since he started at the ministry. He's looking over the office with keen eyes, scanning the cramped desks and tired employees until they land on Draco and he does a double take. Draco presses his lips together and nods a curt greeting. Potter returns it.

Draco sighs and picks up his work bag once more. It's five minutes until seven, and O'Grady will be wanting to get back to that wife he likes to talk about so much. He heaves the bag onto his shoulder and starts to the door at the back of the room, making his way past Potter. He expects them to pass each other in silence- after all, that's what usually happens. Instead, Potter calls out,

"Looks like you could use an enervate right about now."

Draco looks over at him. Somehow he's gotten his hair to lie somewhat flat and Draco can see the echo of a potions holder under his robes, typical of Aurors who are about to go on missions. He looks more professional than Draco has ever seen him, all except for the ratty trainers on his feet. Somehow, they're reassuring to Draco, reminding him that the man who stands before him is the same scrawny teen he went to school with.

"That or a stunner," Draco replies. "Knock me out and someone else can deal with my shift."

Potter laughs and it's deep and hearty. Draco's stomach flips over and he suddenly feels a bit unsteady on his feet. "I'm afraid I'm not supposed to do that in uniform," Potter says, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"That's too bad," Draco murmurs. "What are you here for, anyways?"

Potter sobers up quickly. "My department is collaborating with yours on a case." Suddenly he looks a bit sheepish. "I'm afraid I can't tell you about it if you don't have clearance."

"That's alright," Draco says, shrugging. "We have plenty of things that neither you nor your department are privy to."

Potter's eyes drift over his shoulder and to the door behind him. Draco is surprised he can see it, what with all of the wards and notice-me-not charms layered over it, but maybe he shouldn't be. After all, Potter has always been ridiculously powerful.

"You know, I'm surprised to see you here," Harry says, focusing back on Draco. "I knew you got off at this floor, but I never expected to see you in this department."

Draco smiles slightly. Many people have said the same thing to him over the years and he lets it roll off of him. "Trust me, neither did I."

The door beside Potter opens and Draco can see Dr Bennet gesture him in. Potter steps through, nodding a goodbye at Draco before he disappears into the office. Draco stands there for a moment more before remembering O'Grady and his insipid wife and turning back to the door.

He opens it and O'Grady sighs in relief. It only seems to take seconds for him to gather his things and leave the room, tossing a "Good luck!" to Draco over his shoulder before Draco is left alone. Well, mostly alone…

"It's just you and me," he says to the cage, where the creature lurks in the shadows. He sets his bag on the floor next to his chair and sits

- on a plush, purple chair in the headmaster's office. McGonagall is seated across the desk from him, watching him over her rectangular spectacles. She purses her lips at his silence before pushing a tartan tin across the desk.

"Take a ginger newt," she says, tapping the lip.

He shakes his head. "No, thank you."

"Take one," she says again, her eyes narrowing.

He does.

"Do you know why you're here, Mr Malfoy?" she asks, folding her fingers together. Although it's strange to see her behind the headmaster's desk, Draco has to admit that it's a natural position for her. In the years since the end of the war, her only move to redecorate seems to have been to replace the chair she is sitting on right now. Draco doesn't remember what it used to be, but he assumes that Dumbledore didn't have the same penchant for green tartan that McGonagall does.

He casts his eyes away as he answers. "I didn't turn in my career form." Beyond the watery glass of the windows behind McGonagall, the early spring sun is shining over the castle grounds, illuminating the lake and the forbidden forest. If Draco didn't know better, he wouldn't have thought a battle had taken place here at all.

"That's right," McGonagall says. "I understand if you're having some doubts about your future, but I want to assure you that I will try to help you to the best of my ability. I remember you wanted to be a potions master when you first registered for the O.W.L.s- is that still something you're considering?"

Draco thinks of Severus, of the promises he made and broke. Of the way Draco treated him before he died. He thinks of his potions grade this year and the way it's fallen too far to fix. He just can't bear to crack open the textbook, can't stand to sit in a class that's taught by someone other than Snape.

He shakes his head. McGonagall purses her lips again.

"If you're worried about your grades, I am sure something can be worked out," she says, but he shakes his head again. She sighs. "Honestly, Mr. Malfoy, it's been a hard couple of years for everyone. I'm sure future employers would be willing to forgive some substandard-"

"But would they be able to forgive this?" he asks, pulling up the shirtsleeve covering his forearm. To her credit, McGonagall doesn't recoil at the sight of the Mark, she just observes him over the tops of her glasses.

She clears her throat and says, "Please give it a little consideration, Mr Malfoy. If there are any subjects you are interested in, any at all." At his silence, she continues. "I've noticed that you've been doing quite well in Care of Magical Creatures…"

Draco frowns, but he can't dispute it. He's not even sure why he is still enrolled in the class- he always thought it was a joke- but at the start of the year he hadn't cared enough to change it. Now, halfway into the spring term, it's the only class he can bear to sit through. It's the only class that doesn't remind him of the war, of the things he saw, of the mistakes he made…

"I know that there are some positions opening at the ministry next year, at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

He scoffs. "As if they'd allow another Malfoy into the Ministry."

"I'm sure with an excellent letter of recommendation from the Headmistress of Hogwarts and from the Care of Magical Creatures professor, things could be arranged," she says, with a small glint in her eye.

"You'd do that?" Draco asks, surprised. He'd always assumed McGonagall saw him as an annoyance or problem she was biding her time to be rid of, rather than a student worth helping.

"Of course, Draco," she says. "We always want the best for our students here."

"But-" He hesitates, thinking of Hagrid and all of the awful ways he's treated him over the years. All the times he's tried to get him fired. "Would Ha- Professor Hagrid do that? I've not been…" He trails off, not willing to voice his past mistakes.

She gives him a knowing look. "Then I suggest apologising, if you see that there are things you have to apologise for."

"I do," Draco tells her. "I just don't want it to seem like I'm only apologizing so that he will give me a letter of recommendation."

"Then I suggest you really mean it," she says, pulling the tin of ginger newts back towards her. She takes the lid off and picks one out. "And then, of course, they always say the best apology is changed behavior."

"Yes ma'am," he replies, tugging on a fray in his sleeve.

She takes a bite of the biscuit and shoos him away with her hand. "Go on, you're dismissed," she says. "I want your career form at the end of the month."

"Thank you professor," he says, standing. He leaves her eating ginger newts, surrounded by the mumbling portraits of past professors, as he pushes open the large wooden doors and stumbles

- out of the back room. Despite working the nightshift for the past few days, he still feels sluggish as he nods to Huang, the next person on the early morning shift. He blinks under the fluorescents of the office- he's surprised to see it lit so late at night. It's three in the morning and the only people he expected to see in the department were him and Huang, and yet, it seems that someone else is here as well.

It takes a second for him to recognise Harry Potter sitting at one of the previously empty desks at the corner of the room. He looks up when Draco exits the room and nods, bleary eyed, his hair a mess, before looking back down at the papers in front of him. They've seen each other enough in the past few weeks, what with Potter collaborating with Draco's department, so he doesn't even think about it as he walks over to greet him.

"Potter," he says, and Potter raises his head to look up at him again. There are dark circles under his eyes and his shoulders are tensely bent over the stack of scattered paper and files. He's taken off his Auror robes and crumpled them into a ball on the chair next to him; Draco moves it to the table and takes a seat. "What are you doing here?"

Potter rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Working on the case. I feel like I'm nearly there, I just have to-"

"Sleep?" Draco suggests. He looks around the room, but it seems empty besides them. "Where are your teammates?"

