Thank you for the reviews!

Just to tell everybody, I'm going on vacation for about a month, so there won't be any updates for awhile. But I posted this one as quickly as possible to make up for that…so, enjoy!

Chapter Three

Draco supposed, on further consideration, that returning to Hogwarts hadn't been such a terrible idea. He had always been a good student, at least prior to sixth year, and genuinely enjoyed the accumulation of new knowledge. And without the threat of Voldemort and impending death hanging over his head, he was free to immerse himself fully into his studies once again. He had forgotten how good being a normal student felt.

The only downside, of course, was that Draco felt quite alone this time around. His friends were gone - no one but Loony really talked to him, with the exception of Potter's painfully polite inquiries. Every House but Slytherin regarded him with open hostility, and even they treated him with cool indifference. Draco didn't want to admit it, but he was quite lonely, and growing increasingly disconsolate. One day he caught himself snatching at Luna's tidbits of companionship the way a beggar might grab at falling bread crumbs, and felt honest disgust with himself. How the mighty had fallen, indeed.

But it could certainly be worse.

Draco sighed in exasperation as he read the same passage in his Ancient Runes textbook for the third time. Every Friday night since school had begun, Weasley had insisted on inviting over his hordes of obnoxious Gryffindors - Longbottom, Thomas, Finnagin, the surviving Weasley twin, and others whose names he didn't know and didn't care to find out - and proceeded to drink excessive amounts of Firewhisky and generally make their presence known. Draco supposed he could have cast a Silencing Charm around his room, but his wand - his mother's wand - had mysteriously reverted back to its previous ways. He did, however, always lock his door.

Draco had no clue where Potter went during the Weasel's little soirees, and in spite of not caring, wanted to know. Did Potter think himself above such goings-on? Draco snorted; it would have been just like him.

Most likely, of course, he was with the Weasley bitch. Draco scowled fully, barely resisting the urge to throw his textbook against the opposite wall.

Draco was confused by Potter, and of his place in Potter's new world. Gone were their days of open, often childish, hostility - the taunts and hexes of yesteryear. Potter clearly thought they'd moved past that, though Draco couldn't pinpoint when, or why. And Potter was polite to him, disgustingly so, and worked with him in Potions class as though they were old acquaintances, rather than former enemies. That spark of electricity that had always existed between them, that Draco had clearly felt throughout their duel, Potter seemed willing to ignore.

The front door slammed, and Draco sat up straight, listening intently. Ah, yes. There was no mistaking the distinct timbre of Potter's voice, and Draco crept quietly to his door, pressing his ear against it.

"…want to see you, sometimes, Harry." Another voice - Longbottom's, if the slightly cringing tone was any indication.

"I know," Potter said. "I've just been busy, Neville. I'm sorry."

"Harry, you agreed with me when I suggested having these parties!" Weasley, a whine creeping into his voice. "This summer you were so busy with everything - and I understand that, I really do - but you never saw anyone, even Ginny! And my mum…she just wanted to know you were alright…"

"It really wasn't her business," Potter replied coldly. A pause. "I didn't mean for it to sound like that, Ron…I know you mean well, you all mean well. But your family lost somebody - it wasn't my place to be in the middle of that."

"Wasn't your place?" Weasley said incredulously. He was met by silence.

It was only when Potter's footsteps indicated he'd retired to his room that Draco let out the breath he'd been holding.

So Potter didn't confide in the Weasel any longer…now that was certainly interesting. And he could still talk to snakes. And he frequently snuck out by himself in the middle of the night - Draco wasn't sure he ever slept.

There was more to Potter than met the eye, apparently. And as always, Draco longed to know what it was. Somehow, he felt entitled to it.

That night, rather than waking up gasping from visions of red eyes, he slept easily, dreaming instead of green eyes flashing angrily.

