Draco sat alone on the couch in the Slytherin common room. He supposed it made sense that nobody from his house had been very excited by the idea of spending more time than necessary at Hogwarts after the war. He sighed as he swung his feet up over the arm and fell onto his back across the cushions. Reaching one arm out lazily, he grabbed the rolled up Daily Prophet that had been delivered to him a few hours earlier at breakfast. As he tapped his wand to the paper and watched it open, he froze.

The Boy Who Lived Pays Tribute to Those Who Didn't, the headline screamed in bold. Pushing a few strands of hair out of his eyes, Draco glanced further down the column to the picture. Harry stood on a grassy hill, his hair lightly tossed by the wind, in the same shirt he had been in when Draco threw his money at the boy- not that he usually noticed what Potter was wearing. The sleeves had been haphazardly rolled up to his elbows, and the front of the button-down tucked loosely into the front of his dark jeans. There was a familiar look of weight and seriousness on the his face, and bright eyes gleamed with intensity and passion. Photo-Harry's mouth moved as he threw his wand up in the air, shouting something, and a burst of light flew from the top of his wand. He looked surprisingly mature; sure of himself and confident for once.

Realizing how intently he had been looking at the photo, Draco was immediately flooded with a rather uncomfortable uneasiness and shook his head at himself. Rubbing a hand over his face and mumbling a few not-so-nice things about the darker-haired boy, he instead began to skim over the text.

Harry Potter celebrated his eighteenth birthday at the Weasley residence on July 31st, marking the start of a new life for the Chosen One. With hundreds of supporters present to join in the festivities, Potter enjoyed a night that he confessed he never thought he would live to see.

"I have to admit," the boy joked when asked to give a speech at the event, "I'm personally quite happy that my whole dying plan didn't work out."

Jokes aside, our favorite wizard still took a moment out of his birthday to acknowledge those who had not survived, reflecting yet again the very real possibility that he may well be his own last priority. (See photo: Potter leads a salute for those who died in the War.)

Other than the few details he outlined when advocating for the total acquittal of the Malfoy family, this is the only statement regarding the War he has made since the Dark Lord's defeat. It seems likely that Potter…

At the mention of his family, Draco threw the paper onto the floor and scowled up at the ceiling. He suspected that expecting anyone to ever let him forget that Potter was the only reason they had a chance at normal lives was wishful thinking. In fact, it was likely that these few weeks before September 1st arrived may be the last time for quite a while that he would be allowed to go a single day without someone yelling insults at him or reminding him of his wrongs.

He knew he deserved it.

x

Harry dried himself off quickly with an upsettingly rough towel as he got out of the water. To his disappointment, not even the wonderful selection of bubbles, scents, and textures of the Prefect's bath were enough to allow him to relax. The rest of the summer had passed uneventfully for Harry; he had stopped at the Burrow for a few day trips here and there, but otherwise had spent his time writing letters to thank people who sent him especially generous gifts, responding to or ignoring pestering questions about his entire life sent to him by owl by particularly persistent reporters, and walking or flying around the grounds. Harry had even discovered a small secret room in the basements on the Marauder's Map that he had never noticed before, and eventually learned that to get in to it you needed to trace a specific crack on the stone floor below a particular lantern hanging on the wall. The room had been peaceful; it was cool, quiet, and very dimly lit, with a small table to the side and a couch tucked in the back.

Much like his bath, none of these things had managed to help Harry get rid of the sinking feeling in his stomach that he hadn't been able to shake all summer. Hermione, when he mentioned it the previous week while visiting the Weasley's, had assured him that feeling a little residual anxiety after everything he had been through was perfectly normal. Harry wasn't convinced, as he didn't have a worry in the world these days, and also didn't believe he could be overthinking. The issue really was how he spent entire days feeling like running a marathon at a dead sprint still wouldn't be enough to rid him of the tension and restlessness he felt. It was constant, and even as the warm water and scent of a crackling fire had washed over him in the baths, he hadn't been able to get himself to simply relax.

It was worse than ever, and Harry only hoped that he would be able to focus on coursework when the term began the next day. With a heavy sigh of defeat, he pulled on his pajamas and shuffled out the door. Heading down the hall towards Gryffindor Tower, he could see the night sky scattered with stars through the castle windows. It was exactly seven years ago when he spent the entire night looking up at the same starry sky, not sleeping a wink and full of excitement knowing in the morning he would have a completely new life. His thoughts trailed off as he realized just how much he hadn't known back then. When he approached the stairs, he felt he wouldn't be able to sleep, and decided that he would instead go to the kitchens and see if he couldn't find a way to get a hot drink. Maybe that would help.