"They went home a few hours ago. I just didn't want to go when I feel so close." He makes a frustrated noise and leafs through the papers and photographs in front of him. Draco sees a grainy photo of what looks like a potions lab and the word ashwinder snake written on the top of one of the pages. Harry sets them down abruptly. "All the words are starting to blend together. I'm starting to get my venoms mixed up with my veritaserum." He sighs. "And I'm starving."

Draco's stomach chooses that moment to growl. Harry looks up and raises an eyebrow. Draco shrugs and says, "You're not the only one who's been working through the night." Then, throwing all caution to the wind, he adds, "You wouldn't want to get something to eat, would you? I think the cafeteria is closed, but there's a twenty-four hour Tesco Express just outside the ministry entrance."

"Tesco?" Potter says, already shuffling his papers back into their folder and locking it with a wordless charm. "Who are you?"

Draco shrugs, but smiles.

Potter gathers his things and then they both take the lift back to the ground floor of the ministry. It's strange to see it so abandoned- the only person Draco can see is the security guard, who is flipping through a volume of Witch Weekly and not paying them any mind.

They step into a phone booth together, which is an uncomfortably tight fit, and take the guest entrance out. As they rise to meet above-ground London, Draco can see that the city is not quite as deserted. It's much emptier than it is on any given day, but there are a few people who are still wandering the streets or pouring out of bars and clubs among groups of drunk friends. Nobody notices as Draco and Harry step from a phone booth that they were never seen entering.

They walk down the streets under the flickering of lit signs that sit above dark storefronts. Several cars pass them on the road, their headlights casting shadows against the building facades. They only have to walk a couple of blocks before the brightly lit windows of the Tesco are visible. The sliding doors open for them automatically, something that still surprises Draco every time it happens.

The Tesco is unsurprisingly empty as well, save for an irritable looking cashier with an upside-down name tag at the register. They walk down the shelves with a cart, picking anything off the shelves that looks good: packets of walkers crisps and jaffa cakes and hobnobs. They stop by the prepared sandwiches and Draco throws a chicken salad sandwich into the cart while Potter grabs an egg and bacon, saying, "It's nearly breakfast, anyways."

They checkout with the irritable cashier, who refuses to talk to them throughout the entire process, not that they mind. Then they carry their food outside, to the shadows between the halo of the streetlights to shrink it and put it into Draco's bag.

"Where to next?" Harry asks, looking at Draco with a grin. Draco smiles back tentatively.

"I'm not really sure," he says. "I think there's a park near here. A few blocks that way." He points down the street, where it intersects with the next one over.

"Sounds good," Potter says, and begins walking. Draco gets the sandwiches out of his bag and hands Potter his egg and bacon. They eat in silence as they walk, until they reach a small park with trimmed grass intersected with lines of pavement, all meeting at a small, circular fountain in the center. They choose one of the benches to sit at and Draco piles all of the food between them and returns it to its original size.

"I swear, I'm going to be nocturnal by the time this case is over," Potter says, opening a package of jaffa cakes.

Draco steals one from the package. "Tell me about it. I'm on the night shift for the next month." Covering his full mouth, he asks, "What is your case about, anyway?"

Harry gives him an odd look and Draco quickly swallows and looks away. He rarely thinks about manners anymore since he's been living on his own, away from his mother. Usually, the only one he has to worry about being decorous around is himself, and he rarely cares about such things anymore.

"You know I'm not supposed to tell you," Potter says, now opening a packet of crisps. The sound of the plastic seems magnified in the quiet park, but neither of them pay any mind to it.

"I saw one of the pages titled with ashwinder," Draco admits.

Potter sighs, but he doesn't seem bothered. "You've always been too nosey for your own good," he says.

"I'm too nosey? Don't think I've forgotten about sixth year," Draco counters, and immediately regrets it. Sixth year is not something he likes to be reminded of, and telling by the look on Potter's face, he shares the same opinion. He quickly pivots, saying, "Is it illegal smuggling? I know their eggs are quite valuable for potions, among other things."

Potter's expression changes to one of surprise, and then humor. "And clever," he amends. "You were always too clever, too."

Draco looks away to steal one of the opened walker's bags. He can feel his face flush and he hopes it's not visible in the darkness of the park. "Not really," he says, "smuggling is just the most common thing my department is called on to collaborate with the Aurors for. If you know anything about ashwinders, it's an easy connection to make."

"An easy connection to make," Potter mocks. "I didn't even know what an ashwinder was until this case. Never would have guessed 'snake'."

"That's because you never paid attention in Potions," Draco teases. "There's a story about them in The Tales of Beedle the Bard, too."

Potter points at himself. "Raised by muggles, remember?"

"Fair point," Draco concedes, shrugging.

"What about you?" Potter asks, grabbing the crisp packet from Draco's lap and ignoring his indigent "Hey!" He grins and places a crisp in his mouth. "What's that mysterious door at the back of the department? Does it have to do with your case?"

"You know I'm not supposed to tell you," Draco parrots from what Potter said earlier.

"I showed you mine," Potter says with a grin.

Draco returns it. "Touché."

"Well?" Potter asks, adjusting to face Draco and leaning his side against the back of the bench.

"It's the backroom," Draco explains. "Where we keep some of the creatures before we release them in their natural habitat. Like, after you solve your case, all of the ashwinders you find will be kept back there." He pauses and Potter gestures for him to continue. "Well, we found a boarya."

"A boarya?" Potter asks, his eyes going wide.

Draco nods. "We're keeping it there until some officials from the Madagascar ministry can come take it back. In the meantime, Dr Bennet's assigned people to guard it around the clock."

"And you're the poor bastard with the night shift," Potter says and Draco nods. "What does it look like?"

"I don't know," Draco says. "We have to keep the room dark, so I haven't seen it."

Potter gulps. "And have you seen-"

"No," Draco shakes his head. "We have to stay seven feet away at all times so it can't get in our heads."

"Do you ever get curious?" Potter asks, leaning forward.

"No," Draco says, perhaps more forcefully than is necessary. "Besides, we have boggarts for that. At least we have a spell to defend against them."

"Merlin," Potter breathes. "How did you even get into all of this? I can't say I remember you being so keen on Care of Magical Creatures back in school."

"I wasn't," Draco admits. The food between them has been abandoned in favour of their conversation, but he still fiddles with the discarded wrapper of their packet of hobnobs. "After the- after everything, it was the only class that didn't remind me of something awful. Potions was torture, and Defense just made me feel...well. It was the only class I could face. With my grades and with my letter of recommendations from Headmistress McGonagall and Hagrid…" He trails off.

"What is it?" Potter asks, but Draco can't say. He's having the most peculiar sense of deja-vu, so strong he feels like he might keel over.

The memory of that day in McGonagall's office, when they talked about his career path and letters of recommendation seems like just yesterday, just a few hours ago even. He can vividly remember the tartan chair and the taste of ginger newts on his tongue, even the feeling of the spring sunlight warming the air. After so many years these are details he should have long forgotten, but he can remember them as distinctly as if he were feeling them now.

"Are you alright?" Potter asks, his eyebrows drawn up in concern. His eyes are bright with worry. He imagines if he looks as awful as he feels, he must be a frightful sight.

"I'm not feeling well, all of the sudden," he says. "Must be the chicken salad."

"Too many jaffa cakes," Harry attempts to joke, but it falls flat under the concern in his voice.

"I think I might go home," Draco says, standing. He wobbles on his feet and Potter quickly reaches out a hand to steady him, settling it on his hip. If anything, it makes Draco more dizzy.