*

Draco stared hard at Potter the next morning in the Great Hall, willing him to turn around and glare in return. He didn't, of course - he kept his back to Draco, whispering quietly with his friends. Granger and Weasley seemed completely absorbed in each other, however revolting Draco found the thought, sitting so close that their elbows brushed.

At that, Draco finally made himself look away. Potter was one thing, but how pathetic must he be to suddenly give any thought to the romantic dalliances of Weasleys? He suddenly missed Pansy, in all her bitchy glory, more than ever. She would have had the most utterly brilliant things to say about a Granger/Weasley romance, and likely would have mocked them to their faces.

Oh, Pansy. Now there was a depressing thought. He had tried to approach her after the Battle of Hogwarts, but she had immediately been ushered away by her parents. He hadn't seen her since, and all of his letters had been returned. Draco understood, he supposed - his was not a politically advantageous family to associate with, at the moment, and he certainly understood the sacrifices one must make for their family (did he ever). But…it still hurt.

"Hi, Draco." Draco's attention was snapped back to the present by Luna, who had parked herself down beside him. He had learned to not be surprised on the days she sat at the Slytherin table, and the other Slytherins ignored her completely, much as they did Draco.

"Luna," he said, acknowledging her with a nod. "Seen any Wrackspurts lately? Or perhaps a Crumple Horned Snorkack?" He fought to suppress his laughter as Luna seriously seemed to consider the question.

"Not lately," she answered calmly, her protuberant eyes fixed on him intently. "But there is a corner of the library infested by Wrackspurts, so it's rather funny you asked. How are you, Draco?"

He shrugged. "Lovely. Brilliant. Peachy keen and a bag of jelly beans. Why are you laughing?"

Luna had let out a startling burst of laughter, causing the other inhabitants of the table to look up in surprise. Draco couldn't help but grin.

"A bag of jelly beans!" she repeated, still chuckling. "You are so funny, Draco."

Draco blinked, still smiling in spite of himself. "So I've been told. My wit is legendary. Deadly, even."

And for some reason, he wasn't sure why, he looked over at Potter again, to find Potter staring straight at him. He was looking at Draco in something akin to awe, his lips quirked in an almost-smile. Draco looked away quickly, feeling a blush creeping up his neck and a strange feeling in his stomach.

"You and Harry do love to stare at each other," said Luna offhandedly. "Shall I ask him to sit with us?"

"No!" Draco all but yelped, causing several Slytherins to eye him curiously. "No," he repeated, unsurprised to find his hands shaking. He quickly placed them on his lap. "Absolutely not."

"Why not?" Luna asked curiously. "You don't like Harry?"

Draco snorted, staring at her incredulously. "Luna…have the last seven years just been a blur to you? Because, really, I'm trying to understand how the fact that Potter and I hate each other could have escaped your notice."

Luna shrugged. "Harry doesn't hate you. I asked him myself. And Draco, don't you think I've had better things to pay attention to all this time than you and Harry?" She smiled serenely, taking a bite of sausage.

*

"So, you're friends with Luna, then?" Potter asked curiously, later that day in Potions.

Draco shrugged, carefully grinding powdered unicorn horn with a pestle. "What's it to you?"

"I was just asking," Potter said indignantly. "Trying to make conversation…you know about that, right?"

Draco tsked. "No need to get testy, now, Potter. I just thought I'd clarify the question…you know about that, right?"

Potter snorted. "Forget about it, then. I just won't talk to you."

"Suits me."

Draco worked in silence for a moment, until the need to speak became too much for him. "Okay…we're friends. I guess."

"What?"

"Luna. And me. Friends. You know, those people you spend time with, who enjoy your company as much as you enjoy theirs…friends."

"Yes, I'm quite aware what friends are," Potter snapped, frowning down into their cauldron. "I'm just trying to understand why the two of you are friends, that's all."

"Oh, 'that's all', he says. Hmm, I don't quite understand why it's any of your business, Potter. Particularly as it doesn't involve you…oh, wait. I suppose since you've made a habit of talking about me with Luna, it does involve you. Silly me."

