A/N: I'm so sorry it took so long for me to post this chapter! That was a long month, wasn't it? Anyway, this chapter has actually been finished for awhile, but I've been somewhat dissatisfied with it, and as a result, held off on posting it. But now it's up for your reading pleasure...so, enjoy! Oh, and please let me know what you think :)

Chapter Four

Fuck Potter, Draco thought angrily to himself the next day in Potions. Potter had taken his seat next to Draco as usual, as though nothing had happened. Draco glared at him, just to gauge his reaction, but stupid Potter just continued to stare ahead unconcernedly.

Well, two can play this game. So Draco studiously ignored Potter, patiently awaiting the end of Slughorn's lecture, then raised his hand.

Slughorn smiled indulgently at him, that ridiculous moustache of his turning up at the corners. "Yes, Draco?"

Draco seethed for a moment on how the old fucker always saw fit to address him by his first name, as if to prove that he was the one calling the shots. Because of course Draco couldn't very well call him Horace, and the conniving bastard was well aware of that fact.

Swallowing his distaste, Draco said politely, "I'd like a new Potions partner, Professor. Please."

Slughorn raised his eyebrows in obvious surprise, and peripherally, Draco was aware of Potter's eyes on him.

"Is there any reason in particular, Mr. Malfoy?" Slughorn furrowed his sweaty brow. "Of course, if this is a matter best discussed in private-"

"Not at all," Draco said cooly. "It's just…" he sighed, looking at his desk, then met Slughorn's gaze beseechingly. "Please, Professor, I just can't stand working with someone so, so good at Potions. I try so hard to keep up…I just, I think I'm holding him back, Professor. And that isn't fair to Harry." Potter's first name felt alien on his tongue, but Draco made sure not to show it.

Slughorn mopped at his brow, looking genuinely concerned. Draco suppressed a snort. This man called himself a Slytherin? "Oh, dear. Well, I suppose if you feel it would be best…"

So that was how Draco found himself paired, a few minutes later, with Hermione Granger. He supposed it was a relief in more ways than one - Granger may have been an uppity, know-it-all Mudblood whose screams of pain he occasionally heard in his dreams, but at least she could do her share of the Potions work. Which was more than he could say for some people.

Draco sneered at Potter as they gathered their ingredients, making sure that his elbow jabbed sharply into Potter's ribs. Potter jumped back, looking startled and slightly dazed.

"Is there a problem, Harry?" Slughorn asked, sounding nearly as excited as if he'd been presented with crystallized pineapple.

Potter stared at Draco for a moment. Draco was close enough to see that his under-eye circles were more pronounced than ever, and that he looked genuinely exhausted.

Well, good. Only the knowledge didn't fill Draco with the elation that it might have, once. Rather, it just caused a sick sort of feeling to bloom in his gut.

Potter shook his head, dropping eye-contact. "No, Professor."

"Malfoy." Potter's hand grabbed at his sleeve as they walked back, to which Draco wrenched his arm away.

"Don't touch me!" he hissed vehemently.

"I need to talk to you." Potter's voice was low, furtive. Obviously, it wouldn't do for people to see Potter talking to the likes of him. He remembered, suddenly, the look Potter had always saved especially for him - a look that told him he was worthless, not even fit to lick the shoes of the great Harry Potter.

He felt sorry for me.

Suddenly filled with an unimaginable ache, Draco fought the urge to take his wand out and hex Potter on the spot.

"Go fuck yourself, Potter," he whispered instead. "I have nothing to say to you."

He didn't look at Potter again, carefully ignoring him as he and Granger began working on their Influenza Potion. Granger was surprisingly polite to him throughout the process, even praising him on how finely he chopped the Feverfew.

"How is your term going, Malfoy?" Granger inquired briskly, her pursed lips the only indicator of her distaste at the situation. But at least she didn't feel sorry for him…

He shrugged, carefully stirring the potion counterclockwise, waiting five seconds, then stirring it briskly clockwise.