"Are you okay to apparate?" Potter asks.

"Yeah, I'll be alright," Draco reassures him. "I think it's just a headache coming on. I just need some sleep, is all."

"If you say so," Potter says, doubt obvious in his voice.

Draco grabs Potter's hand and takes it off of his hip before standing back. "I'll see you on Tuesday," he says.

Just as he's apparating away, Potter says, "Tuesday?" with a puzzled look on his face that disappears as Draco lands in front of the door to his flat.

He stumbles and grabs the handle, turning the key in the lock before stumbling

- through the doors of St Mungo's. His heart is racing as he goes to the front desk and slams his hand down on the bell, ignoring the patients sitting in the waiting room. A haggled nurse turns in her chair to give him an unimpressed look.

"Potter," he pants. "Harry Potter."

She purses her lips. "I don't remember him coming in tonight."

"Please," Draco says. He feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest and his hands are shaking where they grip the desk. "I know his team came in. They had a mission that went wrong...please."

She just shakes her head and says, "I remember a group of Aurors coming in, but we haven't yet logged individual patient status." She ruffles through some of the papers on her desk and grabs a memo out of the air, quickly scanning it before setting it aside. "I apologise, sir, but we don't have confirmation that he's been checked in. You can feel free to wait in the guest area until we have more information."

Draco wants to argue, wants to demand to be let beyond the swinging doors so he can see for himself if Harry is alright, but the nurse looks tired and there's a panicked family that just came into the room holding a child with flowers sprouting out of her arm, so he acquiesces to sit down in the waiting door.

Even at this time of night, the hospital is full. There's a man opposite him whose knee is bent the wrong way, although he doesn't seem too concerned by it, and a woman whose skin seems to have turned stripy and rainbow. Sitting here is making Draco's mind run wild, imagining different things that might have happened to Harry. Draco had warned him about going on a mission while injured, but Harry's always been too bullheaded for his own good.

Draco closes his eyes to the hospital waiting room, hoping to block out the worry that's tightening in his chest.

It seems like it's only a minute later when he hears a voice call, "Draco!"

He opens his eyes and

- sits up in his bed. Late morning light streams in through his window. He blinks the sleep from his eyes and massages his neck. He seems to have slept on it wrong, because the crick in it is already giving him a headache.

A strong rapping at the window reminds him of what woke him up. Past the glass he can see an irate owl banging a foot against the glass, its other holding a roll of parchment. He quickly gets up to let it in before any of his muggle neighbors can see.

The owl hops to one of his bedposts and waits for Draco to find a couple of sickles to hand it. As soon as it receives the money, it deposits the letter on the end of his bed and takes off through the same open window.

Draco picks up the letter and unrolls it, desperately hoping he isn't being called in to work on his day off. Instead, in a messy scrawl across the page in what looks like pencil, is Potter's handwriting. The letter states:

Solved the case!

Want to trade in a midnight meal for a midday one? Meet me at noon at the ministry visitor entrance.

~ Harry

Draco stares at the note, and especially at the name at the bottom. It would be daft to expect Potter to sign his letters with just his surname, as Draco has always referred to him, but seeing his name at the bottom of the page seems so familiar that it makes Draco's hands sweat. He supposes it's appropriate, though- after all, they might as well be friends now, or at least friendly acquaintances.

It doesn't seem like Potter- Harry- is expecting a response, so Draco doesn't give him one. It's an hour until noon, so he enjoys a leisurely morning before taking the tube to the ministry entrance.

Approaching the phone booth, he sees a head of unruly black hair and calls out, "Po- Harry!"

Harry turns around and, upon seeing Draco, smiles. He's traded in his Auror robes for something that will blend in a bit more with the daytime muggle crowd: fitted jeans and a soft looking knit jumper. He's still wearing the tatty trainers that Draco had noticed before, and of course, the round glasses that have become his trademark.

"Are you feeling better?" Harry asks as Draco approaches him.

"Much," Draco says. "It must have been a lack of sleep. With my work hours being what they are, and the dreams I've been having…" He shakes his head. "I'm feeling better now."

"I'm glad to hear it," Harry says. "You kind of freaked me out the other day. I thought you were going to faint."

"So did I," Draco admits. "Things will probably return to normal once my case is finished. Speaking of- congratulations on finishing your own case."

Harry rubs the back of his neck and his skin flushes. "Oh, thank you. I might have been a bit overzealous in my note to you. It's not finished quite yet, but we know where the smugglers have set up base. We just need to go in and arrest them and then it will be over."

They begin walking down the street, Draco following as Harry leads them around crowds of people in suits and tourists with cameras hanging from straps around their necks. They find their way into a small Indian restaurant, with dirty orange booths packed with students. The scent of spices hangs thick in the air as they go up to the counter. Harry orders for them two servings of lamb biryani.

"Sorry, I forgot to ask if you like lamb," he says as the cashier disappears into the kitchen. "It's just that this is my favourite."

"I do," Draco assures him. They find an empty booth and Draco brushes the paper straw wrappers to the side when they sit down.

"It's not very fancy," Harry says, "but it's cheap and it's good. I practically lived on this stuff when I was going through my training."

"I'm surprised they even made you go through training," Draco says, rolling the receipt back and forth with his fingers.

"They didn't," Harry says, amusement sparkling in his eyes. "I had to force them to let me take the program."

Draco laughs, despite himself. He shakes his head. "Of course you did."

"You defeat one dark lord and then everyone thinks you're special," Harry jokes. "It only took a few weeks of placing fairly average in the course for them to realise I'm not."

"Oh, spare me," Draco snorts. "You're very special."

"You think so?" Harry asks. Draco looks up from the receipt he's now rolling into a ball. Harry's expression looks strangely hopeful; his eyes are wide and his bottom lip is catching nervously on his teeth.

Draco clears his throat. "Of course."

"You never seemed to think so before," Harry says.

Draco shakes his head. "I never said so," he argues. "Doesn't mean I wasn't thinking it. Why do you think I was such a shit to you? It's hard not to be jealous of the boy wonder."

Harry opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, the cashier yells, "Order fifty five!"

Draco looks down at the crumpled receipt in his hand. "That's us," he says and adds, "Sorry," when he hands the ruined paper to Harry. Harry just grins and strides up to the front counter, where the cashier hands him two containers of food. He takes it back to the table, bringing with him the scent of lamb and saffron.

As they eat, their conversation flows easily, which is surprising to Draco. With their history, he never expected them to even interact beyond ignoring each other in the lift, but in the few weeks since Draco has been working his case and Harry has been working his, they seem to have arrived somewhere near friends. Harry is easy to talk to: unpretentious and passionate and funny in a surprisingly sarcastic way. Despite his misgivings, Draco feels that he can relax around him.

When their plates have been cleaned and Draco is feeling uncomfortably full, Harry looks at his watch and swears.

"Shit," he says as he begins to pile their plates on top of each other. "I was supposed to be back at the department fifteen minutes ago."

"Oh, shit," Draco agrees, and helps him clear their table. "Are you going to get in trouble?"

"Nah," Harry says, but his expression seems doubtful. "It's just a team meeting with Robards. We're planning our mission to seize the smuggled animals."

"That's happening already?"

"No," Harry shakes his head. "Not for another week, at least. We need to prepare beforehand, and Robards wants to wait until Seamus' mission is over so we can have some more manpower. He's expecting this to be a pretty big bust."

"I don't want to keep you, then," Draco says, throwing their plastic cutlery in the bin.

