November

Seven months after Potter's friends had approached him, Draco was sitting in Potter's room, reading an interesting article about the soporific properties of a new herb they had discovered in the ruins of Machu Picchu. It was one of the various subscription journals that he had sent to his house once a month. Part of him knew it was absurd, bordering on insane, that he wished the potions industry would create a weekly magazine, but the fact remained that his field was in fact too boring to have much to write about. Occasionally the quill next to him, hovering above the notebook the Weasleys had given him for his birthday, would jot down a note. Ron, Hermione and George were somewhere downstairs, for reasons he could not remember just now as he had barely been paying attention to them when he walked in.

The same incompetent intern had been working today, except this time he had somehow made an error whilst creating one of the simplest potions to make – a Pepperup Potion. Draco had been amazed, both at the fact that he hadn't been fired, and at the fact that the imbecile had, for some reason, thought that chilli leaves were supposed to go in while the potion was red, when any moron with a brain knew they were to be thrown in whilst the potion was mint green. It had, of course, exploded, and one of Draco's nicer pair of work shoes had been completely ruined. His hair had been singed, as well, and right now he just wanted to sit down and relax with a good read. He was determined to stay calm.

On the bed next to the chair, Potter sat, catatonic and staring blankly at the wall. Draco looked up from time to time to confirm that yes, he was in fact still sitting there like a statue. He straightened the pages of the potions journal and turned the page to an advert for premium cauldrons. He snorted with derision – honestly, who in their right mind would use a cobalt-lined cauldron?

A rustle of clothing made him look up. Potter had shifted slightly to the right. Draco went back to reading. He heard a clatter of utensils from somewhere else in the manor, and nodded absentmindedly, remembering that they had decided to clean the abysmal surroundings of the manor in an effort to make the whole place just as nice as Potter's room. He assumed that the house-elf – Kritter? Creature? – who barely tolerated their presence to begin with, was probably having a conniption.

Potter shifted again as a yell from above signalled that George had most likely been attacked by some kind of animal or cursed object, and there was a great thumping noise as he danced around trying to shake it off. Draco considered going and investigating, and then decided he was perfectly comfortable where he was.

Suddenly, Potter slumped forward, asleep, and Draco sighed exasperatedly. He watched Potter for a moment, but he didn't move, and so Draco assumed that for once, he was not going to re-enact the war in his dreams. He went back to reading, slightly agitated at all of the interruptions, and in the same moment he tilted his head down towards the journal, a Stinging Hex shot past his ear, burning the tip. He swore loudly, and threw the journal down in disgust.

He felt his anger rising as Potter danced uselessly in his room, swerving and casting spells. He let out a cry of rage. He heard the movements upstairs cease and he snarled wordlessly as Potter started speaking to the dream-Malfoy. Then he did something very uncharacteristic, which he would lament for some time afterwards. In the presence of Ron, Hermione and George, he had lost his Malfoy loftiness.

"No, we could not be friends, you stupid, useless imbecile! Do you know why? It's because, unlike you, I have moved on from my losses and the crimes I committed during the war. Do you think your friends came through the war without lives lost because of them? Without deaths caused by them? Grow up, you self-centred idiot. I don't make it my life's ambition to attempt reconciling with people who I don't even bloody recognise. I don't know who you are! You're not Harry Potter, you're some sad sap who gave up!" He was screaming by the end of it.

Panting slightly, he glared as hard as he could into Potter's flickering eyes. He was exhausted, and he just wanted the stupid Saviour to get over it so that Draco could have his life back and possibly spend time with a normal, sane and attractive Potter.

Potter started shaking, and the walls began to rattle with suppressed magical rage. Draco swore, wanting nothing more than to punch him in the face, if it would help. Potter collapsed, and without thinking, without remembering the Weasleys were standing in the room, Draco was at his side, his hand on Potter's shoulder.

Suddenly, Potter's stone-grey eyes flashed bright green, and Draco was greeted by a fist in the face.

"Shut up!" came a scream, and the voice was clear and familiar, as though its owner had never stopped using it.

Draco fell backwards, his jaw aching, his lip split, and snarled wordlessly as he stood. He stared into beautifully green eyes and lost it. Throwing himself at Potter, he punched him in the stomach, ignoring the gasps and yells of the Weasleys present.

"You shut up, you asshole!"

"Mommy's boy!"

"Destitute orphan!"

"Arrogant prick!"

"Uncultured swine!"

The insults and punches and kicks flew backwards and forwards. Ron, Hermione and George were trying to cast shield charms to separate them but Draco and Potter were flailing around so violently that it was futile to try. There was a break in the violence as both men swayed, fists clenched, glaring at each other. Draco's lip had started dripping blood onto his shirt, but it didn't matter because his shirt was torn and already covered in blood from a gash on his arm. Potter had two black eyes, a split lip and what looked like a broken wrist. Both of them were turning black and blue and yellow from bruises.

"You don't know what I went through." Potter growled.

"And you don't know what I went through. You waltz in, testify for my family and think that our lives are suddenly sunshine and daisies, don't you, Potter?" Draco sneered.

Potter looked furious. "You know damn well that's not what I think. I hurt so many people, destroyed so many families. I killed during that war."

"We all did. But we didn't become useless, self-punishing imbeciles. We didn't become a burden to our friends."

"That is not true," Hermione started to say, but Draco impatiently held his hand up.

"I'm not in the mood to hear you defend him. For once in your life, shut up."

He wasn't sure what made her obey him, but miraculously, she stepped back, flustered.

Potter was already lost in that train of thought, however, and his eyes started fading again. "I am sorry about that," he murmured quietly. "I…I couldn't control it. I spent most of my time in my head, in a fog, because I truly felt that I deserved nothing more than to be left in a room to die."

"For fuck's sake. You saved thousands of lives. You can't destroy a Dark wizard and expect there to be no casualties." Draco snapped. "Grow up and accept what you've done. Accept that you need help, and then accept the help from your friends, or so help me I will shove your own wand into your nostril and hex your brains so that it dribbles out of your ears." Somewhere behind him, George stifled a laugh.

Potter was silent for a long time. The only reason no one moved forward towards him was because his eyes, fixated on the floor, remained green.

"I…I don't know what to do now." He admitted.

"That's what they're here for." Draco nodded towards the other three.

"And you? What are you here for?" Potter's voice was soft and curious.

Draco glanced over at Hermione. "I was here for a job. It's done. Enjoy your life, Potter."

With that, before anyone could stop him, he was gone. He paused once at the doorstep, and almost turned and ran back inside, but then his jaw set and he marched forward, determined to put the last seven months behind him.

Author's Note:

And that's it! The story is over.

Ehehehe, no, I'm kidding. Please don't hurt me, there are two more chapters after this, I swear.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far.

Reverie Wilde - I was trying to find the date of Voldemort's defeat but Google failed me ._.