July

July was just as boring as June, a dull, tedious repetition of war memories. It was late-July before anything more than polite conversation was exchanged between Draco and the Weasleys, although after his birthday they were certainly less strained in each other's company. Draco didn't know if that was such a good thing.

Draco had walked into the Manor, headed upstairs, and force-fed Potter half a breadroll. Potter had thrown up most of it. When he was down, Draco forced him to eat the other half, and then forced him to drink some water. Surprisingly, Potter had kept most of that down. Draco left him lying on the bed and headed downstairs to the kitched. He was startled by Hermione greeting him – he hadn't heard her come inside.

"Oh hello Malfoy, it's good that you're here."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is it, now?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, a gesture which seemed oddly friendly. It made Draco uncomfortable, and he turned away from her. He looked around the kitchen, noting the bags sitting on the counter. He looked over at her again with a questioning, but not demanding, gaze.

"It's Harry's birthday in a couple of days," Hermione said softly.

Draco would have snorted were it not both unbecoming and uncultured. "I fail to see how a birthday party is appropriate or useful in this situation."

Hermione's look couldn't stop the automatic response. "Honestly," he continued, "do you people think that waving a slice of cake in his face whilst people sing annoying songs and shove gifts at him is going to help his condition?" He almost regretted saying it, but Hermione's lack of response made him push on desperately, trying to get some semblance of animosity back. "What do you think he's going to do? Come down from his room, take a look around and then suddenly get better? You think he's going to be hit by a ray of sunshine, start dancing and singing and then everything will just-"

She'd slapped him. He'd been expecting it. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears. He made to speak again, but she cut him off harshly.

"Shut up. Just…shut up. I should have known better than to think that you actually cared about this, but I suppose the fulfilment of your own selfish life was all you were really after. Just go away, Malfoy, and leave Harry's friends to celebrate his birthday with him." The word 'friends' was underlined and capitalised in Draco's head.

He wanted to apologise, not for hurting her feelings, but for making her think that he didn't care. He was beginning to, in his own way. He wanted the old Potter back as well, if only to insult him and fight with him and work together on stupid boring Auror cases once in a while. But he said nothing, because he didn't know Potter at all, didn't know Potter's friends, and then after saying nothing, he left.

Draco spent the next couple of days cooped up in one of the potions labs at work, burying himself in work and reminding himself that he was doing it for the job. He didn't think Hermione would rescind his job transfer, but part of him was worried that she might.

A clock on the wall spun and danced, informing him that it was eight in the evening. He caught himself wondering whether Potter's birthday party had started. He reached for another vial, and then glanced around. No one was paying him any attention. He'd finished a batch of potions – trying to complete another would take at least three hours.

"Fuck this," he muttered to himself, and left for Potter's house.

Upon arriving, he noted the sound of music and light-hearted conversation drifting through the walls. With a deep breath that only served to make him regret his actions more, he cursed to himself once again and then pushed open the door. The conversation stopped – clearly there was no confusion this time about who it was at the door.

Ron's head peered into the hallway, and his eyes narrowed slightly when he confirmed that, yes, in fact, it was Draco standing at the door.

"I can go," Draco said curtly.

Ron seemed as though he was going to agree, but then shook his head. "We managed to get him downstairs into the living room, but he's just sitting in the corner, staring at the wall."

Draco followed him through the house without a word. Hermione, Ginny, George, Bill and Fleur were seated around the room, as well as a woman he recognised as being on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. There were even more children here, he noted with some slight panic.

"Uh, you remember Angelina? She was Chaser on our team…" George began awkwardly. "And this is Fred, Roxy's brother…That's Victoire, Dominique and Louis – they're Bill and Fleur's. And, ah, that's Teddy. He's your cousin's son…Tonks. I mean…Nymphadora. And Lupin's," he was rambling now.

There was a silence again. Draco once more felt ridiculously out of place.

"I was just…stopping by."

"And you happened to have a present for Harry just lying around?" Hermione asked, pointing at the parcel in his hand.

"Actually it was in the bushes outside," Draco replied flippantly. "Probably a bomb."

The kids screamed at that, and hid behind pieces of furniture and parents' legs. Ginny stifled a laugh, and in spite of himself, Draco smirked. In truth, he had bought before Hermione had come over, but there was no way they were ever going to find that out. Hermione put a hand over her mouth, trying to come across as shocked, but there was no mistaking the smile hidden behind her palm.

The conversation resumed afterwards, and Draco helped himself to some food, suddenly realising how hungry he was. Everyone was careful not to let the children bother him too much. A little while later, Hermione gently placed the various presents in front of Potter, who sat still and silent, until a pile of presents sat untouched by his feet.

"Don't you want to open them, Harry?" Ginny said quietly. Potter only turned his head towards the sound, but gave no reply.

Draco tutted, and forced Potter to look at him, drawing gasps through the room. "Potter," he said firmly, "I think that's rather ungrateful. Open the bloody presents the bloody Weasleys and I have gotten for you." Everyone was too stunned to even think about reprimanding his choice in language.

Potter's eyes bore into his, and when they flickered to green for longer than a split second, Draco's breath hitched. Potter turned towards the Weasleys and opened his mouth to say something, but apparently seeing them properly for the first time in years scared the living daylights out of him because his eyes were back to grey in a flash and he was sprinting up the stairs to his room.

Draco sighed, ready to face an onslaught of insults and anger, but instead, Hermione actually had the nerve to wrap him into a hug, the likes of which rivalled his mother's choking, bone-crushing squeezes, and Draco smiled in spite of himself.