A/N: This fanfic was a labor of love born from a roleplay I had with my high school best friend. We loved A Very Potter Musical just as much as we did the canon, and this seemingly crack pairing emerged from some of the fantastic moments between AVPM's Draco and Gregory. Though we no longer speak to each other, I dedicate this fic to the girl I once knew and the awesome friendship we shared.

Shout out to my awesome Betas, Amber1015 and ShadowHeart175! You guys kept me sane.

The characters and universe in this work are property of J.K Rowling.

To say that the Second War was hard on Draco Malfoy would have been a gross understatement. There had been too many times in those two years when he had wished he was hiding out in the woods with Potter and his annoying friends rather than imprisoned in his mansion with his aunt and her Death Eater cronies. Although he had not seen the Dark Lord often during that time, the encounters he did have were enough to fuel his most terrifying nightmares. Merlin, the nightmares. Draco didn't get much sleep these days, but when he did, it was marred by horrific memories recalled in vivid detail. The eyes of the dead, the splatter of blood, the terrible thump of bodies that crumpled to the ground like rag dolls in the wake of the Dark Lord all haunted him mercilessly when he closed his eyes.

Draco was convinced he would have lost his mind in that damned house if Potter hadn't turned up at Hogwarts when he did. The battle itself was horrifying. Draco had tripped over the body of a peer only to slip in the blood of another more times than he could count. They had been strewn about the castle's floor as if they meant nothing. Losing Crabbe was what finally did him in. Even after he and his friends had tried to kill Potter, that selfless idiot had saved Draco from the fyre. Draco found he often wished it had been him who had perished instead, but he had made up his mind in that moment – if he ever had the chance to, he would help Potter destroy the Dark Lord. For the first time in the last three years, Draco had felt hope stir in his chest. That growing hope was dashed when the groundskeeper carried Potter's body across the drawbridge.

Crabbe was dead. Potter was dead. Draco could see no point. So, when his parents urged him to their side, back to the Dark Lord, Draco went. He wanted to run away. He wanted to cry like a child and bury his face in his mother's cloak, but instead he strode across the courtyard to stand by his family. When his father put an arm around him, he shrugged it off with a jerk.

But then Potter was moving. No, he was running. He was alive. Draco was running after him with a cry, snatching Potter's wand straight from the Dark Lord's hand and throwing it to his old foe. Draco did this despite knowing that the Dark Lord would kill him for his recklessness, but he would not be given a chance to. Potter was escaping, and Mother was pulling Draco out of harm's way with an iron grip. As his father lingered, torn, Draco and his mother walked away from the battle hand in hand. He was damaged, but alive. Broken, but still breathing. It was a more merciful escape than Draco could have ever dreamed for.

That day had played in the back of Draco's mind since he'd returned home, so much so that he did not think he would ever be able to forget any part of it. He had been home for a month, longer than he had expected to wait for their trial, and the owl that brought the family post that morning informed them that their wait would soon be over. Each of their trials were scheduled back to back, with commencing with Draco's at noon the next day. Draco locked himself in his room after the notice arrived, pacing the floor like a mad man and muttering a phrase softly under his breath.

"Not mother, not mother, not mother," and on and on this mantra left his lips like a prayer.

He felt as though his stomach was going to shove itself out through his throat. Draco had no doubt that they were going to Azkaban, the lot of them, and he knew that it was incredibly unlikely that any of them would ever get out. After the fear that enveloped the country had dissipated, all that was left was rage, and people just wanted someone to blame for all of it. Not that Draco thought he didn't deserve it, nor his father, but his mother did not. All she had wanted was to protect him. Father hadn't given her any other choice. Draco hoped that the Wizengamot would take that into consideration.

Draco spent the rest of that night and the entirety of the next morning chanting that prayer in his mind. As long as his mother was free, he would be happy. When Draco dressed that morning, he pulled on his best robes and stood in front of the bathroom mirror to fix his hair. His mother entered quietly, and he pretended not to notice the tremors in her hands as she carefully took the gel from him.

"May I, love?"

Her voice was too soft, and it broke Draco's heart. He nodded, not trusting his own voice enough to speak, and sat down in the chair she conjured for him. Plush and expensive, the chair was more ornate than it had to be, and Draco felt her love through it. Her touch was gentle as she pulled the comb through his hair, and if Draco closed his eyes, he could almost pretend they were just getting ready to drop him off at Platform 9 ¾. He did not dwell on these wishes when they brought tears to his eyes. Draco knew she was finished when her hands squeezed his shoulders, and she was gone before he could open his eyes. With a shaky breath and legs that felt too weak to support him, Draco left the bathroom to join his parents on the steps of their manor.

