For a moment, Draco was filled with panic. For a moment, he could see Harry's face twisting with hate and his hands closing around the kitten's neck, snapping it just to spite Draco.

But this was only for a moment. Then Draco remembered that this wasn't something Harry Potter would do. His father, maybe. But not Harry. Harry gently set the kitten down, and attempted to smile at Draco, but it came out more like a grimace.

"I found him in me and Ron's room. He was sleeping on Ron's pillow."

"She, actually," Draco corrected him. "Her name is Nimm."

"Nimm," Harry repeated. "Where did you get her?"

"Dumbledore had me penned up at a muggle inn in this little village. I found her in a cardboard box outside of it." Draco explained. "I've only had her a day."

"Oh, yeah?" Harry nodded, and looked uncomfortable, like he didn't know what to say next. "That's . . . neat, Draco."

"Sort of, yeah." Draco nodded too, and felt himself continuing despite his better judgement. "Really wretched place. I was there for weeks. No one to talk to. Nothing to do. I was just laid up in there . . . thinking about—,"

"Things," Harry finished for him, enthusiastically, understandingly. "I know what you mean. That's how I feel when I'm with the Durs—when I'm with my aunt and uncle during the summer. There's just all this time . . . all this time and nothing to do with it but rehash everything that's happened."

So Draco's suspicions were true. It was the same for Harry. So strange that their lives had so much in common. So strange that probably they'd always had a lot in common—the dark, menacing antagonist in their lives who made them wish they never had to leave Hogwarts. And family who didn't understand it. Harry's aunt and uncle. Draco's mother.

"This is so surreal," Harry said, scratching the black mop on his head. "I never thought this would be happening."

Draco laughed. Out of all the things that had happened to Harry, this was surprising him! Harry laughed too, and then did something very strange. He walked further into Draco's room and sat down in a dusty old armchair near the empty fireplace.

"It's been kind of a hard summer all around, hasn't it?" He commented.

Draco nodded, and sat down on the edge of his bed. "Yeah. It really has." He knew Harry meant for both of them. Harry had lost his godfather. Draco had murdered his dad. Families across the continent were suffering in the new war. It wasn't easy. Nothing was easy anymore.

"I just want to get back to school." Harry said firmly. "When I'm there, it feels like nothing can touch me. At least for a little while."

"Yeah," Draco agreed. "But at the same time, even that will be hard."

"For you?" Harry blinked, and then nodded. "It will. It will be very hard. They're not putting you back in Slytherin are they? If they put you in there, you'll be murdered in your sleep—after what happened it won't be safe!"

Draco felt the color drain from his cheeks as the fears he'd been turning over in his mind for weeks were voiced for the first time.

"I'm sure Dumbledore has thought of that, though," Harry reassured him. "He'll make sure you're safe."

"Yeah," Draco looked down at his lap.

"I mean it," Harry said. "Nothing can touch us at Hogwarts, as long as he's there. He'll look after us."

"I hope you're right, Harry," Draco shrugged. Then, eager to change the subject, he looked up, "So how long have you been staying here?"

"Almost a month," Harry said. "Since my birthday. They always move me around on my birthday."

Draco smiled a little. "Has it been fun?"

Harry shrugged. "Mostly. Little awkward, too. "Ron and Hermione, you know. I think something's going on with them. Makes me feel a bit out of place and in the way, if you can grasp it."

"Oh," Draco considered that for a moment. Granger and the Weasel. It was predictable. At the same time, it was right.

And he wasn't the Weasel. He was Ron, Harry's best friend.

"Do you have a girl on the mind?" Draco asked, curiously. It had never occurred to him that the Boy Who Lived could have an interest in women too, but they had plenty else in common. It was plausible.

"Oh," Harry's face flushed. "Oh, well, I, you know, erm, it's possible that I could be thinking about a girl or something, but you know,"

"Yeah," Draco agreed. "I know,"

"You do?"

"Of course," Draco nodded.

"Pansy?"

Draco laughed, the hardest he'd laughed in weeks, the first he'd laughed in weeks. "Harry," he gasped. "Have you seen her? Have you spoken to her?"

"Well, it seemed like you were pretty fond of her—,"

"She was good for a snog now and then."

"Who were you talking about then?"

"Who were you taking about?" Draco asked.

"Well, you know . . . it's not that I obsess about her, or that I'm really interested and of course, if I tell you, I'd rather we didn't discuss it much, but over the summer her hair's grown out, and she's filled out a little bit, and she's older and smarter, and funnier, and she has this way making me feel like it'll be okay in the end, and so maybe I think about Ginny from time to time. You know. Just a bit."

Draco smiled, and looked at the floor while Harry's face went from pink to scarlet.

"So who were you talking about?" Harry demanded.

"I . . . ah," Draco sighed. "I'll never see her again. But while I was at the inn, I met this girl Bridget, and she was beautiful, and fun, and sharp as a tack. I wish I'd spent more time with her, if you know what I mean."

"Shagging her?"

"No, of course not!" Draco nearly shouted. "Why would you think that?"

"People talk like you really know what you're doing when it comes to girls. They say, at least, your father—," Harry stopped, and looked horrified with himself.

"Yeah, they do say that." Draco answered quietly.

"I'm sorry, Draco," Harry apologized.

"Don't worry about it," Draco shook his head. "The conversation was getting weird anyway."

"Yeah," Harry stood up. "I never thought . . . ,"

"Me either," Draco stood up too.

"Well, g'night then," Harry went to leave.

"Yeah, g'night," Draco echoed, and then, "You know, Harry, people say it about me . . . but it's not really true."

Harry stopped at the door. "It's not?"

"No. I've never . . . not with anyone."

"Yeah?" Harry looked over his shoulder. "Me either." He quickly left, closing the door behind him. Draco sat down on his bed, and looked at the carpet, knowing that Harry could go and tell Ron and the two of them could have the laughing fit of the century.

But at the same time, Draco knew that Harry wouldn't.