Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters
A/N: Thanks to Chanteur-Dombre who has beta read this for me. :)
Summary: Years after Voldemort's downfall, our fearless heroes and former enemies only know one way to interact: insults insults insults

I can barely hear the buzz of the telly over Ron's foul-mouthed tirade as I enter the flat. While an irate wizard loudly spewing profanities might give others pause, I can tell without looking that the victim of his onslaught isn't made of flesh. It's the gleaming box in front of him.

"I take it the Cannons are losing?"

Ron ignores my question and continues his verbal lashing of the screen. "Bleeding idiots! This isn't a holiday you wankers, it's the bloody semis!"

"You know Ronald, this may be hard to believe for one who's been surrounded by magic his entire life, but they can't actually hear you through the television. That's not how it works," I explain in an admittedly condescending tone.

He looks like he wants to redirect his ire at me, but my expression must be more challenging than I realize because he turns to the set again and just groans, pulling at his hair.

The door to the flat shuts loudly as another guest makes his presence known.

"Ah, nothing like a relaxing afternoon watching Quidditch… like a day at the spa," notes Malfoy as he saunters into the room carrying a six-pack and some crisps. He puts down the goodies, grabs a beer and dutifully brings it over to Ron. The redhead grunts and grabs the beverage without thanking his benefactor. Malfoy coos, "Now Ronniekins, didn't I tell you not to watch the Cannons without a sedative?

"Bugger off."

"Good to see you too," he says cheerfully. "Like I said, nothing like kicking back with my mates to enjoy the thrills and chills of a well-fought Quidditch match."

I laugh to myself, still amazed at how the insults between Malfoy and Ron evolved from antagonism to affection. It wasn't a smooth transition. It began during what would have been our 7th year at Hogwarts, after Malfoy failed in his mission to personally kill Dumbledore. While none of his hate, aggression and racism had dispersed at the time, the realization that, despite those not-so-favourable qualities, he was not a killer, sent the young Slytherin into a crisis of conscience (in other words, he actually possessed one) that got him summarily ejected from the world of the Death Eaters.

But even with his newly found scruples, he was not fully accepted by the Order of the Phoenix and those fighting to defeat Voldemort. He didn't take any grand stand to prove his worthiness to me, or Harry or Ron. He was simply a terrified child with no place to go. Given the choices (Death, by the aforementioned Eaters, or life with Harry), he took the lesser of two evils and the Order grudgingly took him and his mother into "custody" (a virtual house arrest) - their protection in exchange for information.

I would like to think that Malfoy became a better person because he made a deliberate choice to do so. But it wasn't that he changed, the world did. In the end, pureblood fanaticism didn't lead to world domination; it lead to extinction and Malfoy and his mother were bright enough to recognize this. They were surrounded by us (though never trusted to be actively involved until the bitter end when they acquitted themselves bravely) during the war and no matter how they felt inside, the reality was overpowering. Even to this day, Malfoy will scowl at mention of Harry's do-good-can-do attitude and our unfathomable capacity for forgiveness, but he knows it's what saved him in the end. Allowed him to become the person he was supposed to be, not the puppet his father had created, once his world broke down. It took years to get to that point and now in his mid-30s, he was more or less there.

That's not to say we didn't all still have some issues or old resentments. Childhood scars run deep. But as adults, we recognized the importance of second chances (and even third and fourth ones). I confess that Malfoy became my pet cause after the war. Even as he continued to insult me (and still does, because that's just the makeup of our relationship, much the same as he is with Ron and Harry) I would not give up in my belief that 99 percent of Malfoy's behaviour was an act. It made it harder that he didn't realize he was performing (at least not on a conscious level), but I persisted and worked at him like a sledgehammer trying to unearth his wounded soul. The resentment he felt towards me (and the others) for essentially saving that soul had gradually turned into respect. And again, he didn't really have a choice.

"Granger, I see you've Quidditch-proofed your mop today so we can actually see the game," Malfoy's voice drags me out of my reverie on the past. "How considerate."

"Malfoy, you may want to try that with your mouth one of these days," I snap back. Some things never change.

"If you're implying I need to Quidditch-proof my mouth I think you're confusing me with Weasley," he laughs. "But really, can't you take a compliment?"

I narrow my eyes at him. "There's a fine line between your praise and a put-down..."

"And between love and hate," he finishes. "Nevertheless, if I said 'Granger, you're looking right sexy' you wouldn't listen. You're deaf to compliments unless they come gift-wrapped in cutting remarks."

I pause for a moment to consider this, realizing that he's probably right. Not that I'll admit it.

"Don't blame me for your lack of civility."

"Yeah, well don't blame me for your lack of quality hair products!"

"Given the fact that you just complimented me for taming my mop as you so eloquently put it, that hardly makes sense, Malfoy."

"Will you two take your foreplay to the kitchen, I'm trying to watch the match here," Ron is trying to sound angry, but I can tell he's suppressing a laugh. Well at least he's not verbally attacking an inanimate object anymore.

I feel the heat rising to my face. Not because there is any truth to Ron's quip, but just the idea behind it. I shudder. Malfoy watches my reaction, putting his hand to his heart in a gesture of mock hurt. He turns to Ron, "Just because your lusting after Oliver Wood on his broom doesn't mean you can transfer your sexual frustrations to me, Weasley."

"Play nice, kids," interjects Harry, who has appeared out of nowhere, though I'm guessing he walked through the front door while we were arguing.

Malfoy turns his attention to the new arrival. "Tell me, Potter, have you ever known Granger to graciously accept a compliment that wasn't directed at the wonders of her frontal lobe?"

Harry chuckles, but then looks earnest as he really considers the question. "I think it depends who it's coming from. Now if a certain person, who shall remain nameless, acts like a 12-year-old when he spews his, uh 'constructive compliments' then I'm not too surprised that Hermione rejects that sort of praise. However, when I say to her, 'why Hermione, you look lovely today, and that's quite a nice frock you're wearing,' she's no doubt flattered by my disarming boyish charm," he finishes with a wink toward me.

Malfoy looks thoughtful before he asks, "Spew? As if I'd ever support her psychotic notions on Elfish Welfare."

"Clever," I say, rolling my eyes in the most obvious manner possible. "I didn't see that one coming."

"Your hair probably got in the way."

I scoff, "Give up, ferret, you're weak."

"And you love me anyway," he grins as he says it. I know he doesn't mean "love" in the romantic "let's go shag and have ten babies" sense (horrid thought that), but in the "you know we're friends regardless of the crap we say to one another" way.

And I feel really warm all of a sudden. Not in an embarrassed girlish way because I have some kind of crush on Draco Malfoy, but because I know it's true. I really do love him. As a friend.