Draco and his father did not speak when the ministry official came to pick them up, nor did they speak in the car on the way there. As if in defiance of this, his mother closed her hand around his own, and he laid his head upon her shoulder. When they arrived, to Draco's immediate alarm, they were separated, and as Draco slipped his hand from his mother's he felt his resolve weaken.

If it followed the precedent set by those of the Death Eaters sentenced before him, this trial would end hastily and not at all in his favour. With this thought in mind, Draco entered the courtroom and tried to muster as much pride as he could. A blank expression would not reflect the bile rising in his throat, but no matter what Draco tried, he could not stop the tremors that shook his hands without respite. Approaching the chair atop the platform with stiff-backed grace, he had only barely sat down when the doors to the courtroom opened. Draco's stomach sank as Potter approached the court. In his shock, Draco had not noticed the bindings that wrapped around his arms and legs until they were already in place. He lunged against them regardless of the futility facing him as panic rose past the bile in his throat. If he had any chance of walking out of there before, he was most certainly going to Azkaban now.

"Sorry I'm late," Potter smiled easily as he came to a stop in front of the Minister. "I've just come from Gregory Goyle's trial, I hope you don't mind?"

Gregory Goyle. The name generated another stab of guilt. He hadn't seen or spoken to his friend since the battle's end, but he could not allow this added guilt to distract him from his own trial. After all, Draco knew that Potter's question was only a pleasantry. No one in their right mind said "no" to Potter these days. While Draco was no longer of the opinion that the fame went to his old enemy's head, he could see in times like this that Potter certainly did have a penchant for pushing the boundaries of what was allowed. Even if the Wizengamot wanted to refuse him, it would be foolish to do so. After all, with a testimony from the Chosen One, it would be easy for them to justify putting Draco away for life. Draco considered all of this with a stone-still expression, grey eyes following Potter's movement across the courtroom.

"Very well, Mr. Potter, you may provide your testimony. But let us at least get through the charges," the prosecutor, a woman with a rather pinched nose, tittered and looked for all intents and purposes as though she'd forgotten that Draco's future hung in the balance.

Draco was sure to mask the storm raging inside his head as Potter glanced back at him. He was expecting to see hate, or even smugness behind Potter's eyes, but Draco was surprised to find only calm as Potter nodded to him. He watched as Potter stood back, before his eyes flew towards the prosecutor in front of him.

"Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy, born June fifth, nineteen eighty, is present today on counts of high treason, the attempted murder of Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore, aiding and abetting Voldemort in his crimes, sheltering Voldemort from the authorities, the illegal use of the Cruciatus curse – " the list continued on, and Draco was tempted to slump in his seat with each stacked charge.

Draco could remember in vivid detail each circumstance the prosecutor brought forth, along with the repercussions each crime laid upon him. He could remember each night spent in his room, wondering whether tomorrow would be the day that crazed man finally snapped and killed his family. Most days, Draco couldn't have been sure the Dark Lord was a man. He had exuded an evil that made Draco cower like a child, so much so that even a remnant of the thought of the Dark Lord left Draco shivering. Yes, he could remember committing those crimes under the direction of the Dark Lord. His eternal punishment was that he would remember them for the rest of his life.

When the prosecutor finally got to the end of the list, she turned to Potter with a simpering smile and gestured for him to step back into the light. One sentence from Potter, and Draco knew he and his whole family were done. He couldn't blame him; Draco knew where he belonged. His eyes trailed Potter as he moved to stand beside Draco, and he could not help but flinch away from his future.

"I would like to remind the Wizengamot that, were it not for sacrifices performed by Mr. Malfoy, Voldemort may still be at large today."

Draco's head turned so sharply to look at Potter that he heard his spine pop. His mind was playing tricks on him. Surely Potter hadn't just said –

"And that, due to these sacrifices, Draco Malfoy made it possible for me to defeat Voldemort. When my friends and I were briefly held captive at Malfoy Manor, it was Draco Malfoy that bought us the time to get out by denying that he recognized me. In the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy switched sides and fought with his peers against Voldemort's army. Not only did Draco Malfoy return to our side, but he looked Voldemort in the face and retrieved my wand from his hands. The very wand I used to defeat Voldemort was restored to me by Draco Malfoy. Since that time, Draco Malfoy has stayed put in his home and made no further contact with our missing Death Eaters. Draco Malfoy has kept himself beyond suspicion in the time following the battle, a fact we cannot overlook."

