NOTE: I do not own any recognizable characters, places, etc. It is all JK Rowling.

-O-O-O-O-

Draco cursed as he walked into the corner of a table. The fire in the grate had died down, and the common room was nearly pitch black. Rubbing his aching hip, he gestured at the fireplace with his wand and was gratified to see the orange flames spring up. He muttered, "lumos," for good measure, and made his way over to one of the armchairs. The clock on the mantelpiece read a quarter past four, and Draco groaned. It hadn't been a nightmare that had woken him up – it had been the throbbing in his knee that grew persistently worse the more he tried to ignore it. He would have used the Draught of Peace, except that he had left it at home with his mother, who, quite frankly, needed it more than he did.

Snapping his fingers, he waited for a house-elf to appear. Within a minute, one of the small creatures cracked into the room.

"Tobs is here, sir!" squeaked the elf. "What is you needing, sir?"

"Could you please bring me a towel and a bucket of ice Tobs?" No matter Lucius' treatment of Dobby, Draco always treated house elves with decency.

"Tobs will be just a moment, sir!" And so, within ten minutes, Draco was comfortably sprawled on one of the couches with an icepack wrapped around his leg and a glass of warm milk in his hand – Tobs having felt that there was nothing like a glass of milk to make one feel better. Since he had time to kill – none of the other boys would likely be up before seven – Draco started on his Potions essay. It was simple enough, though he thought he had seen something in his book of Potions theories that would really back up his argument. Summoning his schoolbag to the couch, he rummaged through it. The book was nowhere to be found.

Draco cursed again. Granger still had his book from when she'd thought it was hers. He debated whether or not the castle would allow him to take something from a girl's room, but decided that he might as well give it a shot, seeing as the only homework he had left was Potions and he was in the perfect position to do it now. Reaching for his wand, he Summoned his book. Instead of coming through the archway from the girl's dorm, it zoomed from one of the tables in the common room. It came so quickly he had to use all his Seeking reflexes to catch it before it broke his nose. Running his had over the smooth leather cover, he opened the book. As he flipped through the pages, a small piece of parchment fell into his lap. He finished finding the right page before opening it.

Malfoy – I used Borage, but Hopner has good theories too. – Granger

Draco smirked before shaking his head. Only a Gryffindor would be halfway civil after seven years of torment and animosity. And she was right about Hopner – he wondered if she would ever want to discuss theories more thoroughly. Draco snorted and shook his head. She might be willing to be civil, but he doubted even she would trust him enough to be more than polite. Not that he blamed her – he didn't even trust himself anymore.

Scowling at the melancholy turn his thoughts were taking, Draco turned his attention back to his essay.

-O-O-O-O-

Draco and Blaise strolled through the sunlit corridors. It was finally the weekend, and neither of them had much to do. Draco had finished all his assignments in the small hours of the morning, and Blaise had joined him after breakfast, being an early riser himself. It was now nearly lunchtime, but Draco didn't have much appetite. The two talked about trivial things – the latest news from Blaise's mother in France and plans for the next Hogsmeade weekend. Not that Draco had any plans for it. He knew Blaise was planning on going with Pansy, and he didn't want to intrude on whatever was growing between the two of them. None of the eighth years had gone into town this first weekend – they all just wanted to settle in.

The two of them walked by a group of young Hufflepuffs who drew together fearfully when they saw Draco approach.

"C'mon, mate," Blaise said calmly, as though he hadn't just seen people actually cower in front of an eighteen year old boy. "I promised I'd meet Pansy for lunch. We should probably head down."

"You go ahead. I'm not hungry." It was true – what little appetite he had had before had vanished under a wave of anger, guilt and sadness.

"Draco…" the dark boy sighed and patted his friend on the shoulder. Blaise had only an inkling of what his Draco was going through, but he understood the blond boy needed some time alone. "I'll see you later, yeah?" Draco nodded and walked of, already lost in his thoughts.

He knew he was lucky to have Blaise Zabini as a friend. While Blaise had not had the most normal familial situation – his mother was somewhat infamous for the way she went through husbands – he had not been raised with the same fanaticism for blood purity and Voldemort. While the Zabini's sympathized with Voldemort's cause, they never openly supported it. Their neutrality had led them through the war with name and bank account intact, and Mrs. Zabini's assistance in locating and destroying Dark artifacts had quelled the rumors that they were secretly Death Eaters. So even though both Blaise and his mother knew full well how associating with Malfoys could tarnish the Zabini name, they had stuck with them.