"Fine."

She stared at him for a moment, nearly causing Draco to lose count.

"What?" he finally snapped.

"Are…are Ron and Harry being decent to you?" she asked quietly, biting her lip nervously.

He snorted. "I don't see why you'd care, Granger," he said, in what he hoped was a cold tone.

She frowned thoughtfully, looking as perplexed as if she was solving some complex problem. But of course, Draco supposed Granger might approach everything that way. Finally, she sighed.

"I take that to mean they're not being decent to you?"

Draco finished stirring, raising his hand for Slughorn to check their potion.

He rolled his eyes at Granger. "Well, if you must know…"

Granger's eyes widened. "Yes?" she said tremulously.

Draco stared at her hard. "Nothing, Granger. I avoid them, they avoid me - it works out for all of us."

Granger kept staring at him, occasionally worrying at her lip with her teeth. It made Draco feel very nervous - and very transparent.

"What are you looking at?" he snapped.

Granger shook her head, finally looking away. Then for some reason she touched his shoulder. Draco nearly made a biting remark about his robes being soiled by Mudblood contamination, but something made him stop. Now he stared at her.

She smiled at him sadly, then turned her attention to Slughorn, who was assessing their potion.

Against his will as always, Draco sought out Potter.

*

"Malfoy - Draco…will you please just stop for a second?"

Whether it was the pressure of Potter holding onto his arm or the novelty of hearing his first name on Potter's lips, Draco stopped, glaring at Potter.

"Is this how you usually get people's attention, Potter? Accosting them after class?"

"Only when they won't listen to me," Potter retorted, frowning. "Look, can I talk to you?"

Draco snorted derisively. "Nothing's stopping you." Draco glanced down at his arm, at Potter's hand still clutching it. "You know, anytime you want to let go of me…"

"What? Oh, sorry." Potter quickly dropped Draco's arm, fidgeting nervously with his robes.

"What do you want? I don't have all day, not even for the Chosen One."

"Look…can't you just drop the whole acting like a prick thing? At least for a second?"

"What about you, Potter?" Draco asked, puffing up slightly. "I don't recall you being all bright and cheery towards me…umm, ever."

"What the fuck?" Potter exclaimed loudly, causing a group of passing second year Hufflepuffs to giggle and exchange glances before ducking away. "I've been absolutely nothing but nice to you since the term started! Your own House won't even talk to you , but-"

"Yeah, I know. You felt sorry for me," Draco spat in disgust. "Well, fuck you, and fuck your pity. Just because…" Now, Draco knew he should stop, as his voice was wavering slightly out of his control, but of course, he continued. "Just because you're this great, famous hero, and I'm just…this…this nothing compared to you, it still doesn't give you the right to just…" Draco trailed off, unable to continue. He shoved his shaking hands into his robes, swallowing rapidly.

Pushing past Potter, Draco said, "you're going to make me late to class."

"It's lunchtime."

Damn. Well, that would explain the suddenly empty halls.

"I'm studying at the library…oh, wait. It's none of your business."

"Draco," Potter said quietly, apparently ignoring him. "You make it sound like I meant something horrible by what I said…I didn't. Not like that."

"Actually, Harry, telling somebody they're not worth the energy it would take to hate is pretty unmistakable."

Potter laughed humorlessly. "Of all the things we've ever said to each other…I can't believe that that is what bothers you the most. And guess what? I was angry, I'd just broken up with my girlfriend, my flatmate was acting like a complete wanker…that's generally when people say things they don't mean!"

"You've hated me from the moment you first met me! Of course you meant it!"

"Well, you hated me back!"

Draco laughed dryly. "Yeah, that's why I asked you to be my friend, is it?" At that, Draco held his breath, feeling an insane urge to run away. What a thing to say, and to Potter of all people.

Potter blinked owlishly from behind his glasses. "But…I mean…after…you changed your mind, right?"