The Wizengamot had begun to grumble, a sign that did not look very good to Draco.

"We can all remember the crimes Draco Malfoy has committed, and you may very well decide to charge him for them. But the Wizengamot must also take into consideration what may have been lost if Draco Malfoy had not risked his life, and everything he had, in order to aid the wizarding world."

With a testimony such as this in Draco's defense, the Wizengamot had no choice but to drop his charges. Draco was completely dumbfounded. Why had Potter done that? Draco's sacrifices for him had not been great by any means. Didn't Potter hate him? Why had he not mentioned that Draco tried to kill him during the battle? Wouldn't he have been glad to see Draco rot in Azkaban? But Draco did not have time to ask these questions, for as the bonds released him and he rose from the chair, his mother was ushered in to take his place.

Draco's surprise increased further when Potter took the stand once again for his mother. Draco heard for the first time how his mother lied to the Dark Lord's face about Potter's escape from death, and how this alone had enabled Potter to return to the castle and defeat him. She too was cleared of all charges.

Then it was his father's turn, and as Draco and his mother stood off to the side, hands gripping each other tightly, Potter turned on his heel and left the courtroom. It was clear he would give no testimony in favour of Lucius Malfoy. Draco tried not to resent him for it – at least Potter had not stayed to testify against him – but it was hard to swallow the bitter feeling that rose in his throat. His mother cried when his father was sentenced, but she kissed Potter's cheek on her way out and pulled Draco along beside her before he had a chance to say a word.

That had been the end of May. Draco dropped off the grid immediately after the conclusion of his trial, and he did not resurface for the rest of that summer. He couldn't stand to be in that fast deteriorating cage. The beautiful home of his childhood had crumbled into the place of his darkest and most terrible memories. He'd spent the summer hiding out in a small flat run by muggleborns for wizards who wanted to be near muggle London, living off galleons his mother pretended not to notice were missing. Draco thought often about Crabbe, and then of Goyle. He felt terribly about not reaching out to his old friend, and he really had no excuse as they had both been pardoned for their crimes. However, the guilt and the thought of their shared loss had always stopped him.

Draco travelled some during his summer in exile, but he had mostly stayed at home, reading an array of muggle and wizard novels. Draco too had become fascinated by muggle clothes. There was a wizard-run shop that sold them near his flat, and if Draco went inside, he never came out empty handed. Of course, the dark blue jeans he bought did not compare in the slightest to the quality of his tailored trousers, but they were new, and they were different, and they did not remind Draco of a life he wished he'd never led. That, in Draco's opinion, made them far superior to any clothes he'd owned before.

Draco had also grown a fondness for muggle cinema. Though the plot lines seemed trivial, and most of their problems could simply have been solved with magic, Draco still enjoyed the change of pace immensely. There was no stuffy courtship between love interests, nor did there seem to be any rules at all when it came to the matter of love. Though it perhaps made him a sap, it was what Draco liked most about it. He spent as happy a summer as he could in the wake of the upheaval and terror, and his life had become almost uniform. The schedule did him good. Nothing unexpected, nothing out of place. But of course, this could not last forever.

Draco was watching the sunrise from a large chair by the window of his flat after a particularly bad nightmare when the owl arrived. A fire crackled cheerfully, despite the fact that it was mid-August, and Draco held a mug of tea in his hands as it steeped. The owl had come as a great surprise to him, as the only person who knew where he lived was his mother. They had no need for owl post – they communicated through the Floo every evening before she went to bed. Draco rose tentatively from his position to let the bird in. The poor thing looked exhausted, but flew away as soon as Draco removed the letter attached to its leg. Reading the contents of the letter, Draco sank into his chair and rubbed his temples.

Mr. Draco Malfoy 12 Carrington Way Apt. 9 London, England

To Mr. Draco Malfoy: We are pleased to inform you that you have been invited back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this term. We have added this term to our curriculum in order to supplement lessons missed last year and to allow you to take your N.E.W.T exams. This, as always, is in order to prepare you for success in our recovering society. Please let us know by owl if you accept this invitation by August 20th so that we may prepare accommodations for you.