Harry smiles and pauses before going through the door. "Since I'm not leaving for a week...want to get lunch again?"

Draco's heart sputters in his chest at the look Harry gives him. "When?"

"Tomorrow?" Harry asks. "We can meet in the courtyard when you've got a break. Just send me a note."

"Alright," Draco agrees and Harry smiles. He steps through the door, leaving Draco standing alone by the bins. Draco blinks, then shakes himself. Fancying Harry is not a good idea, even if they are friends now. He knows it can only end in heartache.

Draco sighs and, as another group of students enters the restaurant, slips out the door and out to

- the hallway. The lift door closes behind him with a snap. Everything is dark and silent and still and Draco can hear his own panting breaths as he steps back in horror. Only one of the lights lining the ceiling hasn't been shattered; it flickers weakly, illuminating the carnage below. The ugly linoleum floor, the tan walls, even bits of the ceiling are streaked and splattered with blood. There's an acrid scent to it; the smell of iron makes Draco sick. He heaves and doubles over, closing his eyes before remembering why he came here.

Harry.

He straightens and takes a step forward. His shoes slide in the blood on the floor and it stains his soles, making him feel unsteady. Urgency is tugging him forward, but he pauses.

He feels like he's been here before.

Not just this hallway- he walks down it every day to go to work- but here. Now. He takes a slow step forward, trying to remember. It feels like the images are slipping between his fingers, like waking up from a dream only to have it disappear once you open your eyes.

He knows that Harry is somewhere at the end of the hall, beyond the door to his department, but he doesn't remember how he knows. He doesn't remember anything before he stepped off of the lift to find gore covering the walls and floor.

He can't stop himself from moving forward, despite his doubts. If Harry is in danger, nothing matters except for getting to him. His head is pounding as he makes his way to the door at the end of the hall. It feels like it's splitting open as he grasps the doorknob and pushes it open to run into

- the office, the door to the back room closing behind him. A memo flutters around his head and he grabs it out of the air, unfolding it.

Lunch? - H

"What's got you smiling like that?" O'Grady asks, passing through the wards around the door.

"Nothing," Draco says, shoving the note in his pocket. "Is your shift starting?"

O'Grady sighs. "Yeah, just as soon as Bracklehurst gets off. Merlin, I hate the feeling of her magic. It's like sandpaper."

Draco nods, and gives him a look he hopes looks sympathetic. "She'll be back from the bathroom in a few minutes. I was just covering for her." He wrinkles his nose. "Apparently you shouldn't eat the coronation chicken they're serving at the cafeteria today."

O'Grady claps him on the shoulder. "I'll remember that. Hey, Draco, do you mind if I ask you something a little personal?"

Draco bristles a bit, but the expression on O'Grady's face has changed so starkly, going from its usual open friendliness to worried and tired, that he leans in and nods.

"You haven't been having any...dreams, have you?" he whispers to Draco. His hand on Draco's shoulder is shaking a little bit.

"Dreams?" Draco asks, although the idea prickles at the back of his mind. Distantly, he remembers a foot slipping on linoleum and the acrid scent of iron in the air.

"Dreams," O'Grady says, nodding. From this close, Draco can see his heavy eyebags and the redness in his eyes. "Every night I dream about Maureen dying in the most horrible ways."

Maureen. The wife. Draco shakes his head. "I haven't been experiencing anything like that," he says, but as soon as it's out of his mouth, he realizes it's a lie. He's not sure how he knows- he has no memories of the dreams to back himself up- but he knows it's not the truth.

O'Grady stands up and leans away from Draco. "Okay, then. I thought if it was the both of us that maybe it might be…" His gaze goes to the door next to them and Draco looks as well. It should be impossible; as far as Draco knows, they should stay safe as long as they're seven feet away.

"I'd talk to Dr Bennet," Draco tells him as Bracklehurst arrives. She looks at them curiously as Draco says, "She might know something more about it. If not- there's always Dreamless Sleep."

O'Grady nods solemnly and turns to Bracklehurst for the shift hand off. Draco leaves them to it and heads back to his seat. The feeling of deja-vu he's been experiencing these past couple of weeks is tugging at his mind, but he tries to ignore it as he pulls out the note from Harry. He unfolds it and writes back.

I've got some work to finish up, but I'll see you at 1?

He taps it with his wand and sends it on its way before sitting down on

- the park bench.

"I swear, I'm going to be nocturnal by the time this case is over," Potter says, opening a package of jaffa cakes.

Draco steals one from the package. "Tell me about it. I'm on the night shift for the next month." He covers his mouth and pauses. "This feels strange," he says.

Harry peers at the cake in his hand. "You don't think it's gone off, do you? Do jaffa cakes have an expiration date?"

Draco shakes his head. "No, not this," he says, putting the jaffa cake down. "This situation. I feel like I've been here before."

"Really?" Harry asks, scooting closer and angling himself to face Draco. Draco can see his reflection in his glasses, so he looks away. "What happened then?"

"We sat down," Draco says, trying to remember. "Then you talked about work-"

"I'm not supposed to tell you about that," Harry says.

"I know, that's what you said before."

Harry frowns at him. The food between them has been forgotten, and it gets crumpled as Harry swings his legs onto the seat and crosses them. "Then what?"

"Then I told you about my work. About the boarya."

"A boarya?" Potter asks, his eyes going wide.

Draco nods. "Then...we talked about school. And about my career. How I ended up here."

"How did you end up here?" Harry asks. Draco can't even see his eyes behind his glasses anymore, all he can see is himself.

"Care of Magical Creatures was the only class that didn't remind me of something awful," Draco repeats, "It was the only class I could-"

"Face," Harry says. "It was the only class you could face." He sits back. Draco can barely see Harry anymore, he just sees a shadow with glasses, and his own face. "That tracks," Harry says. "Draco Malfoy can never face anything. He's always turning away, or better yet, running away. Running away from choices he refuses to make, from feelings he refuses to admit, and most of all, away from himself." A very un-Harry-like sneer appears on his face. "You always were a coward."

"What?" Draco says, scrambling back. He stands up and backs away from Harry on the bench.

Harry laughs. "Where are you going, Draco? Running away again? It's what you always do, isn't it?"

As Draco apparates away, he can still hear the sound of Harry's laughter behind him. He arrives in front of his flat, not even caring if his muggle neighbours heard the crack of apparition, and opens the door to

- Hagrid's hut. He steps in slowly, awkwardly, and looks around. There's a large open fire with a copper kettle burning over it and overhead hang several dead pheasants and rabbits. The counters are cluttered with bottles of potions and firewhisky and doxycide, put in no definite order and laden with dust and overnight cobwebs. On the opposite side of the room is a door, which Draco presumes leads to his bedroom, a new addition since the original hut was burned down.

"Have a seat," Hagrid says gruffly. He sits on one of the dining table chairs and it groans underneath him

Draco does as he's told and pulls out one of the other chairs.

"Tea? Cake?" Hagrid offers, holding out a plate of lumpy objects that look like rocks. Unwilling to deny them when he's trying to make nice with him, Draco accepts.

"Thank you," he says. "I presume McGonagall told you why I'm here."

"She didn't tell me nothing," Hagrid grunts, pouring them both cups of tea in the largest mugs Draco has ever seen. "I presume she wants to let you do that yourself."

Draco coughs lightly. "Um, yes. I guess so." He takes a deep breath and focuses his eyes on the bottle of doxycide that's balanced precariously over the sink. "I wanted to apologise."

