June, 1998

Sleep was a pursuit Harry had long since abandoned.

He lay on the couch, his breathing striking up a rhythm that threatened to lull him out of consciousness, but every time his eyes started to drift shut something in his body jolted him awake. He would remember to check on something in the kitchen, or suddenly need to dig his Sneakoscope out of his old school trunk, or feel an inexplicable burst of energy and decide that exercise was precisely the kind of release that would cure him of his restlessness.

This time, however, his thoughts of sleep were interrupted by a loud rapping on the front door.

He shot bolt upright, reaching instinctively for his glasses and wand, which were both resting on the roll top desk beside him in the study. Without really wondering who could be paying him a visit this early in the morning, he stepped hesitantly into the entryway, trying to see if he could discern the figure at the door by the silhouette in the window. The knock came again, harder this time. He knew it couldn't have been Hermione, as she was on holiday with her parents in Greece. Ron, Ginny, or anyone else from the Auror department would surely have written to him or tried to contact him via floo powder before showing up at his house.

His mind flashed to a vision of him opening the door to face Voldemort, and finally meeting his end when he was least expecting it. He gripped the wand a little tighter, reaching for the doorknob.

The figure in front of him was probably the last person he would have guessed would show up on his front doorstep. Draco Malfoy, all six foot 2 inches of him, was standing with his black coat pulled up to his chin and the circles under his eyes looking almost worse than Harry had ever seen them. He had the look of a corpse who was being possessed by some, weak, lifelike spirit that had not learned to play a very convincing human. His grey eyes were glossy and lifeless, like he, too, had not slept well at all since the battle. He looked, if at all possible, worse than Harry felt.

"What are you doing here?" The words tumbled out of Harry's mouth before he could stop them. He and Draco hadn't parted on the best of terms, but he immediately regretted his defensiveness when he saw the look on Malfoy's face.

"Granger didn't tell you I was coming?"

"No, why would she-" Harry stopped, remembering the letter she had left for him which was still on the kitchen table, unopened. She had told him to "think carefully about it, and let her know what he decided", whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean. "No." He said, realizing that he had answered the door without a shirt, expecting really anyone but Draco Malfoy to be calling. He crossed his arms over his chest hastily.

"Right then," Malfoy said quietly, his eyebrows raised slightly. He brought his eyes back down to his shoes.

"What's this about?" Harry began, stopping him from turning around and heading back to wherever it was he came from. "And how do you know where I live?"

Draco sniffed audibly and shifted his feet, still looking down at the ground. Harry wondered if his lack of clothing was making Draco feel uncomfortable.

"Granger," he replied. "She set this up, said it would be a good idea for me to come get the wand from you in person."

It dawned on Harry suddenly, and he was surprised he hadn't thought of this before. The Hawthorne wand. The one that had killed Voldemort. Of course Draco would be wanting it back, now that the dark lord was gone and Draco was no longer indebted to a lifetime in his service. He hadn't considered the possibility that Draco might be paying him a visit until this very moment.

"Why don't you come inside?" He said, mostly wanting to get out of the chill morning air so his nipples would stop being so visibly hard. "You look like you could use a drink."

The taller boy's brow furrowed, although Harry noticed a hint of amusement in his expression.

"It's ten in the morning."

Harry let out a dramatic sigh, and rolled his eyes instinctively.

"Alright, then, I'll have a drink and you can just stand here on my doorstep while I find your wand. Mind you, it might take me the whole afternoon. I wasn't prepared for this."

"So you haven't talked to Granger?"

"No, I haven't. Come inside, it's fucking cold."

Draco obliged, following Harry into the entryway and shutting the door behind him. Harry caught a whiff of his cologne as he stepped into the house, for some reason finding the scent vaguely familiar.

"Charming place you've got here, Potter," Draco said with a bit of the drawl that Harry remembered from their school days. He ran a long, pointed finger along the banister leading up to the staircase, inspecting the layer of dust on his hand after doing so.