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall

This couldn't be happening, yet Draco could think of no other explanation. It was addressed to him, that was very clear. They wanted him back? Draco could see no explanation as to why, but there could be no mistaking their intentions. This strange twist left him with much to consider, and as he began pacing around his apartment, he came to realize that this choice was too difficult to make on his own. He couldn't discuss this with Goyle, not when he didn't know if he'd gotten an owl of his own, and so Draco made a large change to his daily routine. He went home.

When Draco apparated onto the steps of his childhood home, he was drenched by a wave of several intense emotions. Anger, sadness, and bitterness came to the front of his mind, but also nostalgia and longing. He could tell that his mother had employed another house elf. The manor looked just as it had when Draco still called it home, before those people had taken it and perverted it. He found that he still had to draw some courage as he paused outside of the door, but before he could raise a hand to enter, the door was opened for him.

A small house elf stood before him in a cheerful flowery dishrag. Though it was nowhere near proper clothes, it was much nicer than the dirty sacks he'd seen other house elves wear. Her head barely came to his knee, and she sported a small toothy smile underneath a button shaped nose. Draco could tell that his mother had picked this one herself.

"Minny is welcoming Master Draco home. Minny is to be waiting for Master Draco all the times now, Mistress always wants to be knowing if Master Draco is being home. Minny is going to make Master Draco tea now. Mistress told her how to do it, she knows what Master Draco likes."

Draco felt a smile pull at his lips in the presence of the chatty thing. She reminded him of Dobby, the house elf that had mysteriously disappeared after Draco's second year. He'd thought his father had killed the elf, but then, he also thought that he'd recognized it back when... Draco stopped. The memories of that day were too terrible to recall at present.

"Wait – Minny?" he called, trying to catch her before she disappeared completely. She ran back over eagerly and peered up at Draco with large eyes.

"How can Minny be helping Master Draco?"

"After you make the tea, could you locate my old school things? They may be in the basement still, but I'm not certain."

"Minny already is knowing where Master Draco's school things are! They are being in his room, where Mistress asked Minny to put them. Can Minny be doing anything else for Master Draco?"

"No, Minny. That's all."

Draco watched her scurry off with a small, warm feeling in his chest. His mother had been waiting for him all this time? He couldn't believe that she'd kept all his old school things. It was enough to bring a few tears to his eyes at the thought of how worried he must have made her. Draco paused by the table by the door, a letter addressed to him catching his eye. His stomach sank as he saw the sender, and Draco ripped it open with a growing sense of dread.

Draco Malfoy,

How've you been? What've you been up to this summer? I know you've probably been too busy to answer my other letters, but this one's sort of important. My mum's not been doing well. Losing dad's been hard on her. She's sunk pretty low, but I'll spare you the details. I guess the reason I'm really writing is to ask if you've gotten a letter from Hogwarts? And if you have, do you think you'll be going back? I'd really like to hear your thoughts on all this.

Gregory Goyle

Draco's lips were pressed together by the end of the letter, his mind running in a million different directions. Though he had come here to discuss going back to school with his mother, he knew deep down that he had already decided to go back. He looked up at the date and frowned. It had been sent two days before; he was sure Goyle expected an answer sooner than he could send by owl. Draco nodded a bit to himself and reached for a scrap piece of parchment in the drawer of the desk, leaving a note for his mother before stepping back out onto the porch. He shut his eyes tightly and willed himself to the one place he knew he needed to be.

The sharp crack that accompanied apparition still struck fear into his heart, but Draco had overcome the side effects of nausea and headaches long ago. When he opened his eyes again, he was standing in the middle of his friend's basement bedroom, entirely unsplinched. He was suddenly unsure of the wisdom behind his impulsive decision, but still sat himself down on the bed to wait for his friend to come down. Draco found that it wasn't long until the door was pushed open, his hand resting on his wand in preparation for anything.

When Goyle first entered his room, it seemed as though he did not register that someone was there. He tossed a sauce stained shirt into his clothes bin before he stopped in his tracks and stared at Draco. Draco couldn't get an exact reading of the emotion on his face, but he was glad to see that it did not seem to be anger. He offered his old friend a weak smile and held the envelope up for him to see.

"Hello. So, I, um, got your owl. I figured there was probably a lot we needed to talk about. Ah, too much for me to write back? I, uh – "

This had gone over a lot better in Draco's mind. In his vision, Goyle had been delighted to see him, and was not staring at him with unknown feelings. In his vision, Draco did not feel foolish for his rash choice.