It may have been a trick of the light, but Draco could have sworn he saw Potter blush slightly.

"Luna asked about you," Potter mumbled.

"And?"

Potter shrugged. "She asked how you were doing. For some reason she thought I would know…I told her you're still a horrible git, and that's all I know." Potter scowled slightly. "Now, tell me what I'm supposed to do next, before I bullocks up this entire potion."

Draco stared closely at Potter, taking note of his increasingly pronounced under-eye circles. There was also something about the way Potter held himself now which spoke of intense exhaustion…despite himself, Draco felt a small stab of pity, or perhaps just empathy.

He sighed. "You're doing fine, Potter. Really, just take your time and relax…and read carefully! You'll be fine."

Potter nodded, looking thoroughly taken aback. "Okay. So, it says to add the powdered moonstone and stir counterclockwise three times before adding the unicorn horn…am I getting this right?"

Potter looked so uncertain, it was nearly endearing. It was also a little unsettling - all these years Draco had believed Potter to be so arrogant…could those beliefs have been completely unfounded? Draco blinked, pausing in his crushing.

"Well, yeah. Just follow the instructions, Potter. You'll be fine." And then, just because he had to make some disparaging remark, he added, "honestly, Potter. You won the Triwizard Tournament at fourteen…this should be nothing."

Except maybe he'd miscalculated. Because far from seeming annoyed by the comment, Potter was smiling slightly. Draco's knees nearly buckled. Potter had never smiled at him before. "It's funny you'd bring that up. Remember the badges you made?"

Draco cringed inwardly. Though hilarious at the time, in retrospect those badges had been unbelievably lame. Not that he'd ever admit that to Potter, of all people.

"Yes, well, they were quite brilliant, weren't they? I would certainly come up with a better slogan if I made them now. Like, 'Potter is a speccy wanker" or 'Potter is a git' or, for old time's sake, 'Potty Potter' or 'Scarhead'".

Potter chuckled. "You think those are better? That's pathetic."

"For a moment's notice, I thought they were pretty good," Draco sniffed indignantly. "As if you could do any better."

Potter shrugged, grinning. "Probably not. Hey," he said after a moment, biting his lip nervously. "Er, how are you, really, Malfoy?"

And there was absolutely no reason why a simple question should cause Draco's heart to simultaneously stop and beat faster, yet Draco felt it like a punch in the chest.

"Fine," he managed. He paused briefly in his ministrations to the unicorn horn, using the back of his hand to wipe the hair out of his eyes. Slughorn was making his way slowly around the classroom, assessing the progress of the students.

And then, simply because it was polite, and expected, Draco asked, "and you, Potter?"

Potter shrugged, looking somewhat surprised. "The same. I mean, things could always be better, but that's just life, isn't it?"

Draco shrugged noncommittally. "Yes. I suppose you're right. Although, I think of it more along the lines of things could always be worse."

Potter cleared his throat. "Umm, I wanted to talk to you about something, actually. The flat…I mean, it's your place, too. You don't have to hole yourself up in your room all the time, and when Ron throws his parties you don't have to…you know, disappear. You could even invite your friends, if you'd like."

"And just what friends would I invite, Potter?" Draco asked quietly, bristling slightly. Here they had been having a shockingly civil conversation, no hexes in sight, and then Potter had to bring up this kind of shit.

Potter's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…oh, just forget it," Potter said, scowling. "Let's just finish and get the hell out of here."

So Draco forgot it, or tried to, as there was a potion to complete, and Slughorn to contend with. But try as he might, he couldn't forget the way Potter had smiled at him, or the way that, for just a little while, it had felt like talking to a friend.

*

A week later, Draco didn't even bother to suppress a smirk when he arrived back at the flat to the wondrous sight of Ginny Weasley shouting and sobbing outside of Potter's bedroom door. Potter stood in the doorway, a blank expression on his face. It wasn't altogether surprising - for the past several days the two of them had taken to fighting in the Great Hall, in the library, and, occasionally, at the flat. Well, Ginny fought, anyway. Potter tended to just listen to her railings, looking almost entirely apathetic to the situation.