Their friendship had started in their first year when some older boys were tormenting Blaise about his father, or multitude thereof. Draco had stepped in, and used his natural authority and arrogance to compensate for his diminutive size. Something had clicked between them, and they had formed a bond that had withstood hell and high water. Draco had confided in Blaise about things he had told no one else, and Blaise found comfort from Draco's claims that fathers weren't all they were made out to be. It didn't hurt that Narcissa and Medea Zabini quickly became friends as well.

The Zabinis had practically moved into the Manor once the War was over. Draco wasn't sure his mother would have made it through the month he was in Azkaban without Mrs. Zabini, who took charge and ensured that Narcissa did not brood over the fate of her men. Blaise himself had kept many silent vigils with Draco upon his return, when even the Draught of Peace had failed to bring relief from the nightmares. No matter how much Gryffindor prided itself on its honor, there was loyalty in Slytherin that ran deeper than the cunning and ambition.

Draco pulled himself out of his thoughts hen he realized his feet had taken him all the way to the Owlery without him noticing. He had a letter to send to his mother, and no one was in the tower, seeing as it was lunchtime. He called for his owl, Daedalus, who promptly flew down from the rafters to greet him. Stroking the soft black feathers near Daedalus' beak, Draco attached his letter.

"She's in Italy, with Mrs. Nott. You've been there before. In the south east, on the sea." Daedalus hooted in acknowledgement and gently nipped Draco's fingers before soaring through the window and winging away. Draco watched as the small black shape disappeared into the distance. Pausing, he gazed out the window at the school grounds. The lake glittered as the sun hit it, and he could see several students lounging on the banks and throwing food to the giant squid. A cloud seemed to pass in front of the sun when he looked at the Quidditch pitch.

The school season had not started yet, but several people were flying around, passing a ball back and forth. A too-familiar tightness enveloped his chest as he stared at the spiraling figures.

The Healer looked at him in concern and pity when he asked how soon until he could fly. She had been slightly wary of him during his stay at the hospital, but had gradually become friendlier as the days progressed.

"Well, as you know, the damage was severe and while we've done the best we could, your leg will never be what it once was.

He had nodded impatiently – it wasn't her fault his knee had wasted away in Azkaban with the rest of him.

"I'm sorry, but you won't be able to fly for several months. And then, it can only be light, recreational. I'm afraid you won't be able to play Quidditch. The tendons were just too damaged to be strong enough to withstand that much stress." She had gone on to give him the usual daily checkup while he just sat in shock.

He was still sitting there in shock when she had returned that night to give him the mess of potions that would knock him out for the night.

Draco shook himself loose from the memory. That had been his last night at St. Mungo's, and his last night for weeks of sound, dreamless sleep. Whatever the Healers had been using to put him to sleep, they hadn't sent him home with. And the Draught of Peace had done nothing for three weeks until he had finally felt safe enough at home for his body to relax.

No sooner had he resumed staring at the lake when someone walked into the Owlery. Draco chose to ignore them, assuming it was some young student who would just run away when they realized it was him. Then he heard a muffled throat clearing.

"Oh, er, hullo Malfoy." Draco glanced over his shoulder and lifted a single eyebrow in surprise.

"Potter," he said evenly, if a bit curtly. He didn't know what to expect. The two of them had never had a conversation that wasn't full of snide, sneering comments.

"Listen, uh, Malfoy," more shuffling behind him. "I don't think we'll ever be friends, but maybe we can get over this whole enemy thing." Draco turned to face the black-haired wizard, one eyebrow still raised.

"How very… Gryffindor of you," he drawled, maintaining an expressionless face.

"Yes, well…" Potter was flustered. "I just feel like now that the whole war is over, there's no use in keeping the same enemies and stuff." Since Draco shared these same sentiments, he made no comment. Merely nodded his head for Potter to continue. "Also, well… I appreciate you covering for us at the Manor." The last part was rushed out, and Draco flinched as unwelcome, painful memories popped into his head.

"Very well, Potter. I accept your truce. I will be civil, though I doubt I will be able to control myself the next time you do something extraordinarily dimwitted." Draco paused to enjoy the look of indignation. At least he had diverted Potter from his thoughts of 'appreciation.' "Now, if you'll excuse me, it is time for lunch."

Draco strode out of the Owlery. While he was tired of all the fighting, there was just something so amusing about pushing Potter's buttons. Appetite restored, he made his way down to the Great Hall.

A/N: A little long, I know… Hope it all make sense. Please read/review! Gracias!