"I'm sorry for falling off the grid like I did. It was selfish of me," he finally finished, a long silence stretching between the two as Draco looked down at his hands.

"I guess I understand. I probably would have done the same if it hadn't been for my mum," Goyle said after another long moment. "It's good to see you."

The words looked hard for him to say, but Draco knew that he was trying to cover up whatever it was lurking under the surface. Draco was both thankful and wishing he wouldn't. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed the taller boy until Goyle was standing before him. Draco looked up at him and picked incessantly at a loose string on his favourite muggle shirt.

"It's good to see you too. I'm sorry about your mum. I should have been there for you."

Draco let another long pause stretch between them before he spoke again, looking Goyle in the eye for the first time since he'd shown up.

"Do you think you'll go back? To Hogwarts, I mean."

Goyle took a moment to answer him, coming to sit on the edge of the bed next to Draco. He was looking down at his feet for what felt like a long time before he looked up at Draco.

"I'm not sure. It's more complicated than that for me. I would need to find someone to take care of my mum, and that's only if I decide that I want to go. I don't know if I can make myself go back there." He was quiet for another long moment before he turned completely toward Draco. "Are you?"

Draco nodded slowly and tried to squash his disappointment at Goyle's answer.

"Yeah, I am. And...please, don't think I'm trying to be insensitive, but have you thought about St. Mungo's? Even if you have, and you don't like it, I've got this other idea. It may not be the most ideal situation, but if you did decide you wanted to go back, my mother hasn't had much to do since my father... you know. I'm sure she'd love to have your mum come stay with her."

Draco wanted this badly. He would go back to Hogwarts with or without Goyle, but he knew it would be so much easier if he wasn't alone.

"I had thought about Mungo's, but then she really did start to get better. She's just grieving, I think, but she's been getting out of bed, and we've even started to go on walks together. But actually… I think some time with your mum really would be good for her. Besides, you've already made up your mind, and it's not like I can let you go back there alone."

Draco couldn't help the smile that spread across his face.

"So, you'll go back then?"

"Yeah. I was really going back and forth on it. Mum was my biggest reason for not going – well, that, and thinking I'd be alone if I did go. You've just solved both of those problems for me."

"I must say, you've been a far better son than I have. I haven't visited my mother since the trials ended. I was going to go today, but then I got your owl. I've been living in a flat. We both thought it may be better for me to have some space."

"Don't feel guilty for what you've done to cope, Malfoy. We've all shut ourselves away in some fashion after the war."

Draco nodded, fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve before he looked back at his friend.

"Can I show you something? I haven't shown anyone else, and I want to see whether you think it'd be a good idea to show my mum. I sort of did it for her, but I don't want to mess things up when I actually see her."

"Of course, you can show me anything."

Draco nodded again, this time a bit nervously, before he pushed up the left sleeve of his shirt and flipped his arm over. There was nothing magical about the tattoo that covered his Dark Mark, but the Narcissa flowers that concealed the horrible reminder were pure against the evil they hid.

"I tried everything I could to remove it." Draco brushed a finger across a few ugly raised lines hiding beneath the blooms. "But I couldn't get the damned thing off. Nothing else worked, so I went to a muggle tattoo parlour. I'd heard Granger talk about them once, and I got them to cover it up. Do you think she'll like it?"

"It's really beautiful. I think she'll love it."

A broad smile split Draco's face for the third time that day before he checked his watch. His hour was coming to a close.

"Listen, I really do have to go see my mother, but if you want, we can go shopping in Diagon Alley sometime this week? I'll even come pick you up."

"You don't have to do that – "

"Of course, I don't have to," Draco interrupted him with a small snort as he shook his head. "I don't have to do anything. I want to though. I've missed you a lot, and I fully intend on spending as much time together as possible before the train leaves. We've got to come up with a game plan for the year if we're ever going to survive."

"Then, yeah, that'd be good. I've missed you too. And I'm glad you're okay, by the way. At some point I seriously thought you were dead; I was pretty worried."

"I'm sorry."

Draco flinched as Goyle nudged him with an elbow, immediately hoping that the taller boy hadn't noticed.

"It's okay. Really. Now get out of here – and be looking for my owl this time."

"I'll have Minny forward any mail to my new address. I'll see you later then?" Draco asked hopefully.

"You will. Enjoy your time with your mum."

And, with a foreign warmth in his chest, Draco Malfoy was gone.