Draco snorted, looking at the ground. "Yeah, whatever. Thank what you want." Draco was suddenly gripped by that memory - of being eleven, of wanting something that could never be his. And for the first time in his life, no amount of begging and whinging to his parents would make it so.

"You've always thought I was worthless, Potter," Draco said quietly. "It's not exactly a new development."

Then, because he barely trusted himself to say anything else, Draco began walking away in earnest. Away from Potter.

*

Dear Father, began Draco's letter, later that night. He stared at the heading, his quill poised over the parchment. There were so many things to say, so many things he could never say. He thought of his father, likely bearded and thin, shivering in some dank cell. People died in Azkaban, or else went insane, like Sirius Black and Bellatrix. A letter from Draco, Lucius's only child, might be just the thing to keep him sane, keep him hopeful. Draco was well aware that his father's sanity, perhaps even his life, was potentially in his hands, yet he couldn't bring himself to write a letter. Of everything he'd ever done, Draco knew that this was by far the worst, and most unforgivable.

A sharp knock on his door interrupted Draco's reverie, and he bristled with annoyance. Potter just wouldn't give up, would he? For some reason, however, the thought sent a small burst of elation churning through him, along with the annoyance. Unsure of how to feel, Draco opened his door.

It was Weasley, not Potter, at Draco's door, and he nearly slammed it shut. He and Weasley habitually avoided each other, which was perfectly fine with Draco.

"Um, hi," Weasley stammered, his face reddening.

Draco regarded him coldly. "What do you want, Weasley?"

Weasley scratched his nose absently, looking extremely uncomfortable. "Look, Malfoy, I wouldn't even bother you at all, but I need to know if you've seen Harry…it's getting late, you know. And, well, it's starting to worry me a bit."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm sure Boy Wonder can take care of himself, Weasley." He started to shut the door, but Weasley stopped it with his foot.

"Look, I know you don't give a shit, but I do. And Harry saved your sorry little life, Malfoy, don't forget that. You owe him a life debt."

Draco sneered. "As far as I know, his life isn't in any danger, you stupid, filthy blood traitor. You're right, I owe him a life debt. If you knew anything at all about wizarding customs…which you don't, because you're poor and ignorant, and a Weasley to boot, you'd know that I'd feel it like a physical pull if I needed to help him. Your Mudblood could have told you that."

Weasley's eyes flashed. "Don't you dare say that about her, Malfoy. Hermione is a hundred times what you'll ever be. And that goes for your entire pathetic family."

Draco nearly pulled his wand out and cursed Weasley on the spot, but a sharp cry of "Ron!" caused him to pause.

Granger tugged Weasley away from the door, eyeing Draco with distrust.

"Look, Malfoy, feel free to insult me all you want, because it won't even faze me." She raised her eyebrows slightly. "May I please come in?"

More than slightly taken aback, Draco nodded. Quickly sliding his father's letter under a stack of books. Draco indicated for her to sit down at his desk, as he settled on the edge of his bed.

"I don't know where he is, okay?" Draco blurted out, after a moment. "How the hell should I know?"

Granger nodded. "Okay. Thank you, Draco." She sighed. "It was worth a shot, anyway. It's just…" she shook her head, her brown eyes wide and wary. "I don't know why I would tell you this…"

"Tell me what?" Draco asked, his curiosity piqued.

Granger sighed in resignation. "I know he talks to you…even if you two are fighting half the time, at least he's communicating with somebody. Ever since he killed Voldemort, he's been…distant. Depressed, even. I've been worried about him. Really, really worried. So worried, in fact, that I'm talking to you." She gave a small mirthless laugh, and Draco realized, much to his horror, that her eyes were filling with tears.

"There's something about you that brings him out, you know. There always has been. I doubt he would have always tried so hard at Quidditch in the past, if you hadn't been there to compete with. And you're always staring at each other, seeking each other out in the Great Hall…it's probably unhealthy, what you two have. But, I don't know, it's something."

