In the following days, Harry almost felt as though he had imagined his Wednesday night encounter with Malfoy. If it weren't for the empty Firewhiskey glass Malfoy had left on his bedside table, he almost could have convinced himself that it hadn't happened at all. But try as he might, he couldn't quite shake his curiosity or concern over the odd Wednesday night encounter, and even went so far as to write Malfoy a note asking if he was all right. Right before he sent Hedwig off with it, he pulled her back through the window and crumpled the note in his hand.
It wasn't any of his business whether or not Malfoy was all right, he thought, tossing it in the trash. That wasn't how their arrangement worked, and frankly, he told himself, he didn't care one way or the other.
In the end, he didn't have much time to dwell on it at all. He had piles of paperwork to finish for the Aurors before he could leave for Christmas break on the weekend, and it kept him busy right up until Friday evening, when Ron and Hermione invited him out to Three Broomsticks for drinks.
He was pleased to see that Neville, newly appointment Herbology professor at Hogwarts, was able to sneak out to meet them. Finally, he thought, leaving behind his piles of paperwork and his Junior Auror badge at the Ministry. A Gryffindors-only night out on Friday, and by Saturday, he'd be eating Molly's cooking and helping Teddy learn to fly on his new toy broom.
No work, no stress, and best of all, no Malfoy.
At the Three Broomsticks, he settled in comfortably next to Neville, downing half a bottle of beer in two gulps.
"Easy there, mate," Ron said with a grin. "Shit week, wasn't it?"
You don't know the half of it , Harry thought. He grimaced and took another drink, hoping that Ron wouldn't bring up Auror training. "How're things at Hogwarts, Nev?"
"Oh, fine," said Neville, shrugging. "Looking forward to spending some time with my gran, though. She's getting up there, needs me to take care of a few things around the house."
"She's lucky she's got you, Neville," Hermione said encouragingly, and as Neville launched into a story about the Boggart he'd got out of his gran's closet at Easter, Harry let his mind wander.
On top of the odd night he'd had with Malfoy, and the paperwork he'd had to finish that day, he just hadn't been sleeping well. He'd slept fine the night Malfoy came over-he supposed he'd been feeling good after having dinner with Ron and Hermione-but Thursday night, he'd been overcome by nightmares and laid awake in the darkness throughout the early hours of the morning. His senior Auror partner had asked Harry to write out a long, detailed account of a recent raid on a Death Eaters' home in the afternoon, and Harry'd spent the night wrestling with nightmares about Horcruxes and the cellar at Malfoy Manor, waking in a cold sweat again and again throughout the night.
He shuddered, thinking about it, and Hermione gave him an odd look. He shrugged at her and turned back to the conversation.
"...and you'll never believe it, but it was Malfoy!" Neville was saying.
Harry turned toward him, startled. "What were you saying?"
"Harry, are you all right?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "Neville was saying that ran into Malfoy at Hogwarts today."
"I'm fine, Hermione." Harry tipped back his beer and drained the rest of the bottle. "How-er-how was he? Malfoy."
Neville shrugged. "Fine. Nicer. He, ah, apologized for everything that happened back at school."
Harry stared at him. "He did?"
Ron snorted. "Apologized for what? Being an absolute asshole, or being a blood purist, or trying to get us all killed?"
Neville shrugged again. "All of it, I suppose. He seemed nicer. Bit on edge, though."
Malfoy on edge, now that, Harry could imagine. The apology, not so much. "What, ah, what was he doing at Hogwarts?" he asked.
"He brews potions with some company in Hogsmeade," Neville explained. "Medicinal, mostly. They stock the Hogwarts hospital wing and St. Mungo's. He came by to consult with Madame Pomfrey."
Malfoy had been good at potions back at Hogwarts, Harry remembered, but he had no idea that he'd gone into it as a career. He thought of Malfoy's long fingers and careful, precise movements. Brewing probably suited him.
"I haven't seen Malfoy in years," said Ron. "Almost forgot about him, to be honest. Seems like just yesterday that Harry was obsessively following him around the castle, eh Hermione?" Harry flipped Ron off, his heart beating fast, and Ron and Hermione laughed.
"I think Malfoy keeps a low profile these days," Neville said thoughtfully. "Must be tough to keep a job when you've got the Dark Mark on your arm."
Harry nodded. He hadn't really thought about that. The first time he'd seen Malfoy's Dark Mark-the first time he'd gone home with Malfoy from the bar-it had given him pause, but Malfoy had expertly guided Harry's gaze and hands to other parts of his body. Now, Harry barely noticed it at all, dark though it was against Malfoy's pale forearm.