"Well not all of us can live in haunted mansions half the size of Wiltshire," Harry replied, bringing his hand up to ruffle through his messy black hair. Malfoy opened his mouth as though he had a retort to Harry's comment, but something like an invisible cloud passed over him, and he shut it again. He took off his coat and hung it on the banister in the entryway, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves neatly and running a hand along the fade of his own hair, which was as tidy and freshly trimmed as Harry's was unruly.

Feeling suddenly very aware of his bare chest, Harry grabbed a shirt out of his dresser in the study and slipped it over his torso as Draco followed him into the kitchen.

"Do you often begin drinking before most people are awake?" Draco asked, still looking around at the furnishings and decor that adorned the house. Harry supposed it didn't look that different from what Draco must be used to — the old wizarding family artifacts and symbols decorating the hallways, the remnants of dark magic still lingering in the corners of the house, despite Sirius' efforts to remove all traces of his family from this place.

"These days, yes," Harry responded, cracking open an aged bottle of firewhiskey that Sirius had left in the pantry, and pouring them each a glass. Before he could cast a chilling charm on the whiskey, Draco had already picked his drink up and tossed it back in two, short pulls. Harry raised his eyebrows slightly, the corners of his mouth upturned.

"And it would seem that you're in no place to be criticizing my drinking habits," Harry remarked, smirking. He sipped at his own glass. "Not that I'm complaining — None of the usual lot will drink with me. Something about 'not enabling certain destructive behaviors'. Because Hermione thinks I have a drinking problem. Which, even if I do, is none of her business." Draco nodded in recognition at Hermione's name, and Harry had to press him on the issue, merely out of curiosity.

"How long have you two been... talking?"

"We're not talking."

Harry frowned.

"Alright then, why did she send you here? Why couldn't I have just owled your wand over to you?"

Draco stared for a moment at the bottom of his glass. Harry imagined he was contemplating whether or not it was acceptable for him to fill it up again so he could stomach the conversation the two of them were about to have.

"She wrote to me a couple weeks ago, after...The end of term."

Their eyes met for a moment, both of them understanding that the subtext for "end of term" was the Battle of Hogwarts, in which they were both fighting on different sides. Draco brought his eyes back down to his glass.

"And?"

Draco took a deep breath, clearly not comfortable with people prying him for information.

"She just thought you and I should talk in person." Draco, clearly realizing the two of them were past the point of exchanging social pleasantries, set down his glass on the counter and refilled it himself. He lifted it to his lips, this time savoring the taste of the whiskey instead of inhaling it in one breath.

"What would we have to talk about?" Harry was getting more irritated with Hermione by the second. What was she playing at, inviting someone else into his home, facilitating an armistice between two people who wanted nothing to do with each other?

"Well, we can start with my wand," Draco said, sipping his firewhiskey and leaning himself against the counter in the kitchen. Two faint, pink spots had appeared on his cheeks. He looked more relaxed than he had when he came in, and was taking on the same haughty demeanor again that Harry had always associated with him back at school. "You do still have it, don't you?"

"Right, sorry...One moment." Harry placed his whiskey down on the counter next to Draco, straightening his glasses and excusing himself from the room. To his surprise, Malfoy did not interpret this as a mark of dismissal, but as an invitation to follow him into the hallway. Draco picked up Harry's glass and carried both it and his own as he trailed Harry into the study, where all of Harry's possessions were spread out haphazardly on almost every surface of the room.

"Christ, Potter. You live like a hermit." Draco sipped his whiskey from the doorway, his eyebrow arched as he watched Harry try to dig through books, rolls of parchment and loose potion ingredients strewn across the floor. "Didn't you inherit a house elf with this place?"

