Harry was awake and staring at the ceiling. He hadn't slept much. Since the story had unfolded, how he had had stood, wand to wand with Voldemort. How he had finally, victoriously, claimed the Elder Wand and how Voldemort had broken into pieces. Harry kept seeing his snake-like face and his perpetual scream. Whether from fear, or pain, or horror that he had been defeated, his expression was frozen inside Harry's mind. Awake, he could be distracted, but with his eyes closed, it was all he could see. Over and over, until he felt as if he was going mad.

He felt the scar on his face. He had been used to his old scar, the lightening bolt, causing him pain whenever Voldemort was close by, but it was part of him and ultimately, it had helped him see, and understand Voldemort. But this was different. This scar felt malignant upon his flesh. To Harry, it felt as if it were living and breathing.

It scared him more than Voldemort ever had.

And it disgusted him.

He turned over in bed. Ron was quietly snoring. They had been home for 2 weeks. 2 weeks of forced jubilation that Voldemort's reign was at an end. 2 weeks knowing that Hogwarts could never be rebuilt the way it had been and 2 weeks knowing some of his friends were dead, because of him.

The day that was now beginning to peep through the gap in the curtain, promised to be different. It was a day set aside for Fred's Memorial. He would be remembered and honoured, and his life would be celebrated. There would be no mourning for Fred. George was adamant.

Harry wasn't sure how he would cope. He pushed aside his covers and quietly walked to the window. He moved the curtain and looked out towards the undulating hills. There was a part of him that wanted to just walk across those hills and never look back, but he was scared to be alone. If he left there, he had nothing. Dumbledore was dead. Snape. Hedwig. Sirius. If he knew where they were, he would even consider going back to his uncle and aunt's. Even a lifetime with Dudley would be less painful that the life he was living.

Harry stared out into the gloom. He leant his forehead against the cool of the glass and then he closed his eyes and wished he could be someone else.

There was a sharp noise, a chink, against the window. Right in front of his nose. He opened his eyes quickly. Someone was standing out there. He wiped the glass that was foggy from his breath and stared at the figure who stood out, black against the grey.

It was Draco.

For a moment they stood staring at each other. Harry wondered if he might be dreaming. He looked over his shoulder at Ron, but he was still sleeping soundly. He looked back at Draco who lifted one arm and beckoned Harry.

Harry continued to stare at Draco. He didn't hate him like he had for most of his time at Hogwarts. He pitied him. He had Lucius for a father and that was bad enough, but he was lost too, and Harry had long since sensed, that Draco had wanted to be honourable, like Snape; a sheep in wolf's clothing. A sheep with a lion's heart.

Draco beckoned again and Harry let the curtain fall back against the window. He reached for his dressing gown and then paused. For some reason, he didn't want to meet Draco in his pyjama's. He grabbed a jumper and pulled it over his head and then tugged on jeans.

He walked from the room and down the stairs. The house was unusually silent. There was always noise and the quiet was strange.

Harry walked through the kitchen and recoiled at the smell that had been lingering around one of Mrs Weasley's huge stewing pots. She had been concocting something frantically and in secret and had refused to use magic. Everyone had taken bets on what it was she was trying to make, although George asserted his mother had simply "lost the plot".

At the back door, Harry pulled on trainers over his bare feet and then walked out into the cold dawn.

Draco was like an apparition. His white face and white hair looked like a mask, and his black clothes a costume. But Harry wasn't afraid of Draco, and as he walked towards him, he suddenly realised he had no wand. Since the battle, Harry had hated the feel of the Elder Wand in his hand. He hated the feel of any wand in his hand.

If Draco had his wand and wanted to kill Harry, now was his chance, but Harry kept walking anyway.

He stopped when he got to Draco.

"You're not welcome here," he said.

Draco's face belied nothing of what he was feeling, but then Harry saw his expression change as he saw the scar on his face.

"Do you like it?" he asked bitterly. "Just to make sure I can never forget."

Draco averted his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said.

Harry laughed, but it was without humour.

"You're sorry? It's a bit late for that now, isn't it?"

Draco nodded. "I had to tell you that." He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again, Harry saw something he had never seen in Draco's eyes before. "I have been so wrong," he said. "About everything and I want you to know that. I don't care about anyone else and I don't care if I have to live my life a prisoner in my own home, but I want you to know."

Harry studied the pale features of the boy that had taken pleasure in causing him as much pain as possible, but he seemed tired now.

"Where's your dad?" he asked.

Draco shrugged. "On the run," he said. "All of the Death Eaters are."

"Gathering an army?" Harry suggested derisively.

Draco shook his head. "Not likely. They're terrified of you after what you did to…"

"Voldemort." Draco winced and Harry smirked. "Are you terrified of me Draco? Is that why you're here? To beg forgiveness, so I don't come after you?"

Draco stared at Harry and Harry realised it was despair he saw in Draco's eyes. He shook his head.

"I came here without a wand," he said, and he held his arms out to the side. "And I'm not scared of you, because you are a better person than I have ever been." He took a step closer to Harry and Harry saw a spark of fire in his pale eyes. "You will never kill me because you know I'm nothing. I have never been anything, and now…" Draco paused and dropped his gaze.

"Go on," said Harry. "And now you're what, Malfoy? All alone and scared?" He laughed scornfully.

Draco looked back at Harry and then nodded, slowly.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I'm alone and scared and I know that's how you feel too." He gestured to the house behind Harry, the Weasley Home. A home full of love and full of the friends who had stood by Harry since the beginning. "I know that everything inside those ridiculous walls is making your life misery."

"You don't know anything!" Harry said. He felt the anger boiling inside him now, but Draco just smiled.

"Wow," he said. "I'm spot on, aren't I?"

Harry clenched his fists. He was suddenly relieved he didn't have his wand, because the desire to hurt Draco was strong.

Draco shrugged. "I just know," he said, whispering. "I know that every day you endure being told you're the reason everyone can live without fear, is like poison to you. I know that every day you're fussed over and smiled at, makes the dark hole inside of you wider than it was before." He glared at Harry, challenging him. "If you stay here Potter," he said with some of his familiar smugness, "there will be nothing left of you within a year."

"Why did you come here?" Harry asked. He was shaking inside, but somehow, he managed to keep his voice even.

"It's ironic, isn't it? The two of us, sworn enemies, now have nothing in their lives, but each other." Draco smiled. "See you around, Potter."

Draco walked away and Harry watched him until he disappeared. He didn't move even then, because he feared he might collapse. Something was holding Harry together, but it felt like a thread, nothing more, and at that moment, he was frightened if he moved, or spoke, or even breathed too deeply, he might literally fall apart.

Like Voldemort had fallen apart.


Author's Note: I would be so grateful, if you like this story, to write a review saying so. I realise HP is not particularly current, but I love writing it, so if you like, please say. :-)