It was midnight. He was eighteen. It was time.

Sure enough, the second the clock struck midnight Draco felt a tingling feeling in his right wrist. He closed his eyes, as the pale moonlight streamed in his open window and the hoot of an owl echoed along with the chirping of crickets in the stale summer air. Deciding not to look until the work was finished, Draco kept his eyes closed as he felt a harsh sting, followed by the feeling of someone taking a pencil to his wrist and scratching deeply.

He inhaled sharply as a particularly deep scratch inflicted his flesh. Gasping, he clutched his wrist and bit down on his tongue to keep from crying out.

When Draco felt like the scratching was going to last forever, because the universe would be cruel enough to play a trick like that on him after everything he'd done, it stopped.

Breathless, Draco opened his eyes, and without a second's hesitation he peered down at his arm.

His world shattered. His blood ran cold as ice.

It couldn't be.

But, somehow, staring right back at him, flesh and blood, it was.

"Oh, god," Draco choked out, wanting to scratch and scratch and scratch at his wrist until the hideous thing no longer existed. Because the universe may have been cruel, but it wasn't this cruel. It wasn't cruel enough to give him the one name who would never love him back.

Yet, somehow, it was.

"Fuck."

A soft rapping at his door, and then, "Draco, darling?"

Blinking back tears, Draco approached the door and twisted the knob with shaking fingers. His mother was in the frame, wearing a white nightgown with her long, white-blonde hair braided down her back. She wore a smile, and Draco wanted to kick himself because he knew it was about to be crushed. He couldn't lie to his mother. He never had.

Stepping inside his room, Narcissa fixed her eyes on him.

"So . . . Who is it, honey?"

Draco's lip wobbled.

"I-I . . . It's . . ."

Narcissa suddenly looked horrified. "It isn't a girl?"

Draco had come out to his mother about his sexuality almost immediately after their house arrest had begun earlier that summer. She had been gracious and accepting, saying she had known for years. It was all very silly, really. All that built up anxiety just for his mother to tell him she already knew had made Draco feel a little foolish, except instead of foolish he was accepted and loved by the person whose opinion mattered the most to him, and that was enough.

"N-No."

Narcissa deflated as she exhaled a sigh of relief. But then, to Draco's horror, she began examining him, looking at him as though in search of something he was keeping hidden.

"Draco? Who is it?"

Draco raised his shaking arm and read the name again. And again. And again. It would be stained on his skin forever. A permanent reminder of what he could never have.

"Draco, sweetheart, you're starting to worry me. Who is it?"

Narcissa was the only person Draco had never been able to lie to. Who had always seen through his mask. Who could tell when he was seconds away from breaking down even if he wasn't showing it. He realized even if he wanted to lie to her about this, he couldn't.

"I . . ."

Narcissa waited patiently for him to continue. She walked over to his bed and sat at the foot of it. He followed her over, sitting across from her, thighs almost touching. She reached for his hand. He let her take it.

"Draco, you're shaking."

Draco closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, held it for ten seconds, then released slowly. Just as Narcissa had taught him to do. When he opened his eyes, his mother was sitting there patiently waiting for him to continue.

"I-I-It's . . . It's . . ." He couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"Is it someone from Hogwarts?" Narcissa asked gently.

Draco's head snapped up at the question. Surprised at his mother's acute guessing skills, he nodded slowly.

Narcissa's eyes widened fractionally, but other than that she showed no visible signs of a reaction.

"Is it someone I know?"

Draco nodded again.

"Why are you afraid to tell me?"

"Because I-" Love him. "Because . . . Because he . . ." Draco drew another breath, deciding to tell her the truth. After everything she'd sacrificed for him and how much he'd ruined her life, he owed her that much.

"Because I love him."

Narcissa gasped, hands flying to her mouth.

"I've loved him for years," he said. Now that the words were pouring out of him like melted butter, he didn't know how to stop. "I don't even know when it started. I think a part of me always has."

Narcissa's hands slowly returned to her lap, lips pursed, waiting for her son to continue.

"And . . . He'll never love me back, Mother."

"Draco, please tell me. Who is it?"

Draco steeled himself for the confession that was about to leap off his lips like a roaring waterfall. He exhaled shakily, willing his knee to stop bouncing so hard it shook the bed.

"Harry Potter."

"Harry, I'm sure you're imagining things," chided Hermione as they boarded the Hogwarts Express. "There's no way you saw Malfoy. The Ministry wouldn't let him come back here."

"Serves him right, too. That'll make it even harder for him to land a job," said Ron as he bit into an apple.

Harry hadn't exactly seen Malfoy, per se. He'd only caught a glimpse at the back of his head, which wasn't much. But to be fair, there weren't very many white-blonde boys who attended Hogwarts. He'd known it was him.