"Well I don't usually have visitors." Harry mumbled, kneeling down to open his school trunk and rummaging through its contents for a moment before drawing out his own wand to summon Draco's. "I've asked Kreacher to stay at Hogwarts, and Hermione has finally gotten off my back about the house elf liberation front. It's well worth it, if you ask me. Besides," he grunted, finally withdrawing the Hawthorne wand from the crevices of his school trunk. "It's nearly impossible to have a wank when he's just around the corner, mumbling about Sirius' mum and bursting into tears every half hour." Harry paused, noting after the fact that this was the kind of joke he would usually make in the presence of Ron, and not necessarily to the man who had tormented and bullied him relentlessly for most of his adolescence.

"The wand," Draco began, turning slightly pink, but otherwise ignoring Harry's comment about Kreacher. "Will it… will it work for me like it did before?" Harry got up and walked over to the entryway, taking his own whiskey glass from Draco, and handing over the wand. He noticed Draco's expression change as he ran his fingers over the intricately carved wood, a trace of a smile flitting across his face. It was as though he were being reunited with an old friend.

"It should," Harry said, staring into his glass. "I think I relinquished ownership when I chose my own wand. I haven't used it since, but you should be the rightful owner again." He wondered if he should tell Draco about the kinship he had with this wand, how it really did seem to work for him almost as effectively as his own. Did that mean this wand played to their individual strengths, or did they have some of these strengths in common?

Draco cleared his throat, finally looking up into Harry's face. His eyes didn't seem as cold as Harry had always remembered them being, and despite his thinner frame and the faint, dark blonde stubble lining his jaw, Harry thought him strangely handsome. He supposed he had always thought that, but the fact that he was constantly trying to get under people's skin had always caused Harry to discount that variable. Except… There was a time towards the end of fifth year when Harry had thought about him quite a lot. Slowly, a memory that Harry hadn't recalled in years began to resurface, and Harry had to actively fight to suppress it as he looked at Draco over his firewhiskey.

"And you really… you really killed him with this? With my wand?" Draco asked, staring at the object in his hand as though it had some profound, new power to it. Harry hadn't given this matter a great deal of thought. Yes, Voldemort's curse had rebounded, but it had done so when he was using Draco's wand to defend himself. Perhaps that was why Hermione had wanted the two of them to speak about this matter. She might have thought Harry harbored some sentimental attachment to the item that avenged the murder of his parents.

"Er… yeah. I suppose I did."

Draco stared at the wand for a moment, visibly contemplating the amount of power this small, wooden object had been able to produce. Instead of mulling over the fact for too long, however, he drained the remainder of the firewhiskey left in his glass.

"Easy with that, Malfoy… it's probably older than your father."

Malfoy sputtered halfway through the drink. "Is that what you're spending your galleons on these days? Whiskey? God forbid you hire a maid to tidy this place up..."

"I like my privacy." Harry shrugged, walking back into the kitchen to lead Malfoy away from the mess in his study. "And Sirius left loads of stuff in the cabinets. I don't know where he got all of it, but there's enough to open my own pub, probably."

"I don't know that anyone would set foot in a pub this revolting."

Harry let out a loud chuckle at this, which seemed to catch Malfoy a bit off guard.

"I haven't had any time to fix it up yet! This place will be a regular Hog's Head come September."

"I can't think of a worse spot to model your business after."

A rare, genuine smile spread across Malfoy's face, and Harry couldn't help but stare at the way it transformed his features. Maybe the firewhiskey was going straight to his head, but there was something captivating about the way that Draco was casually leaning against the wall, making conversation with him like they were old friends, like Draco wasn't the heartless bully who had relentlessly tormented Harry and his friends back in school. Maybe Draco had never really been the person that Harry had made him out to be, or maybe the war had just changed some aspects of his personality. Regardless, Harry had to admit it was nice being around someone who wasn't constantly fussing over him, or trying to fix some part of him that needed time to heal on its own.

Draco finished what was left in his whiskey glass and then took a deep breath, as though he were gearing up for an important conversation.

"Look, Potter, the wand isn't the only reason I'm here." He brought his eyes back down to the floor, averting Harry's gaze once more.

"Oh?"