Ginny stomped her foot. Her back was to Draco, so she didn't see him as he eased himself onto the couch, eager to watch the show.

"You are a complete bastard, Harry Potter! I hope you know that! Who do you think you are, expecting me to wait for you -"

"I never asked you to wait for me, Ginny," Potter replied quietly. If he'd seen Draco, he gave no indication. "I didn't want you to, remember? I wanted to-"

"Protect me, yeah, I know," Ginny snapped bitterly. "Never mind how completely backward and misogynistic that sounds -"

"I take it you've been talking to Hermione."

Ginny made a sound of incoherent rage, stomping her foot again. "Yes, because I obviously don't have an intelligent thought in my head, right, Harry? Is that why you liked me? You thought I'd be an easy lay or something, and then when you were done I'd just skip away -"

Potter's eyes flashed. "That's not what I meant, and you know it, Ginny. And we never even - you know I don't think like that."

"Oh, yeah?" Ginny shot back, her tone considerably lower. "Not for lack of trying, though, right, Harry? As I recall-"

Draco chortled out loud; he simply couldn't help it. This was just too good, too fucking good to go to waste.

Ginny spun around, murder in her eyes. Her very red, puffy eyes, he noted gleefully. Potter scowled, but said nothing.

Draco smiled. "So Potter here couldn't get it up for you, Weasley, am I right?" He sighed, stretching languorously out on the couch and crossing one ankle over the other. "Ah, well, I guess freckles and firecrotch are more an acquired taste." He wrinkled his nose. "I don't see how, if you ask me."

Ginny stomped toward him, her face mottled with tears and rage. "Shut the fuck up, Malfoy. I'll hex you, I swear I will."

Draco tsked. "Always ready to resort to violence. How plebian of you - although, considering the source, I can't say I'm surprised." He leered, leaning forward. "Not to worry, Weasley. I'm sure your brothers will take you back, you need only ask -"

Draco shrieked at the sudden sensation of bat wings flapping out of his nose, then shrieked again as they began attacking his face with their claws. However, he quickly came to his senses and upon ending the spell, laughed openly at Ginny's hostile expression.

It had so been worth it.

"Goodbye, Harry," Ginny sniffed, stomping her way to the front door. "I'll leave you here with Malfoy - you two deserve each other, really."

The door slammed behind her. Draco stared at it triumphantly for a moment, then turned his attention back to Potter. He hadn't moved from his position in the doorway, and was staring at the door with a perplexed expression. Finally, as if sensing Draco's appraisal, he met his gaze, his expression darkening. And something - something akin to a look of betrayal, flashed briefly across his face. But of course, that was ridiculous.

"That was none of your business, Malfoy. You had no fucking right to say anything."

Draco sneered. "That's never stopped me before, has it, Potter? And guess what? I happen to live here. And since you decided to have your little chat out here, for everyone to hear, I felt no qualms in having my say. Just because the great Harry Potter didn't give me his express permission to speak -"

"Shut up!" Potter spat angrily. "Just shut up!"

Draco sniffed haughtily. "Why don't you come over here and make me, Potter?" he said in a low voice, nearly shivering with glee at the thought. "It's been awhile since we've really had it out, so come here."

Potter just stared at him. "Grow the fuck up, Malfoy," he said coldly.

He slammed the door. Hard.

Draco flinched, staring dumbly at Potter's door for several minutes. A miniscule tendril of regret, or something like it, had begun to wind its way around his chest. He'd wanted Potter to pay attention to him, that was the truth, and one he'd acknowledged for years. But why?

Draco wracked his brain, quickly breezing through the various interactions he'd had with Potter throughout the years. In every case, Potter had reacted with equal vehemence to Draco's every taunt, hex, or insult. It had been so easy, and so much fun to rile him up. That's all it had been, really. Fun.