Hagrid stops bobbing his teabag and looks up. He raises a furry eyebrow and says, "Really?"

"Yes," Draco says, chancing a look at the man. Hagrid's face is unusually impassive. "I realise that I was...awful to you over the years and I regret it very much. You never deserved the cruelty I treated you with and it was wrong of me to treat you that way. There's no excuse for my behavior-"

"There's a little excuse," Hagrid interrupts. His voice sounds oddly gravelly as he adds, "Must not've been easy, having a father like Lucius."

"It wasn't," Draco agrees. "But even if that...explains my behavior, it doesn't excuse it. Harry Potter had shit- sorry- bad guardians and look how he turned out." Draco tries not to let his bitterness bleed into his voice as he talks about Potter; he knows Hagrid's partial to him and his whole Gryffindor posse. "What I mean to say is- sorry. And I wish I had appreciated you and your class more because I've actually been enjoying it quite a bit this year and-"

Draco is interrupted by the sound of a loud sob as Hagrid lets his head fall into his hands. Draco turns his head back to him in shock as another loud sob is wrenched out of the half-giant's body.

"Are- are you okay?" he asks, reaching out a tentative hand to pat his shoulder.

Hagrid looks up. His face is streaked with tears and snot is collecting in his beard, but he has a wide smile and crinkles at the corners of his eyes that betray the real reason behind the tears. "Oh, c'mear," he says, pulling Draco into a hug.

Draco struggles to breathe as he's crushed in Hagrid's arms, his face buried in Hagrid's moleskin coat. Above him, Hagrid is saying, "It was touch and go there for a few years, but we always wanted the best for you, me n'all the professors. It seems like you're finally growing up to be a-" he lets Draco go to blow his nose on a handkerchief the size of a pillowcase. "I'm not going to lie, I didn't always like you, Malfoy, but I always believed in you. You always got the best grades in my class, I thought you had to be paying attention, even if it seemed like you weren't."

"I was," Draco says.

"An' if you ever thought about going for a job with the ministry, just come to me and I'll give you a letter of recommendation. I'd be honoured."

"Really?" Draco says. He hadn't thought it would be this easy- honestly, he expected no small amount of begging.

"Really," Hagrid says. "I'd be happy to." He looks out the window, over the darkening castle grounds. "I think you ought to go- curfew is sure to start soon."

"Eighth years don't have curfew," Draco says automatically, getting out of his seat, and then, "Thank you so much."

Hagrid claps him on the back and he stumbles. "You better get going, Mr Malfoy. You don't want to have to face any more of my blubbering."

"What?" Draco says, stopping. Something tugs on the back of his mind and he turns to look at Hagrid. "What did you say?"

Hagrid gives him a strange look. "I said you don't want to see any more of my blubbering," he says. "Are you alright Mr Malfoy?"

"I'm...fine," Draco says, turning back to the door. He catches his reflection in the window for a second and startles. "Just a bit of a headache."

"Alright then." Hagrid opens the door. "I'll be seeing you in class tomorrow. Don't forget- eleven inches on boaryas."

"We studied those in fifth year," Draco says, but Hagrid is already pushing him out the door and

- into the kitchen, where Harry is standing over the stove, knocking the wooden spoon in his hand against the edge of the pan.

"How'd you get in here?" Draco says, coming next to Harry and looking down into the simmering contents of the pan.

Harry knocks his shoulder against him and stirs the sauce. "I broke in," he says, removing the spoon and tapping it three times against the edge of the pan before setting it on the counter. "Using that handy key you gave me."

"No, something's wrong," Draco says, backing away.

"How can anything be wrong when I'm cooking you this lovely dinner?" Harry says, still leaning over the saucepan.

"No, I've done this before," Draco says. "We've done this before."

"Really?" Harry asks. "When?"

Draco struggles to remember. His head feels as slow and sticky as molasses and he tries to sift through his thoughts and memories futilely.

"What happened before this? Do you remember?" Harry asks, still stirring the past, his back toward Draco. "What about after?"

"I don't...I don't…" Draco struggles. He closes his eyes and turns away before turning back to Harry. "Look at me," he commands. "Turn around."

Harry does as he is told and he's just Harry. Draco doesn't know what he expected, but it's just Harry as he's always known him- same tousled hair, same green green eyes, same insufferably handsome smirk.

"Are you okay?" Harry asks.

"Of course," Draco says. He's not sure why but he walks forward and takes off Harry's glasses and puts them on the counter.

"I don't know what I would do without you." Harry murmurs, a breath away from Draco's mouth, and the hair at the back of his neck stands up.

"What?"

"No, no," Harry murmurs, his arms around Draco, but instead of comforted, he just feels trapped. Behind them, the pot of pasta is beginning to boil over. "This is when you say 'Oh, because you're such an invallid?' y'know, because of my cast, and then I say, 'No, because I didn't know what I was doing until I met you.'"

"What's going on?" Draco asks. Harry laughs and he can feel it reverberate in his chest.

"I don't know, Draco, what is going on? Why did you take my glasses off? What didn't you want to see in them?"

Draco pulls away from Harry and, without looking back, runs out of the room, banging his leg against

- his desk table. He curses and steadies his trembling coffee cup. Looking up again, he sees Harry walking through the department door, limping slightly as he weaves his way through the desks. He's covered in dirt and grime, his crimson Auror robes caked in mud and torn at the shoulder. There's a fresh sling hanging from his neck and in it is his arm, wrapped in a thick cast.

"What happened to you?" Draco asks, giving him an obvious once over.

Harry grins. "It was a stunner," he says. "Though it wasn't too bad until I tripped on my shoelaces and fell down the stairs."

Draco looks at the filthy trainers on his feet. "I don't see why you don't wear the standard dragonhide boots. They're equipped with anti-untying charms."

"These are much more comfortable," Harry says, shuffling his feet.

"Did you at least catch the smugglers?" Draco asks. "When did you get back?"

"Just came from St Mungo's," Harry says. "Headed right over. And yeah, at least we think so. There's been evidence..."

"Evidence?"

Harry frowns. "We think they might be part of a larger operation. You know the people that smuggled in your boarya?" Draco nods. "They may be part of it."

"So, are you here to report to Dr Bennet?"

Harry shakes his head. "No, she met us at Mungos. We're having a case meeting about it tomorrow. I just wanted to, er, see you."

Draco's breath catches in his chest. "Me?"

"Yeah." Harry's smile is breathtaking, despite the dirt and mud, or perhaps because of it. Because of what it means. "Want to get lunch?"

Draco smiles widely. "Yeah," he says. "Lunch sounds good. Let me pack up? I'll meet you at the courtyard."

"Alright," Harry says. He reaches out a hand and grasps Draco's in his for a moment, then let's go. "I'll be waiting for you."

"Okay," Draco says.

"Okay." Harry looks like he's about to go, but he pauses. "Are you free Tuesday night?"

"Tuesday night?"

He nods. "It's my night off. I was going to cook dinner for Hermione and Ron, but they had to cancel. Baby emergency."

Draco bites his lip. "Really? You cook?"

Harry grins. "I'm the chef of the friend group. But, er, I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me instead?"

"Instead of your friends…"

"Well, yeah," Harry says, looking slightly confused at Draco's tone. "I mean, we're friends too."

Draco sighs. "I guess we are," he says. "I have work that night, so I won't be off until three."