"Yes, I wanted to talk to you about... that night, in the room of requirement." Harry's memory jogged, and he recalled where he had smelled Malfoy's cologne before. He thought of Draco gripping his waist for dear life as they escaped the fiendfyre in the room of requirement on a broomstick. Harry had found Draco's choice of applying cologne a bit odd given the circumstances, which is why it remained in his memory now. Draco now looked the most uncomfortable Harry had ever seen him, and Harry had to admit it was a welcome change from his usual, casual arrogance.

"What you did - Saving my life in there - You didn't have to do anything, but I'm grateful for your actions nonetheless, and if I wasn't -"

"I appreciate the sentiment, Malfoy, but don't thank me for saving your arse," Harry said, cutting Draco off. "I wasn't about to watch you die in there. Not because of some bloody mistake your friend made."

Draco looked up at him briefly, then brought his eyes back down to his firewhiskey.

"I owe you a debt," He said quietly.

Harry remembered thinking about this matter right after he had rescued Draco from the flames, and had considered the possibility of Draco being indebted to him as Pettigrew had been when Harry had spared his life. They clearly both knew of the power that such a magical bond could create between them, but Harry didn't feel anything like he had when he had chosen not to take the life of his father's old friend. He and Malfoy were both trapped in the room together as the flames were surrounding them on all sides, and saving Malfoy's skin felt just as natural as trying to save his own. Malfoy was a desperate boy in a perilous situation who was trying to escape death, just as Harry had been. Besides, any debt that Malfoy might have owed Harry surely would have been repaid in the next couple of hours of that night when his own life was spared for the sake of Draco's.

"Have you talked to Hermione about that?" Harry asked him, opening up the cabinet in the kitchen and digging for another bottle of firewhiskey. "About a life debt?"

Malfoy took a seat at the kitchen table, running his finger lazily across the rim of his empty glass. "She said I should speak with you."

"I don't know if you knew this," Harry began, not really sure what was bringing him to say this, but feeling like the words would help Draco understand what he, Ron, and Hermione had determined about the subject. "Your mother, in the forest when Voldemort tried to kill me, she told him I was dead. She knew the only way she would be able to see you again is if Voldemort had won. She knew I was alive, but she risked her own life to save mine. All for your sake."

Draco was looking into Harry's eyes, and Harry noticed that they weren't all grey; there were hints of green towards the middle of his pupils. He was just now realizing that they suited him nicely. Draco cleared his throat suddenly, and brought his eyes back down to the glass.

"Wish she had told me that in her letter, it would have saved me a visit to your terrible pub."

Harry laughed, pulling a fresh bottle of whiskey out from the cupboard and unlocking the wire cage around the opening. Instead of opening like the other bottles, however, this one let out a shrieking noise and exploded, sending shards of glass skidding across the kitchen, and several slivers into Harry's hand.

Harry swore loudly, quickly throwing the bottle in the sink and examining his hand. To his surprise, Draco, who had stood up instantly when the bottle had shattered, was now at his side, wand outstretched. "It must have been a prank bottle Fred and George planted," Harry explained, feeling the familiar wrench of pain in his gut when he spoke Fred's name, and at the same time trying to avoid looking at his hand, which had several bits of glass lodged in it and was leaking blood freely onto the floor. "Fuck— Go see if you can reach Hermione by floo powder, her healing spells are really excellent— "

Before he could finish speaking, however, Draco was holding the Hawthorne wand over his affliction, muttering some of the healing incantations that Hermione often employed, but also several spells that Harry had never heard before. He winced as the shards dislodged themselves from his hand, and the wounds healed instantly, the blood and spilled firewhiskey disappearing from his trousers and the floor beneath them.

"Merlin," Harry breathed, his hand as good as new and an incredulous expression on his face. "Where the hell did you learn to do that?"

Malfoy secured his wand back in his pocket, casting his gaze to the sink to stare at the exploded remains of the bottle. "I've always wanted to be a healer. I studied for it on my own when we were in school."