Until his father had gone to prison. Until Draco had been forced to kill or be killed. Draco gulped slightly. Yes, their interactions had certainly taken a darker turn around that time. And more desperate. Draco had often wondered if he really could have cast the Cruciatus on Potter and meant it, as Aunt Bella had always told him was crucial. When Potter had responded by nearly slicing Draco in half, his first coherent thought after the fact had been, really?

Did Potter feel regret, ever, for that window of blind panic and excruciating pain he'd caused? Or did he believe that that was what Draco had deserved - to die terrified and bleeding on a bathroom floor?

Was he glad he'd pulled Draco out of the Fiendfire?

Did he think about Draco at all?

That was the most troubling part of all of it - Draco had no idea where he and Potter stood these days. Enemies? Tentative allies? Indifferent acquaintances? From the moment he'd seen Potter again, Draco had wanted things to be like before. He'd wanted the excitement, the titillation, the constancy that Potter brought to his life. He'd needed Potter, and it had hurt more than anything to not be needed back.

But, maybe…

Potter had talked to Draco, and Draco only, the night they'd first walked into Hogsmeade. Potter had sought him out in Potions, even though Weasel and the Mudblood were there as well. Potter had chosen to duel with him, despite a classroom full of people. And of course, Potter had smiled at him. Was it possible that Potter needed him as well - maybe not as before, but differently? Maybe, just maybe.

Maybe Potter was every bit as fucked up as he was.

Before he could think better of it, Draco rose to his feet and knocked on Potter's door. There was no answer. He knocked again, using his fists to pound against the wood. Still no answer.

"It's unlocked!" He finally heard Potter yell crossly, and Draco wrenched the door open.

It was Draco's first time ever in Potter's room, and he glanced surreptitiously around for a moment. It was as sparsely decorated as Draco's room, the only difference being a Gryffindor banner hung garishly across a wall, and three pictures - one of a dark-haired man, who looked very much like Potter, with his arm around a red-haired witch, who, at first glance Draco thought to be Ginny Weasley. Then it dawned on him that these were Potter's parents, the infant cradled between them, tiny fists waving in the air, tantamount to that fact.

Next, there was a picture of Potter with Granger and the Weasel, which Draco didn't ponder over for too long before turning his attention to the next picture. Draco frowned. Why on earth did Potter have a picture of a baby?

Potter, sprawled across his bed, his hands clasped corpse-like over his chest, glared at him, then sat up.

"What the hell do you want, Malfoy?" Green eyes behind glasses were fixed at him accusingly, yet curious at the same time. Draco stared back, nearly forgetting himself.

"How dare you tell me to grow up, Potter?" Draco finally spat out. "You have no clue, no fucking clue what I've been through." Draco could feel his heart battering against his chest and resounding in his ears. But it had needed to be said, just as Draco needed to know what he and Potter were to each other.

Then Potter, amazingly, began to laugh. Draco stared at him incredulously.

"Fuck you, Potter," Draco said softly, his voice dangerous.

Potter just looked at him disdainfully for a moment, his smile dying. "No, fuck you. You're as self-centered and selfish as ever, Malfoy. You think the world revolves around you, as always. I've tried being nice to you. I felt sorry for you, believe it or not."

That was the worst thing Potter could have said. Feeling as though he'd been punched in the stomach, Draco whispered, "what?"

"You heard me." Potter's eyes met his, gaze for gaze.

Draco was sure that this, being an object of pity, was far worse than the perception of being ignored. All his plans flown out the window, Draco stared at Potter in disbelief for a long moment, swallowing a massive lump in his throat. If he cried in front of Potter, for the second time in his life, he'd never forgive himself.

"I hate you, Potter," he said finally.

Potter scowled in return, and just as Draco turned away to leave, he said, "you're not even worth the energy it would take to hate you, Malfoy."

Now it was Draco's turn to slam the door.