"I know it was him, Hermione," he insisted. "I saw his hair."

"Oh, Jesus." She rolled her eyes.

"Here we go again," said Ron through a mouthful of apple. "Please don't let this be like sixth year, Harry. Merlin knows we had enough of you stalking him then."

"I'm not stalking him. I'm just curious why he has the nerve to show his face back here."

That answer seemed to satisfy Ron.

"You'd think the ferret would have a little more smarts with the sign on his back."

"Maybe it isn't his choice," said Hermione as they clamored into a compartment. "If you did see him, Harry, maybe he's here on Ministry orders. Which doesn't make sense to me, but it's not our problem. He's not our problem anymore. He can't touch us now."

"That Death Eater filth should be rotting in Azkaban with his father," snarled Ron.

"You know why he isn't," Harry told him pointedly, having felt as though they'd exhausted the topic throughout the course of the summer.

He'd attended Narcissa and Malfoy's trials because he owed Narcissa a life debt; Narcissa's punishment was two years house arrest, and Draco's was two months. Harry hadn't attended Lucius's trial.

Ron sighed. "I still don't understand why you stood up for the git. If you just saved his mum, you would have been fine."

"He's her only son, Ron. You really think I would have been left off the hook if I hadn't included him?"

"I mean, yeah. She's powerless now, and you're, well, you, so she can't lay a finger on you."

"That's not the point," Harry argued, unsure why he felt so determined to get Ron to understand.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by the sound of the compartment door sliding open.

In its frame was none other than Draco Malfoy, with Pansy Parkinson by his side.

Harry had to take a moment and drink him in, because he did not look good. At all.

He had a thin layer of purple rings under his eyes, he was thin as a rail and his overall demeanor was . . . off. Harry could see his shoulder blades poking beneath his skin. He narrowed his eyes at him, affronted that Malfoy had the nerve to put on such an act.

"Can I help you?" Harry asked coldly, hearing Ron scoff behind him.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to show their ugly, ferret face," Ron sneered.

A flash of . . . hurt? Appeared across Malfoy's face, but before Harry could examine it further, it was gone.

Harry didn't know what game Malfoy was playing at, pretending to be hurt by Ron's comments, when normally he'd lash out with something exceedingly wounding.

"What, got nothing to say, ferret? Now that Daddy's locked away?"

"Oh, come off it," Parkinson growled, stepping forward, almost as though she were shielding Malfoy from the comments. "We were just checking to see if this compartment was vacant. Clearly, it's not."

She pulled Malfoy along by his arm and tugged him away. Harry cast him one last scathing look before slamming the door shut.

"He looked awful," said Hermione at the same time Ron said,

"What is with him?"

"What do you care?" Harry fired back.

"He looked like death warmed up," said Hermione.

"He didn't even speak," said Ron.

"I think I rather prefer him silent," said Harry.

"You would've thought he'd gone to Azkaban," said Hermione.

After Harry's glare, she cleared her throat. "I mean, not that I'm concerned about him or anything. Because I'm not. But one can't help but notice."

"I notice that he'll deserve every punch and hex thrown his way this year," said Ron with a chuckle. "The slimy git doesn't know what's coming for him."

Harry nodded. Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if he hadn't shown up for Malfoy and Narcissa's trials. But, as life had often taught him, it did no good to dwell on hypotheticals.

"Just because he's a bully doesn't mean you have to sink to his level, Ronald," said Hermione, and Harry winced. Whenever she took on that scolding tone and "Ronald"ed him, he knew he was in trouble.

"Sink to his level? Are you joking? When was the last time you saw me discriminate against someone based on their blood type? Or hex somebody because they weren't in Gryffindor?"

"We're no better than him if we're handing out insults about his family," reasoned Hermione, and even Harry had to admit she had a point.

"Whatever," said Ron, running a hand through his red hair.

"Let's just leave it alone, yeah?" said Harry, disliking the growing tension between his two best friends. "We don't have to worry about him anymore. The war is over."

Begrudgingly, Ron agreed. The rest of the train ride passed uneventfully, and so did the sorting and speeches. By the time the eighth years were dismissed from the Great Hall, Harry was rubbing his full belly and wondering who his roommate was going to be.

"So, no name on your arm yet?" Ron asked him as the three of them followed the other eighth years up to the tower where their residency had been set up.

Harry sighed. "None. I know she's out there, though. I just don't understand why I haven't seen it yet. I haven't got a single girl I've something against."

Hermione hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe it isn't a girl."

Harry felt confused. "What do you mean, it isn't a girl? I'm straight. The spell doesn't go against your sexuality."