"That's alright," Harry says. "We can have another midnight meal. Although...I was going to cook at Ron and Hermione's. My kitchen isn't very, well…"

Draco shakes his head fondly. If being friends with Harry Potter is his lot in life, then he's willing to accept it. At least he gets to spend time with him. "You can cook at my place. Since I'm going to be so late, here"- he takes his keys out of his pockets and duplicates his house key with a charm- "you can have this. It's a muggle flat, so no wards. I can trust you not to burn down the place?"

Harry takes the key with wide eyes. There's a light flush dusting the tops of his cheekbones as he nods and smiles once more. "I'm always careful."

Draco raises an eyebrow at his cast. Harry just laughs, then raises his other hand in farewell as he begins to walk away. "I'll see you for lunch."

"Don't trip on your way to the elevator," Draco tells him, turning back around to reorganize his papers and start shuffling them into his bag.

He lifts it onto his shoulder and begins to walk out of the office but as he makes his way to the door, he passes O'Grady. When two weeks ago he looked slightly tired, now he looks dead on his feet. His hair is thin and flat against his skull and his eyes are sunken with exhaustion. Before he can stop himself, Draco says, "Merlin, you look terrible."

O'Grady lifts his head. He smiles vaguely when he sees Draco. "Alright?" he says.

"Are you?" Draco says. "I'm sorry, but you seem a bit-"

"It's the dreams," O'Grady says, his voice low. "I can't get a wink of sleep."

"Have you asked for a few days off? Or tried Dreamless Sleep?"

"I've tried it all," O'Grady says, his voice haggard. "Dreamless Sleep, Draught of the Living Death, Stunning spells- Maureen really liked that one- but nothing works. I took a few days off for the weekend, and it got a little better but...my family's got to eat."

"Why don't you ask Dr Bennet to assign you to a different case?" Draco asks.

"I don't see the point. I'm a safe seven feet away from the boarya at all times, plus, look at you- you seem fine. If it was the boarya, you'd look the same as I do."

"I guess so," Draco says doubtfully.

"Anyways, I've got to get to my shift." O'Grady yawns. "I'll see you later."

"Goodbye," Draco says, watching him walk towards the back room. He doesn't know what to do, so he just opens the door and steps into the hallway, walking until he reaches the lifts. He doesn't want to keep Harry waiting.

The lift doors slide open and he climbs in and turns around, facing

- the hectic ground floor. The lift is packed with tired ministry workers and paper aeroplane memos circling over their heads. Draco presses the button to his floor and waits as the lift doors begin to close with a grinding creak before someone calls out-

"Hold it!"

Draco jerks and then holds a hand out to keep the doors open as Harry Potter enters the lift, sweaty and dishevelled, his Auror robes hanging off of his lithe form. He throws a "thank you" over his shoulder and he slides in between Draco and an elderly witch with a large briefcase. He doesn't look at Draco. Draco doesn't look at him.

It must be a Tuesday, Draco thinks, and then, I know this Tuesday. It's the same as every Tuesday until Draco was assigned his new case, but Draco knows it's the same one as the day he first stepped into the backrooms and saw the boarya. He stands rod straight as the elevator takes them down to the first floor, then down to the second. The doors open, but before Harry can step out, Draco grabs his hand in a vice-like grip and tugs him back in.

Harry doesn't look at him and he doesn't look at Harry.

He waits until the rest of the people get out, until they're alone on the lift and descending to the last floor. Neither of them has said a word, and anxiety churns in the pit of Draco's stomach as he imagines what Harry must be thinking.

He doesn't drop his grip until they're on the last floor. The doors slide open, but no one comes in and Draco and Harry don't leave. As the doors slowly slide closed, Draco finally breaks the silence.

"Is there any way to stop the lifts?"

Harry looks down at him, confusion written over his features. "Why don't we just get off. If you need to talk, I'm sure there are some empty-"

"No, I can't get off," Draco says, with a certainty that he can't back up.

Harry sighs and hits a button that says Temporary Stop. The lift jerks to a stop and Harry steps away to face him. "Malfoy, what's going on?"

"What day is it?" Draco asks, quickly. He feels wired and on edge; he paces in the small space, setting the lift rocking slightly with his steps.

"Tuesday," Harry says. "The seventh, I think?"

"I thought so," Draco says. He remembers Tuesday the seventh, he's certain of it, but how would that make sense if he were living it right now. It hadn't gone like this last time, but then again, he didn't remember weeks of future dates last time either. "Something's wrong."

Harry's mouth pulls into a concerned frown and he pulls himself up to his full height, emphasizing his broad shoulders and his Auror badge. "Are you okay? Has something happened?"

"No," Draco says. "Or...not yet? I'm not sure."

Harry's authoritative expression falls as his eyebrows meet in confusion. "Sorry, I'm not sure what you mean."

"I mean I've been here before."

If anything, Harry seems more confused. "You mean the lift? I'd expect so since I see you here every other day."

Draco hisses his frustration. He's sure he recognizes this day, but he also recognizes this feeling. Has this happened before? It must have for him to feel this way, but how many times? He stops his pacing and turns to face Harry. "No, here. This moment. I've done this before."

"Really?" Harry's arms are crossed as he looks skeptically at Draco. "I don't remember you accosting me in a lift before."

"Merlin," Draco says, pinching the bridge of his nose. This conversation is already beginning to give him a headache, but he feels like he's so close to understanding what's going on. "Because this isn't what I did last time. Last time I just got off, like normal, and went to work. Then I got my case and...and you got your case collaborating with my department, and then we…"

"Then we what?" Harry asks, his eyes wide.

"It doesn't matter," Draco says, flushing as he waves a hand in the air. "What matters is that I'm remembering things from the future and I'm altering things from the past. That shouldn't be possible."

"Not unless you have a time turner," Harry says.

"A time turner," Draco says with a scoff, "Who has a time turner?"

Harry shrugs. "What else could it be? It's like you're not seeing time in a straight line, like you're hopping from one point in your timeline to another. What happened in our future?"

"The future," Draco murmurs, thinking hard. His head feels like it's being squeezed by an unrelenting vice. Flashes of memories appear in his mind like flipping through a photo album- their lunches in the courtyard, that first midnight meal, Harry coming to visit him after his mission with his injured arm, all those nights guarding the boarya and casting and recasting his wards, and, that horrible, horrible hallway with all of that blood.

The lift jerks and begins rising, throwing Draco and Harry against each other. They struggle to their feet and Harry holds Draco steady as he sways.

"It won't stop again," Harry says, although he is hitting the button repeatedly. "If this is the beginning, what happens next?"

"Is this the beginning?" Draco asks. The lift stops at the next floor and a portly old wizard gets on. He greets Harry warmly, but Harry either doesn't hear or he doesn't care. His eyes are on Draco and only Draco. "I need to get off," Draco says.

"Why?"

The lift doors are shutting, but Draco holds out a hand to keep them open. The portly man is making disgruntled noises and shifting on his feet impatiently, but they both ignore him

"Because I need to find out what comes next," Draco tells Harry, and turns away to

- look up at Harry. Harry is rubbing the back of his neck with his uninjured arm and saying, "I'm sorry I have to cancel pasta night. It's just that-"

"It's okay," Draco says. "I knew what I was getting into when I became friends with the chosen one."

Harry grimaces. "Ugh, don't call me that."

"Is 'the next Head Auror' better?" Draco teases.

"Please," Harry says, "I only got to lead a mission because Seamus was injured."

"Hmm, I wonder how much Seamus cancels on Dean," Draco says.

Harry rolls his eyes. "It'll only be until tomorrow night. After that, both our cases will be a wrap and we can go out for a proper dinner.."

Draco's ears catch on "go out", but he ignores it in favour of saying, "Are you sure you're alright to go with your arm like that?"