"You're good. You're really good."

"Father would never hear of it. Besides, nobody would let a death eater heal them anyways."

Harry met his eyes again, and saw something he would have never looked for in Malfoy - Resentment towards his father, and the choices Draco had made because of him. Harry had always suspected that Draco would never have voluntarily tattooed a Dark Mark on his arm and joined the ranks of his father's friends if he had any choice in the matter, however he didn't think he had ever put himself in Draco's shoes and thought about the war from his perspective before now. He had been a boy, just like Harry, whose parents had dragged him into their side of the battle, forcing him to be exactly the kind of son Lucius would be proud of, but when Harry had been younger, he had always thought that was what Draco had wanted as well. Draco speaking of his father in this way was making him seem more human than he ever had before. It was as though a curtain were being pulled away, revealing an entirely unexpected character on the other side, a man who was driven, intelligent, humorous, and (Harry didn't quite know what this particular thought was doing in his head) honestly rather sexy. He couldn't help but wonder if things had not gone so wrong between them at school, maybe their relationship would have been completely different.

Malfoy's eyes flitted down to Harry's lips, and Harry felt a strange, tingling sensation in his body that had usually been reserved for his days spent with Ginny exploring the secret corridors of the castle. He was close enough that he could see every detail on Malfoy's face, and he could only guess what the expression Draco wore could mean. His breath hitched slightly, and it was like a wave of cool air had suddenly passed over him; his bare skin was forming goosebumps up and down his arms. Unbidden, the old, suppressed memory of Blaise and Draco in the Quidditch Locker Room reemerged in his head. This time, however, Harry imagined himself in Blaise's place, on his knees in front of the tall, pale boy as Draco slowly thrust into his mouth, pulling his hair at the roots and moaning his name...

And then, out of nowhere, it was like a switch had been turned off, and the atmosphere in the room completely shifted.

"Fuck you, Potter," Draco spat, his eyes narrowing into slits.

"Sorry, What?" Harry stuttered, his head still spinning from the thoughts that were wandering through it seconds ago.

"I know what you're doing."

Harry paused.

"What are you talking about?" He thought for a horrifying moment that maybe Draco had been using legilimency to read his mind, but he dismissed this thought almost immediately. He would have known if someone was trying to get into his head; he could always feel it when Snape was practicing this in their occlumency sessions.

Draco's face had gone even more pale.

"I should have seen this coming. You don't know me, you can't just take advantage of me because you have nothing better going on. You're just like the rest of them."

"Sorry," Harry spoke, incredulous. "I know I don't — What do you mean - ?"

"You knew! You knew about me and Blaise, we fucking saw you for christ's sake. You and Granger planned this after you saw the papers, it's all just some elaborate ploy to humiliate me..."

"Draco, I swear I have no idea what you're on about," Harry answered honestly, his mind reeling from what Draco was accusing him of. "If this is about you being gay-"

Draco slammed his fist on the counter top, making Harry flinch. He swore loudly, running his hand instinctively over his slicked back hair, trying to regain his composure.

"I'm not." He said in a quieter voice, noticing the shocked expression on Harry's face at his outburst. He exhaled slowly through flared nostrils. "I'm not."

Harry slouched against the counter, moving his hands into his pockets and trying to avoid eye contact to alleviate some of the discomfort in the room.

"Right, then," he said.

There was a pause that felt like an eternity in which both Harry and Draco stared straight ahead of them at the wall in the kitchen, trying to concentrate on the patterns of the floral arrangements depicted on the wallpaper to distract themselves from the situation at hand. Harry's mind was racing; he was trying to wrap his head around the thoughts that were now pouring in like tidal waves, trying to find some justification for why he was suddenly wanting to kiss Malfoy. He had always known he wasn't just attracted to girls, but had never actually acted upon the feelings he had about boys he had fancied before. He and Ginny had hardly spoken since the end of term, he hadn't had any kind of proper sex since 6th year, and he was probably just feeling lonely and stir crazy. To make matters worse, he couldn't help but acknowledge the excruciating sexual tension between himself and Draco, the chemistry that had probably been lying dormant for quite some time and was just waiting to be tapped into. He continued to stare straight forward, trying to suppress what thoughts that he was able to, so as to make the remainder of this meeting as painless as possible.