"I'm not trying to tell you what you are or aren't. We're just presenting the facts," said Hermione.

"It's probably some jealous chick who resents you for being so golden and perfect," said Ron. "With your luck, you would get an ex-Death Eater."

"Why would I ever want that as my soul mate?" Harry asked rhetorically.

Hermione shook her head. "You still don't know if it could be a boy."

"It's not a boy!" Harry shouted, probably a bit too loudly, for a few heads spun around. He glowered, lowering his voice. "I am not gay."

Ron looked at him strangely. "You don't need to get so defensive, mate."

"I think this is a pretty fair thing to get defensive about!"

"Calm down," Hermione soothed, but this only exacerbated Harry's agitation. "You'll get the name eventually."

"Have you heard those horror stories? Some people don't get the name until they're in their sixties."

"Not getting the name is rare, I'll admit that. But that, is even rarer," Hermione said.

Easy for her to say. She and Ron were soulmates.

Harry gritted his teeth and kept silent the remainder of the trip. Once they reached the tower, Filch told them the password.

"Like Headmistress McGonagall said, your room assignments are listed outside the doors," he explained. "Once you enter the common room, boys are on the right and girls are on the left." Then he departed.

The cluster of students clamored into the tower, which revealed a surprisingly well-kempt common room adorned with fireplaces and portraits.

"This looks nicer than I was expecting," said Harry.

"It does. I wonder who I'll be living with," said Ron. "But it's not like there's a huge pool of us."

"I just know who I don't want to live with," Harry muttered.

Ron gave him a grim look. "Same here. They probably gave him a room by himself so his roommate won't hex his balls off."

"Don't be so immature," said Hermione.

"If he were a girl, you'd be feeling the same way and you know it," said Ron.

She sighed. "Perhaps, but I would get over it and move on with my life."

"You don't always have to be so high and mighty about everything, especially not about this," said Ron. "In case you've forgotten, he called you a Mudblood for seven years straight."

"I'm aware," said Hermione. "I just wonder if the war changed him, is all."

"I highly doubt that," said Harry as they neared the staircases. "Some people can't be changed, Hermione."

"For all we know, he hasn't," said Hermione. "But my point is, we don't know."

"He hasn't changed," said Ron hotly. "He's the same evil, poncy, snively, stuck up git he always has been."

Harry expressed his agreement but before Hermione could respond, Ron turned around with a scowl and headed up the stairs.

Hermione sighed. "He'll come around eventually."

Harry frowned at her. "I hope he doesn't," he said, before giving her one last look and turning around to follow his best friend.

Once they reached the dormitories, boys began crowding around the doors to see whose room was whose.

Harry looked at door after door, and couldn't find his name anywhere. Had they forgotten him? To his horror, he also hadn't found Malfoy's name on a single door.

Suddenly, Ron flagged him down. Somehow, among the crowd of boys, they'd gotten separated. Harry hadn't looked at those doors yet. His name had to be on one of those.

So Harry gently pushed past the crowd of boys, gently because they all but parted like the Red Sea for him, and walked over to Ron.

"See my name anywhere? I haven't found it yet."

Ron averted eye contact, staring at the floor.

"What is it?"

"Harry, I, erm . . ."

"Spit it out!"

"Look." Ron pointed a trembling finger to the door in front of him.

Dread creeping in, Harry glanced at the door. His heart plummeted to his stomach.

He was rooming with Draco Malfoy.

"What the fuck?" exclaimed Harry. "What . . . What . . . Why?"

"McGonagall must have really meant it when she was talking about inter house unity."

"This isn't . . . This isn't fair!"

"I'm not much better off. I'm with McLaggan."

"Nothing's worse than Malfoy. What were you doing looking for my door, anyway?"

"I wondered if McGonagall would be brave, or stupid, enough to room you guys together. Guess I was right."

Harry growled. "This is not happening. I'm requesting a change right away."

"I don't think it works that way, mate."

"I'm going to go give that Death Eater a piece of my mind," Harry snarled, stomping forward to the door and practically throwing it open.

"Tell him I hate him," Ron called after him as Harry slammed the door shut behind him.

Sure enough, sitting on one of the two beds was Draco Malfoy. Malfoy looked up at the sound of him coming in.

"We're not sharing," Harry told him plain and simple. "I'll get McGonagall to switch me out tomorrow."

Malfoy shrugged, much to Harry's dismay. He expected a bit more of a fight or a snarky comment in response. Not this alarming apathy.

Wait. Alarming?

Harry was not alarmed. Because Harry didn't care about Malfoy. Harry hated him.

"That's all you have to say?"

Malfoy gave him a look as if to say, Are you really asking me that?

Harry scoffed. "Too good to talk to me, are you?"