Harry frowns and lifts his casted arm. "Oh, this? It's fine- it's a low risk mission, anyway. Seamus is the lead- he's been chomping at the bit ever since his foot healed- and I'll be at the back of the action. They mostly just want me there because I have the most knowledge about the smugglers and their operation."

"Are you sure?" Draco asks, resting his hand on Harry's cast. He has the worst feeling about this, like something in him knows that something bad is going to happen. "Last time you came back with this, and that was with just the ashwinder group. This is the whole ring. If they were capable of bringing a boarya into the country…"

"I'll be fine," Harry reassures. "I promise. We'll be back tomorrow night and then I'll meet you here, during your shift. Okay?"

Draco frowns. He just can't shake off the feeling of wrongness in his chest, but he nods anyway and says, "Okay. Be safe."

Harry smiles. "When am I not," he says as he leaves, raising his cast in farewell.

Draco sighs and closes his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms into them until he can feel his heartbeat in his eyelids. He opens his

- eyes and sighs. Damn it. Still here.

Pansy leans on his shoulder, chewing minty smelling gum, and her chin is digging uncomfortably into his muscle. He shrugs her off and she harrumphs before folding her arms tetchily and focusing back on the lesson.

In front of them, Hagrid is pacing over the grass behind his hut, his hands waving as he talks about the new creature of the week. Draco's book is open on his lap and he's writing notes in the margins as he vaguely follows along to what he's saying, writing things like,

Found in Madagascar

Distraction is main method of offence

Thrives in a warm climate with lots of villagers to eat

Across the grass, Potter sits with his friends, the bushy Granger and the insufferable Weasley. He's paying close attention to the lesson, or at least pretending to, while Weasley seems to be doodling and Granger is fastidiously taking notes.

"And what is the boarya's main form of distraction?" Hagrid asks from the front of the class. Granger's hand goes immediately up, but beside her, Potter looks away from Hagrid and stares directly at Draco. His gaze is unwavering as Hagrid smiles down at Granger, and Draco's mouth is dry as he finds himself raising his hand.

Pansy nudges him and gives him a questioning look, but Hagrid glances over with surprise and calls, "Mr Malfoy?"

"Our fears," he says. "They're like a boggart in that sense. Or an angler fish. They dangle our greatest fears in front of us so that we are sufficiently distracted enough for it to attack."

As he speaks, Hagrid's eyebrows go higher and higher, but Draco's not looking at him. Harry is still staring at him from across the class, but now his eyes are wide and he's mouthing something to Draco, something that looks urgent.

"What?" Draco says.

"I asked where you learned that," Hagrid says.

Without looking at him, Draco answers, "I've worked with boaryas."

"How could you have?" Hagrid asks. "You're only in fifth year."

Across the class, Harry is still mouthing words at him, repeating them over and over, but Draco can't understand what he's saying.

"Don't look at him," Hagrid says. "Face me."

Draco ignores him. "What are you saying?" he calls to Harry.

Finally, Harry's voice reaches him. "Wake up!"

- Draco jerks awake. He's in a dark room, sitting in a horribly uncomfortable chair, and being hit repeatedly in the head with something small and light. He groans as he sits up and stretches out his neck, slowly remembering where he is. The backroom is silent but for his own movements; if he didn't know any better, he wouldn't even know that there was another living thing in here.

He checks his watch. It's half eleven- he still has time to dismantle and recast the wards. He looks towards the cage, eyes searching for the creature, but all that meets him is darkness, just like all of the other times.

The tapping at the back of his head is getting more urgent, so he sighs and snatches the paper aeroplane out of the air. It unfolds itself impatiently in his hand, laying flat so he can read the words that have been hastily scrawled over it. Once he gets past the first few words, his eyes scan over it quickly, jumping from dreadful word to dreadful word.

Back early...ratted out...whole team at St Mungos...critical condition

The note is signed S. Finnegan.

Draco crumples it and shoves it into his pocket. His heart is racing; he can't hear himself think over his own pulse. His thoughts are racing over images of Harry in the hospital, of blood and bone and the knowledge that he was right, as much as he didn't want to be.

He grabs his bag and pushes the door to the backroom open. The wards close behind him as he runs through the empty department and through the hallway. The lift is much too slow as it arrives, and he pushes the doors open so that they move out of his way with a sharp snap and he steps

- through the doors of St Mungo's. His heart is racing as he goes to the front desk and slams his hand down on the bell, ignoring the patients sitting in the waiting room. A haggled nurse turns in her chair to give him an unimpressed look.

"Potter," he pants. "Harry Potter."

She purses her lips. "I don't remember him coming in tonight."

"Please," Draco says. He feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest and his hands are shaking where they grip the desk. "I know his team came in. They had a mission that went wrong...please."

She just shakes her head and says, "I remember a group of Aurors coming in, but we haven't yet logged individual patient status." She ruffles through some of the papers on her desk and grabs a memo out of the air, quickly scanning it before setting it aside. "I apologise, sir, but we don't have confirmation that he's been checked in. You can feel free to wait in the guest area until we have more information."

Draco wants to argue, wants to demand to be let beyond the swinging doors so he can see for himself if Harry is alright, but the nurse looks tired and there's a panicked family that just came into the room holding a child with flowers sprouting out of her arm, so he acquiesces to sit down in the waiting door.

Even at this time of night, the hospital is full. There's a man opposite him whose knee is bent the wrong way, although he doesn't seem too concerned by it, and a woman whose skin seems to have turned stripy and rainbow. Sitting here is making Draco's mind run wild, imagining different things that might have happened to Harry. Draco had warned him about going on a mission while injured, but Harry's always been too bullheaded for his own good.

Draco closes his eyes to the hospital waiting room, hoping to block out the worry that's tightening in his chest.

It seems like it's only a minute later when he hears a voice call, "Draco!"

He looks up. Seamus is striding over to him, a bandage wrapped around his head. A little blood seeps through the edge of it, but otherwise he seems fine as he stands over Draco.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

Draco scrambles from his seat. "What do you mean?" he asks, pulling the crumpled note from his pocket. "You said that something went wrong! That you were all ratted out and that Harry's in critical condition!"

"Woah, woah, woah." Seamus holds his hands out to placate Draco. "Nobody's in critical condition- well, a few of my men are, but not Harry. Did you actually read the note?"

"I- yes," Draco says, affronted, but unwrinkles it anyways and looks over it properly.

"Harry didn't want to wait to write it out himself, the impatient bastard," Seamus says, shaking his head. "He's going up to meet you at your office, like you agreed."

Draco's heart stops as he hears his watch go off. It's midnight- time to renew the wards. Except, Draco's not there. Only the boarya and now, apparently, Harry are back at his department.

He doesn't even say anything as he turns and runs out of the hospital, with Seamus shouting after him, asking what's wrong. He steps out from the brick wall hiding the hospital entrance and onto the dark and silent street. He glances down the road both ways to make sure no muggles can see him before disapparating and appearing in the atrium of the ministry. That too, is silent, with only a single guard resting behind a security desk at the entrance of the floos. She looks up as he begins running towards the lifts, shouting after him to slow down. He pays her no mind as he bangs against the lift button.

He feels so dizzy with panic he might be sick and dread tears him apart from the inside out. It's ten minutes past midnight, which means Harry has been alone with the boarya for enough time for it to find its way out of the back rooms and start its attack. Draco is afraid, so afraid of what he might find when he reaches his departments that he almost wishes he could skip forward in time and miss the whole thing.