Draco swallowed. "I don't understand what you want me to do, Granger." He snorted derisively. "Or why it's my problem."

Granger laughed sharply. "In case you've forgotten, Harry saved your life - not just once, but twice, and he would do it again in a heartbeat! And not only that, he's the reason you're here at all, you know that? Not only free, but allowed to attend Hogwarts! You just don't understand how much he's done for you, do you?"

"I never asked him to do a fucking thing for me, okay?" Draco snapped, standing angrily to his feet. "And what's more, I already knew all that! I owe my entire life to Harry bloody Potter, and no one will ever let me forget it, least of all, him!"

Granger regarded him strangely. "That doesn't sound like something Harry would say."

Draco shrugged. "Yeah, well. He doesn't have to." He crossed his arms, looking down and around the room.

The expression on Granger's face softened. "Look, Malfoy, Harry's always had a bit of what I call a saving-people-thing. He saves people just because…he's Harry. I can't think of any other way to put it. He doesn't do it for the glory, or to always have a one-up on somebody. He doesn't expect anything in return, which is exactly why you do owe him something."

"And what exactly am I supposed to do?" Draco asked quietly. Granger was right - he did owe Potter, beyond the shadow of any doubt. He might hate it, might want to scream and protest, but it was the truth.

Granger smiled gently. "Just be what he needs, that's all. For some reason, you're the only person who seems to be having any sort of impact on him. And he likes your company - don't ask me why, since you two haven't exactly had the most ideal of relationships in the past - but…just let him save you, if that what he needs."

"What about what I need?" Draco asked ruefully.

Granger rose from the chair, regarding Draco thoughtfully.

"I think we could all use a little saving now and then, don't you agree?"

And with that said, she left the room.

*

Draco didn't like to think of himself as the brooding type, yet knew that he spent an inordinate amount of time doing just that. It was a fairly recent development - during sixth year he'd alternated between panic and action, and then at the Manor he'd spent every waking moment looking over his shoulder, always terrified at what might peer back. Even back at Hogwarts that following year, he'd still been in a constant, numb state of movement. He'd gone through the motions, even if said motions had made him wake up every night dry heaving, such as the time the Carrows had made him practice the Cruciatus curse on Neville Longbottom.

Draco had hated every second of it, but he'd still done it. And perhaps the worst part was that afterwards, when the students were gathering their things and leaving the classroom, Longbottom hadn't cursed him back, hadn't sneered at him or called him a coward. Still trembling from the curse's aftereffects, Longbottom had asked Draco if he was alright.

Draco had ran to the nearest toilet and promptly thrown up.

Draco knew that his moral compass was irrevocably damaged, perhaps had been from birth. He knew that he'd done very little right, in spite of many opportunities to do so. And that, really, was the reason he'd always hated Potter. For always being better than him, without even trying. For saving his life, without even asking. For saving the world, and not even wanting thanks.

Maybe Granger was right, and he did owe Potter. But maybe it was more than that - maybe he also owed it to himself, to finally do the right thing.

Draco sighed tiredly, his head in his hands. It was late; he'd been sitting at the kitchen table waiting for Potter for what felt like hours, and the absurd domesticity of it nearly made him laugh out loud.

Finally, the door opened and Potter slipped in, wearing an almost guilty expression.

"Just where the hell have you been?" Draco asked crossly, leaning back against his chair.

Potter started, then scowled. "Since when do you care, anyway?" Something about his eyes, however, betrayed his curiosity.

Draco swallowed nervously. "Look, Potter. Weasley and Granger were over here, looking frantically for you. This little wandering off by yourself habit is getting out of hand, anyone can see that."

Potter just stared at him. "Okay. Er, I still don't see why you'd care, Malfoy."

Draco ignored him. "Sit down, Potter. I'll make you some tea."

Potter sat down, looking truly dumbfounded as he watched Draco rummaging around to make tea.