"There's nothing to say," Malfoy said quietly.

"For once, I agree with you," Harry said scathingly. "For now, stay the fuck out of my way."

He walked over to the free bed and pulled open his trunk. How in the hell was he supposed to live with Malfoy? Change in front of him? Listen to him sleep?

The answer was simple: He wasn't. Tomorrow, first thing, he'd get McGonagall to change him out to a different room.

Malfoy didn't answer. He just remained still as a statue on the bed. Harry couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit concerned about his odd behavior, before he realized what he was doing and squashed it down.

Malfoy did not deserve his concern, or his worry. Malfoy did not deserve anything. For all Harry was concerned, Malfoy was dead to him.

However, after about five minutes of stifling silence, Harry couldn't take it anymore.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Malfoy turned to face him, cocking a dark blonde eyebrow.

"Y-You're . . . You're just . . . Not going to speak? At all? Think you're better than everybody else, is that it? Of course you do."

Malfoy frowned and averted his gaze. Harry only got more infuriated.

"Fight back, you coward! Fucking say something!"

Malfoy looked back up at Harry.

"I'm done fighting," he said.

"Like hell you are," Harry growled. "You don't get to sit there and say you're 'done fighting' when you tortured innocent people in the war. When you joined his ranks. When you fought for the enemy. You probably enjoyed hearing their screams, didn't you?"

Malfoy's eyes widened. "Stop."

But Harry wasn't done. "I'd even go as far as to say that sort of thing brought you off, didn't it? You probably got off on hearing their wails, and their agonized begging for that sweet, sweet release of death-"

"I said stop!"

Malfoy's outburst was so thunderous that Harry clamped his mouth shut in shock.

"Let's get one thing straight, Malfoy," Harry said, and his tone was murderous. "After everything you've done, you sick fuck, you don't get to tell me what to do. Ever. Got it?"

Malfoy glared at him cold as ice. After a pregnant pause, he nodded.

"That's better."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes.

"You make me physically ill, Malfoy," said Harry. "You disgust me."

Malfoy looked hurt, like he was actually affected by Harry's words. How was that possible when he didn't have a heart?

"Well, if you think I'm so disgusting, why are you still talking to me?"

The timid voice spoke strong words. They started a fire in Harry, and before he completely realized what he was doing he was up and out of his bed and grabbing Malfoy by the front of his robes, tightly, baring his teeth.

"Listen here, you little shit."

Malfoy released a shaky exhale, grey eyes widening. Now that Harry was looking at him up close, he noticed something.

Malfoy's eyes were rather lovely.

Wait a second. What kind of a thought was that?

Harry couldn't be having these kinds of thoughts. He was supposed to be showing Malfoy who was in charge here.

"You may be my roommate, for now, but that does not make you my friend. We never have been, and we never will be. Do not get smart with me. You'll regret it if you do."

"If that was supposed to scare me, Potter, you didn't do a very good job," Malfoy said dully, lifelessly.

"Well, you should be," Harry said, grabbing his robes tighter. "After defeating the most powerful Dark wizard in history, do you think you'd be any more difficult than snapping a toothpick?"

To his dismay, Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Am I supposed to know what a toothpick is?"

Harry lost it. "Context clues! It's about context clues, you arsewipe!" He shoved Malfoy backwards, and Malfoy stumbled to stay on his bed.

"Keep your filthy hands off me," he seethed.

"Keep your dark magic and your prejudiced views away from me, and we won't have a problem," Harry retorted.

Malfoy opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then closed it again.

"What? What is it?" Harry asked.

"Not that it's any of your business, but . . . My wand's been restricted."

For a flash of a second, Harry was concerned. That could be dangerous. Malfoy had a target on his back, and what if he needed to defend himself against hexes and jinxes? Then he reminded himself that he was supposed to hate the git and that he was supposed to be glad Malfoy's wand was restricted, because then he could get hurt.

"Good," Harry said, and Malfoy seemed to shrink in on himself. "It's what you deserve, after all."

Malfoy frowned at him. "You can rest easy now, Potter. Even if I wanted to hurt you, I couldn't."

Even if he wanted to?

Harry didn't know what to make of that.

"You're saying you wouldn't want to hurt me if you had the chance?"

Malfoy's lips bobbled like a fish out of water. "I-I-I mean, of course I want to. Why wouldn't I? But I can't exactly throw my only shot of getting a job down the drain, now can I, so I choose not to want to."

Harry's intuition told him not to believe the boy. But his intuition had gotten him into trouble so many times before, that he decided to ignore it.

"Okay, Malfoy. Whatever you say."

Malfoy wrung his slender fingers together. Harry decided it was time to stop looking at him.

This was going to be a long year indeed.