The lift doors slide open and he climbs in, hitting the button to his floor. The lift inches downward and Draco leans against the wall, breathing heavily. He watches the numbers climb as the lift stops on each floor, opening its doors to let no one in. Finally it reaches his floor and when he steps out, it's like he's walking into a memory.

Everything is dark and silent and still and Draco can hear his own panting breaths as he steps back in horror. Only one of the lights lining the ceiling hasn't been shattered; it flickers weakly, illuminating the carnage below. The ugly linoleum floor, the tan walls, even bits of the ceiling are streaked and splattered with blood. There's an acrid scent to it; the smell of iron makes Draco nauseous. He heaves and doubles over, feeling like he might sick up on the floor.

He doesn't hesitate to run forward, his feet slipping on the blood coated linoleum, as he grabs the door handle and yanks it open. What greets him is a sight he never would have been prepared to see, even if he has seen it before.

Desks and chairs are turned over and broken into splintering bits of mangled wood. Papers cover the floor like a layer of snow, or ash, spilled over the room, and filing cabinets have been turned into twisted piles of metal. Scorch marks litter the walls and Draco can smell the sharp scent of burnt paint under the heady smell of fresh blood. Across the room, the back door is open.

He takes a careful step into the room. His feet crunch on shattered glass and he tilts his head up to the broken lights above him. He can't yet see anything, and he can't yet tell if he's too late. Holding his wand up in front of him, he casts lumos and proceeds forward, trying to steady his breathing. His head darts from side to side as he scans the room.

It's completely silent until he hears a garbled sound from his left. He spins, a spell on his lips, before he stops. In front of him, lying behind what is left of a desk, is Harry.

He shakes his head at Draco and holds a finger to his lips. Draco's eyes sweep over him in horror. His clothes are soaked in blood and his leg is bent in a way it's definitely not supposed to be. His face is pulled in a tight grimace, but his eyes are wide with fear. He looks at Draco with something like wonder as he reaches out for him.

Draco crouches by his side, hands frantically hovering over his torso. He delicately tries to remove the shredded cloth from his abdomen, but Harry winces, so Draco quickly takes his hands back. Harry's breaths are coming out harsh and laboured, and Draco can see that the blood is still spreading farther into his clothes and over the floor.

"What happened?" he whispers as Harry reaches for his face.

"I saw you," Harry says weakly. "I saw you coming out of the back room. You were- fuck- you looked worse than I do."

"And so you rushed in to save me," Draco says, putting his hand over Harry's. "You absolute fool. Didn't I tell you to be careful?"

"I always am," Harry says, then coughs weakly. Blood paints his lips crimson and Draco's stomach drops.

"Where is it?" he asks, gripping Harry's hand tightly.

"I don't know. It dragged me away from the lift, but then…"

Draco turns his back to Harry and the desk behind them, and surveys the room. It's made of shadows, pitch black, the perfect place for the creature to hide. They're playing a game, Draco realises, of who can stay hidden the longest. Of who will have the upper hand. But Draco is done with games and he's done with hiding.

He stands slowly, letting go of Harry's hand. Harry tries to sit up, but groans in pain and sinks back down to the floor. Draco feels like a target like this, but he holds his ground as he waits, running over everything he remembers from the file, from Dr Bennet, and from his lessons with Hagrid back in fifth year.

Like an angler fish, it tries to distract you. Like a boggart, it uses what you fear. It's strong, but not fast. Distraction is its main method of offence.

His head is beginning to ache, to throb with acute pain. He hears a rustle behind him. He whips around, squinting into the dark. He sees something move, a shadow, darker than the darkness that surrounds it. He holds his wand up, but sees nothing, only the rustling of papers and the shifting of glass.

"What's happening?" Harry asks. His voice is so weak it comes out as a whisper.

"I don't know," Draco replies, blinking the pain away from his vision. "What's it waiting for?"

Movement seems to be coming from all sides now, like it's circling him. Stalking him. It's waiting, but Draco doesn't know what for. He feels a familiar dizziness as he can almost hear his own voice in his mind, answering Hagrid's question.

Like an angler fish, it tries to distract you. Like a boggart, it uses what you fear.

"It's not working," he murmurs. Harry makes a questioning noise below him, so Draco continues out loud. "It's not working because this- right now- this is what I'm most afraid of." He chances a glance at Harry, who is growing pale as he slowly bleeds out below him. Suddenly, Harry isn't there, but instead it's the lacquered floor of the Headmaster's office as he avoids looking at McGonagall while she asks him about his career path. Then he blinks and he's staring at the fowl hanging on the ceiling as Hagrid cries over his apology, unwilling to see the tears he's brought. He blinks and he's on the lift, and it's a Tuesday or a Thursday and he's not looking at Harry because he never looks at Harry, because that would be too much like facing things about himself that he's not willing to see.

He blinks and he's in the park and not-Harry is saying, "Draco Malfoy can never face anything. He's always turning away, or better yet, running away."

"No," he says as he realises what's happening, why he's seeing the things he is. "That's not true. You don't get to burrow into my mind, into my memories, trying to convince me of who I am. I know who I am and I'm not going to turn away, not again."

Visions continue to flash through his mind, moments of his past falling around him like ash through the air. He steps from one to the next, sinking deeper into memory. He tries to pull himself from it, to remember what's real. He's afraid that what the creature is showing him is true, that he is what it says he is. Again and again he sees himself make the wrong decisions, turning away from the difficult choices and taking what is given to him, or what is easy. But what's easy is not always what's right, and Draco is tired of being wrong. He's tired of turning away.

His head feels like it's splitting open as he says, "This time, I've got to face it!" Draco opens his eyes and in front of him the creature's claws are raised above him and its face is a mirror. Draco stares at himself, his fear-widened eyes, Harry's blood on his hands, and his shaking hand on his raised wand as he casts-

"Confringo!"

The spell rips through the room like a hurricane, throwing papers into the air and pushing already toppled desks to their sides. The creature is thrown against the wall; it hits it with a hard thump and crumples to the ground. Slowly, it tries to get up, sinking its claws into the back door to pull itself upright, but Draco levels his wand once more and aims another spell at it.

"Petrificus totalus."

The boarya freezes, going rigid and slumping back onto the ground. An awful howl of rage is torn from its throat as Draco spells it into the air, hovering it several feet off of the ground. He maneuvers it through the door, exhaustion weighing his arm as he deposits it back into its cage. He closes the door behind him, sealing them together, and releases the creature onto the floor. He raises his arms once more and begins to cast the wards, watching as strands of pure magic float out of his wand and settle in the air between him and the cage. His headache is fading even as his exhaustion grows, but he holds himself up until the final ward is settled.

He stumbles out of the room and runs to Harry, who is just barely holding onto consciousness. He looks up at Draco with half-lidded eyes and asks, "Are you here?"

"I'm here," Draco breathes, casting a stasis spell over Harry's leg and torso.

"Did you kill it?"

Draco shakes his head. "No."

"Good." Harry grabs his hand and squeezes it as tightly as it seems he is able to manage. "I guess we're going to have to postpone dinner again, aren't we?"

Draco laughs wettly and wipes the tears from his eyes. Harry closes his own eyes, but Draco places a hand on his cheek and rubs his thumb over his brow. "Hey, wake up," he says gently while his other hand searches for a scrap of paper to write a memo to St Mungo's. "Look at me."

Harry's eyes blink open and he mumbles. "I'm always looking at you."

Draco turns from his note, sending it flying out into the hallway, and faces Harry. "As am I."