What startled him the most about Neville's revelations was the apology. Malfoy had never apologized to Harry-but then again, they never spoke.
The next morning, slightly hungover but relieved to be on break, Harry Apparated to the front yard of the Burrow, ready for a week of rest and relaxation and Molly's cooking. Every year, he felt more and more grateful for Christmas at the Weasleys. They'd opened their home to him for nearly fifteen years now, and considered him one of their own, even after he'd broken up with Ginny.
"Harry!" Molly exclaimed when he let himself in the front door. "You're here! That's just about everyone then, just waiting on a few more to arrive. She stuck her head through the kitchen door. "Ron! Hermione! Harry's here!"
"Hey, Harry," Ginny appeared in the doorway, her face flushed from the outdoors. "Glad you made it. Quidditch later?"
Harry grinned at her. "Only if we're on the same team," he said. "I'm not playing opposite Holyhead Harpies' Player of the Year."
Ginny laughed. "Saw that, did you? Fine by me, we can stack it-you, me, and Charlie against Ron, Bill, and George."
"Enough Quidditch talk, you two," Molly scolded. "There's time enough for that. Harry, go ahead and take your things upstairs, I've got you in the same room as usual, the one you shared with Charlie last time."
Harry waved at Ginny and dragged his duffle bag upstairs. It felt good to be here, he thought. No matter else was happening in his life, the Burrow always felt like home. He set the bag down on the bed and stretched his arms over his head, wondering if he had time for a bit of a lie-in before dinner.
"You made it."
Harry turned and saw Charlie standing in the doorway. He was the shortest of the Weasley brothers; sturdy and muscles, his red hair shaggy, his beard slightly grizzled. He grinned and Harry, and glancing behind him, shut the door and closed the distance between them.
"Hey," Harry said, his stomach fluttering. Charlie put his arms around Harry's waist and kissed him on the mouth without warning.
"Staking your claim?" Harry asked, pausing for just a moment before relaxing into Charlie's embrace.
"What do you mean? Isn't this how you and Ron greet each other?" Charlie said with a laugh. "Nah, I've just missed you," he said honestly, and Harry flushed.
"I missed you too," he said, and it was true. Charlie was everything Malfoy wasn't: kind and funny, a good listener, a good friend. He pulled back as though the kiss they'd just shared was nothing more than a friendly hello, and grinned broadly at Harry.
"I've been anticipating that for ages," he said. "That and other things. Did you get my letter?"
"Yeah," Harry said, flushing more deeply. "Sorry, I…"
Charlie rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know. Communication isn't your thing. It's fine. Listen, Mum's actually got me rooming with George this time, so I won't be rooming with you."
"Oh?" Harry was surprised to feel some relief at this news. "She, er, didn't find out about...well, you know...did she?"
"Merlin, no," Charlie said. "She'd have murdered me already if she found out that I've been corrupting you. She loves you best of all of us you know," he teased. Harry gave him a good natured punch on the arm, and Charlie chuckled.
"Anyhow, it's nothing like that," he went on. "Angelina's not coming after all, and Mum's got it in her head that George can't bear to stay on that room alone, what with Fred gone and all. You know how she overthinks the sleeping arrangements. But if you've got this room to yourself, I can come by tonight, if you like?" He grinned at Harry, slipping his arms around his waist again. "Like usual?"
Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, thinking about all the times the pair of them had nicked a bottle of wine and snuck away from the family drama, lounging on one of the twin beds until late into the night. He liked Charlie, and he liked the ease and comfort of being with him; the way Charlie casually touched Harry every time nobody was looking, the way he nuzzled the back of his neck when they spooned together at night. He liked the way their bodies fit together, and the way Charlie listened when Harry talked.
Everything he liked about Charlie was everything that Malfoy wasn't.
Don't think about Malfoy, Harry scolded himself as Charlie slid his hands up Harry's back and waited for his response. It would be nice to have the room to himself this year so he could clear his head, Harry thought, but it would be nice to spend a little time with Charlie, too.
He opened his mouth to say so, but the pair of them jumped apart at the sound of shouts from downstairs.
"Charlie! George! Ron! Ginny!" Molly shouted up the stairs. "Whoever transfigured the dining room table into a sandbox best get down here this instant !"
Harry snorted with laughter.
"I swear it wasn't me," Charlie said with a grin. "But I'd better go help. Later, Harry." He brushed a kiss across Harry's lips, and disappeared through the door.
Harry flopped down on the bed and closed his eyes. He'd go help too, he thought. But first, he'd take a few moments of quiet while he still could.