Pushing his way through the painting covering the door, Harry wandered over to the fire still burning brightly and invitingly. He heard movement from around a corner by the stoves, and steps coming his way.

"… to worry, sir," an elf's kind voice became audible as they got nearer. "Winky has faith in you."

Harry turned to face whoever was approaching, his interest piqued when he recognized Winky was talking happily again. He hadn't seen her at his birthday, and wasn't convinced she had ever recovered from her drinking and depression. Around the corner then came the familiar elf. With Malfoy.

Harry no longer recoiled when he saw the other boy, but still he tensed with the uncertainty of how their interaction would go. As they realized they were suddenly in each other's company, their eyes met in surprise for a brief moment. Almost immediately, however, Winky took their attention. She saw Harry, and quickly seemed a mix of embarrassed and grateful.

"Mr. Potter, sir!" she exclaimed, bowing deeply before scurrying over to him. "Are you in need of something?"

Harry was deeply thankful that she hadn't gone straight to talking about Dobby. He assumed she must know what happened to him, as every elf seemed to. He wasn't sure, though, if Winky would be mourning Dobby's death or if she would take it as further proof that elves shouldn't get mixed up in things such as freedom.

"Well-" he started in response, looking between Winky and Malfoy. "Honestly, I just came for a cup of tea."

Harry felt awkward admitting it in front of Draco, and wasn't sure what kind of conversation he had just interrupted.

"But, er, I can go! It's really no big deal, I should get to bed anyway."

Winky opened her mouth, presumably to protest, but Draco beat him to it.

"No need, Potter," he said with a slow, almost bored, drawl. His grey eyes scanned over Harry in the same way they always did, with a careful, emotionless, guard up. "I was just on my way out. Thanks again, Winky."

With that, the Slytherin stepped out the door and disappeared as the painting swung shut. The house-elf then turned her full attention to Harry, who decided to take the opportunity to sit down in front of the fire.

"I can get you some tea, Mr. Potter," she assured him. "It will be no trouble."

Harry nodded his thanks, and turned to face the flames. He supposed it wasn't a surprise Draco had been in the kitchens, seeing as they were relatively close to the Slytherin common room. He wondered what they had been talking about, and why the other boy had seemed to be having such a discussion with a house-elf.

When Winky returned a few minutes later, she placed a tray next to him, upon which a teapot, mug, and everything he could want to go with tea had been placed.

"Thank you, Winky," Harry said genuinely. He poured his tea out and added his preferred amount of sugar and milk. "Would you like to sit with me?"

Winky quickly sat down next to Harry in front of the fire without a word. Harry looked at her closely, and barely recognized the elf now that she was clean and in a newer cloth gown.

"You're looking good," he told her. "Feeling better?"

Winky nodded quickly.

"Very much better, sir. It has helped Winky greatly to find someone who understands."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Understands what?" he asked.

"Understands why Winky loved Master Crouch so much and could not stand to be disowned."

Harry frowned. Seeing his look of confusion, Winky continued to elaborate.

"The other elves, sir, they didn't understand why Winky could not be happy to serve at Hogwarts. Among elves, service at Hogwarts is often a dream, you see. Your friend, too, told me Master Crouch was far too cruel. She did not understand how I cared."

The truth of what he was hearing sunk in, as Harry realized he had never seen anyone able to sympathize with Winky. Instead, they all seemed to look at her with pity or disgust. He felt terrible as he began to understand how he, too, had done nothing but make Winky sink lower into her despair those years before.

"Well, I'm glad you found someone to make you feel better. I'm very sorry I didn't realize, that was terrible of me."

Taking a sip of tea, Harry felt slightly better at the warm feel of it.

"Don't apologize, sir," Winky insisted. "Winky is fine now. Winky has Mr. Malfoy."

Tea almost came back out of Harry's nose. Covering his spluttering as much as possible, Harry forced down a few sips as he tried to regain his composure. Malfoy, whose family had believed themselves superior to most humans, never mind other magical creatures? Malfoy, who was raised watching Dobby being beaten and treated horribly? Malfoy… Eventually, Harry put the mug down and pushed the thousand doubts and questions to the back of his mind.

"What was it that he could understand?" he asked, trying his best not to sound judgmental, but burning with curiosity.

Winky stared into the fire for a moment, as if reconnecting with her past. When she finally spoke, her reply was quiet and serious.

"What it feels like to want someone to stay in your life, even when they only bring unbearable pain, simply because they are all you have ever known."