After several long moments, Draco stood up a little straighter, exhaling deeply and adjusting the sleeves on his shirt once more.

"Right, then I guess I should be going -"

Harry didn't know what had made him do it.

Before Draco had finished his sentence, Harry caught his wrist with the dexterity of a skilled Quidditch player and pulled him into Harry's body, their lips crashing into each other. There was a brief, terrifying moment where all Harry could think about was the gravity of what he had just done, but his mind was soon unable to focus on anything except how fantastic it felt to have Malfoy's mouth pressed against his own. The smell of Malfoy's cologne mingled with the taste of his lips, a musky yet uniquely fresh scent that was more intoxicating than Harry could have imagined.

To Harry's surprise, Malfoy responded ardently to his advance, as though he had been anticipating that Harry would reach for him all along. He brought his hands into Harry's untidy hair, deepening the kiss and pinning Harry against the counter so he could instantly feel Draco's stiffness against his own. Harry's mind soared with elation, his body responding in turn, lust staking its claim on the remainder of his willpower. They became practically ravenous, urgency seeping out with each gasping breath as the two caressed each other, kissing wildly. Harry moaned as Draco reached down to massage his cock through his trousers, and Draco bit down on Harry's bottom lip so hard that he nearly drew blood. Draco kept kissing Harry, one hand now exploring the muscles that Harry had built from Quidditch and Auror training under his shirt, and Harry responded by kissing him harder and pushing Draco's lithe body against the wall so that Harry had complete control over him. He felt drunk, taking in all of the sensations and savoring the taste of Draco's mouth on his own. His hand fumbled for the clasp on Draco's belt, not entirely sure what he was about to do, but knowing that he wanted as little clothing as possible between the two of them. Draco let out a soft moan as Harry trailed his tongue down to Draco's neck, pressing a couple of wet, rough kisses into the pale skin he uncovered.

Draco broke away from him suddenly, his pupils the size of small moons, his gaze darting back and forth from Harry's mouth and his bespectacled, green eyes.

"Stop, we can't do this," he said quietly, staggering slightly back to the counter and composing himself as best as he could. "I shouldn't have come here." He fastened the bit of his belt that Harry had managed to unlatch, tucking his shirt back into his dress pants. "You can't tell anyone about this, Potter. It never happened. God, I shouldn't have come," he repeated, running his hands through his hair to straighten it once more.

Harry felt as though he had quickly come up from underwater, and struggled to wrap his mind around what Malfoy was now saying.

"Why? What do you mean, was it something I did?" He panted, his chest still heaving and his pants still uncomfortably restrictive below his waistband.

"We can't do this," Draco repeated, his grey eyes meeting Harry's again. There was both desperation and sadness in them so great that Harry wondered how he hadn't seen it before. He wanted more than anything for Draco to just tell him what was going on. "I'm sorry Potter, I... I just can't. I have to go." Malfoy turned on his heel and began to make his way back into the hallway, his shoes clicking on the polished wood.

Harry started after him, opening his mouth to protest, but as soon as he had followed Malfoy into the hallway, there was a loud cracking noise letting him know the other man had disapparated.

Harry stood in the entryway, his hand still stinging from the glass that had sliced through it just a couple of minutes ago. Malfoy had left without even taking his coat with him; the dark cloak was still hanging on the bannister in the entryway. He stared at the closed door ahead of him, trying to take deep steady breaths, wondering what he could have done wrong.