"The thing is," Draco said, as he set the tea down on the table and took a seat himself, "it's just really stupid, Potter. Do you realize how many Death Eaters haven't been caught? Fenrir Greyback, for instance…" Draco suppressed a shudder, gripping his mug of tea. "You can only be the Boy Who Lived so many times, you know."

Potter blew on his tea, eying Draco knowingly. "This is about the life debt," Potter stated flatly.

"Sort of," Draco muttered, looking down at his hands. "But you also saved my mother. You have no idea how much that means."

"I think I do," Potter replied softly. Potter's eyes met his for a moment, causing Draco's breath to catch.

Potter sighed, looking away and sipping his tea. "You don't owe me a thing," he muttered darkly. "Nobody does."

The statement startled Draco slightly. "The whole world owes you, Potter."

Potter snorted. "Don't you start, too. Here I thought I could always count on you to remind me of what a sorry excuse for a human being I am."

Potter was smiling, but for some reason Draco just felt extraordinarily sad. "Is that what you think?"

Potter rolled his eyes. "What is it with you, lately? Can you please just get back to hating me all the time? At least then I knew what to expect."

Draco swallowed. "I don't hate you."

He couldn't look at Potter, could hardly dare to breathe as he took a gulp of tea, swallowing much too fast and scalding his throat.

"I don't hate you, either," Potter said, finally. "In fact, I thought…look, about what I said…"

"Just forget it."

"No, really, telling you you're not worth it…it just isn't true. I say things sometimes, when I'm angry…"

Draco sighed. "Let's just forget it."

Potter bit his lip nervously. It was almost endearing…in fact, it caused Draco's blood to race slightly.

"You really helped me in Potions, you know. I've always been complete pants at it, and I always thought that Snape was just picking favorites with you. But really…you're really good." He said this in a rush, looking down at the table.

"Well, of course I'm good, Potter," Draco said lightly. "For one thing, I know how to read. For another…"

"Oh, bugger off," Potter said, but he was smiling, just a little. Draco had never noticed before, but when Potter smiled, his entire face lit up. He would be attractive, Draco thought, if he wasn't, well, Potter.

But he still wanted to see him smile again.

"I could help you," said Draco suddenly, perhaps too eagerly. He flushed slightly. "In Potions, that is." Then, not sure why, he added, "I used to help Goyle…and C-Crabbe." He swallowed hard, avoiding Potter's eyes.

There was an awkward pause. "Hey," Potter said finally. "I really am sorry that we couldn't save him. I never wanted that to happen to anyone."

Draco shrugged, snorting derisively. "It was his own stupid fault, anyway. Idiot…" Eyes suddenly burning, he looked quickly away from Potter.

Potter cleared his throat. "Er, well, that would be great, though. If you could help me out, I mean. I can…I don't know if there's anything I could help you with, but if you can think of something, it'd be an even trade that way."

"Well," Draco began, anxiously turning his empty tea mug around in his hands. "There is…there is something I've always wanted to learn, but I've never been able to. I want…I can't…"

"What?"

Draco scowled. "I can't produce a Patronus, alright? And it's pathetic, because you've been doing it since third year, so it can't be that hard."

"It's very advanced magic," Potter said, ignoring the thinly veiled insult. "Some wizards never learn to do it…I just had a good teacher, was all." He studied Draco curiously. "Is that what you want me to teach you, then?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "No, I just thought I'd make that embarrassing admission for the fun of it."

Potter shrugged. "Nothing to be embarrassed about. And sure, I can help you." He grinned ironically. "You know me."

No, Draco really didn't know Potter at all, beyond what he'd always believed him to be. Namely, arrogant, attention-seeking, and an all around prat. But this was a different Potter - one who smiled at him, who didn't rub his mistakes in his face, and had tea with him at half three in the morning.

Unless he wasn't different - unless maybe, this had been the real Potter all along, and Draco had just never seen it.