He had just been voraciously, passionately kissing Draco Malfoy, like he hadn't kissed anyone else in his entire life. He didn't know what had brought it out of him, or how long he had been wanting to do that, or if it had really even happened... All he knew for sure was that he didn't care how confusing it was, he wanted more. He felt a lump in his throat, a longing to figure out what he should do next, but he had no idea where to begin understanding any of this. He stared at the door for several more, disbelieving minutes, and then walked back into his kitchen slowly, as though stumbling through a dream. The two glasses of firewhiskey sat on his kitchen table, next to the note addressed to him from Hermione. He picked it up quickly, realizing that Malfoy must have been referring to this letter when he mentioned his correspondence with Hermione earlier.

The letter was lighter than any of the other ones she had sent him over the last month, which was surprising as he had assumed she had millions of stories to tell him about the ancient temples they had visited, or detailed descriptions of the magical artifacts in museums she had seen.

There was only one page of parchment upon which he recognized Hermione's tidy scrawl. He skimmed through it quickly, ignoring the exchange of pleasantries and the "hope that he was sleeping better", and fixated on the section where he saw Malfoy's name.

"I'm not sure if you've been paying attention, but he's been through a great deal in the last few weeks. His father just got a life sentence in Azkaban, and his mother had to be admitted into St. Mungo's with a spell damage related heart condition. He's been forced out of his home so the ministry can investigate the Manor in light of Mr. Malfoy's sentencing. On top of all of that, Witch Weekly published an article last month about Draco's homosexual affair with an American professor. We all know that magazine is a load of rubbish, but I think when that issue came out Malfoy lost the remainder of the support he had from his family and the community he grew up in.

I'm not saying all of this so that you'll feel sorry for him, and I'm not even necessarily saying you should speak with him face to face. I'm just asking if you'll consider reaching out, because as much as I hate to admit it, I think you both have a lot in common.

I've been writing to him since I read about his parents in the prophet, and I've told him I think it would be a good idea for you to meet. I believe his main concern is whether or not he owes you a life debt, which I know we discussed briefly after the war. He's also wanting his old wand back, if you're able to dig that out of your school belongings. Please let me know as soon as you've received this, as I've told him you'd be available this week for him to collect it.

I've included his address below, in case you're wanting to write to him. Please let me know how you're doing, and give Ron and everyone else my love."

-Hermione

The address that was scrawled at the bottom of the page was a room in the Leaky Cauldron, which must be where Draco was staying while his mother was in St. Mungo's. Harry set the letter down on the table. If anything, Hermione had just given him even more to think about, and made the entire situation with Malfoy even more confusing. Why hadn't he mentioned anything about his family? Harry felt a sinking feeling of guilt creep over him, and he wished more than anything that he could have a chance to take back the last half hour, or at least speak to Draco about any of this. Had Malfoy really just thought that he owed Harry a life debt, and come here in a meager attempt to arrange repayment? Or was there another reason he had followed Hermione's advice and wound up on Harry's doorstep, despite everything they had been through in their years at Hogwarts?

Harry wandered automatically back into the study, which he had found was the room he had the least trouble sleeping in. He had tried sleeping in Sirius's old bedroom, still adorned with the Gryffindor banners and pictures of scantily clad muggle girls pinned up all over the walls, but that just brought unwanted memories and even more guilt about everything that had happened during the war. He wished, more than anything, that he had someone he could talk about these things with, if only to get it off his chest. Someone who would listen quietly and offer helpful, well-guided advice without telling Harry they felt sorry for him. Then again, he didn't think he would tell another living soul what had just happened between him and Malfoy. He wasn't sure he could even fully reconcile that with himself.

He laid back down on the couch in the room, staring at the ceiling and trying to get his mind off things. His eyes were finally beginning to drift shut, merely out of exhaustion, but in the back of his mind he couldn't stop thinking about why Malfoy had left when he did, or what he must be doing now. Did he plan for things to happen the way they did? Had he been wondering what that kiss would have been like since their 5th year, as Harry had?

A light rain began to beat against the windows outside, and the soothing rhythm of it was finally enough to lull Harry into a quiet, dreamless sleep.