Author's Note: As always, thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! It really means so much, words can't even express it. And of course, to everyone who's added this story to their alerts or favorites…that's a great feeling as well!

Anyway, on to the story! And sorry if this chapter is a bit of a downer…I swear that the whole story won't be, once everyone gets over their various issues.

Chapter Six

This time when Draco opened his eyes, he felt an inexplicable shift in the energy of the room - Harry was gone, but replaced with a new, equally comforting presence. It took him but a split second to blink the sleep out of his eyes and identify it.

"Mum?" he asked out loud. The figure beside him stirred, and his mother grasped his hand.

"How are you feeling, Draco?" she asked him quietly. She looked exhausted and drawn - Draco felt a quick stab of guilt for giving her yet another thing to worry about.

"Better," he lied. "Much, much better."

She sighed, the grip on his hand loosening slightly. "Good." She kissed his cheek, her long hair draping over him like a silk curtain.

"I've spoken with the Headmistress," Narcissa said after a moment, straightening back into the chair. "And I told her that I believe it's best if you left Hogwarts. I'll arrange a private tutor, of course -"

"No!" Draco said sharply. He pulled himself up into a sitting position, his head giving a brief throb of protest. "Absolutely not. I want to finish."

"Draco, I do believe it would be for the best. Clearly, you're not safe here."

Draco scowled. "I can take care of myself, Mother. If I can torture people for a madman, I think I can handle a few schoolchildren."

A pained look flickered across Narcissa's face, and she closed her eyes. "Draco…"

"And furthermore, how do you think we'll pay for a tutor?" He held his breath - his mother refused to discuss the diminishing state of their finances with him, insisting that they were fine. Draco, however, knew better. An article had even been published in the Daily Prophet which detailed the massive reparations the Malfoys were being forced to pay to help rebuild the Ministry, as they had personally housed Voldemort. And, Draco suspected, to ensure their continued freedom.

She gave him a sharp look. "That's for me to worry about, Draco. I'm your mother - it's my job to take care of you."

"I'm also of age, Mother. If I want to finish at Hogwarts, it's my decision."

Narcissa stared at him for a moment, then sighed tiredly. "Yes, I suppose you're right." She pursed her lips, but said nothing more.

"Where'd Potter go?" Draco asked after a moment, cringing at how wistful his voice sounded.

"Potter was asleep on his feet," she replied. "I told him he wasn't allowed back until he'd eaten something descent and taken a nap." Now, she looked at Draco curiously. "I'd rather thought that you hated Potter."

"So did I," Draco said quietly.

Luckily, she changed the subject. "Well, the important thing is that you're alright." She paused. "I don't suppose you've written to your father lately, have you?"

Draco looked down at his lap. "Not yet."

She drew in her breath. "Draco, I know this isn't a good time to discuss this, but I really wish you'd write him."

"What for?" Draco snapped. "It's not as if he's allowed to write back." He blinked, tears forming behind his eyelids. His mother had been right - this was decidedly not a good time to discuss this.

Narcissa grabbed for his hand, but he pulled it away. "I'm not a child," he muttered petulantly. "And I don't appreciate being coddled. I want to know the truth about our finances. Father never told me the truth about the Dark Lord, and that's the worst thing he could ever have done."

Narcissa went pale. She lifted a shaky hand to brush her hair back. "Draco, I will regret for the rest of my life that I wasn't able to protect you enough." She closed her eyes, and when she opened them they were shiny with tears. "Your father made mistakes, and he's paying for them now. But I can tell that you're still angry about many things, and you have a right to be."

Draco immediately felt like shit. His mother had suffered just as he had - more, considering all the times she'd put herself between him and the Dark Lord. And furthermore, he wasn't even angry with her. Honestly, he had no idea what his problem was, only that he now felt like the worst person on earth.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, rubbing his forehead. His head was pounding - hopefully they would give him more potions, and soon. "I'm really not angry - I just don't want to talk about this right now."

She shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. I'm the one who brought it up."

The door suddenly opened and closed, and Draco looked up to see Harry with a potion bottle in each hand. Glancing between Draco and Narcissa, he went still.

"Sorry, is this a bad time?"

Narcissa straightened up, her face once again the epitome of composure. "Not at all, Mr. Potter. I was just leaving, actually, and I'm glad to see that you're here to watch over my son."

Harry flushed slightly. Why, Draco had no clue.

"I hope you've followed my advice, though," she continued. "You'll be of little use to anyone if you're exhausted, which I daresay you still are."

She kissed Draco cooly on the check, then rose to her feet. She regarded Draco for a moment, her mask of composure slipping briefly. "I'm glad you're alright," she whispered, giving his hand another squeeze. "I'm always here if you need me."

Draco smiled. "I know you are."

She left, and Harry took her place at his side. He handed Draco the potions, which Draco downed without question. Immediately, he felt fuzzy and warm again, and he sank back down onto his pillow.

"Potter," he said, a thought coming to him. "Does this mean you've been missing classes?"

Harry shrugged. "McGonagall said I could. She said it was probably best if you had someone here with you, at least most of the time. Tomorrow when you go back to the flat, I'll get caught up with everything." He bit his lip. "It's really no problem."

"Of course it's a problem, Potter," he mumbled sleepily. "But thanks anyway."

*

The next week passed slowly for Draco. Back at the flat once more, and with Harry attending classes, there was little to do during the day except sleep or stare at the ceiling. He tried reading, but had flung the book across the room when it gave him a headache. He'd regretted it afterwards - it was a book his parents had given him for his tenth birthday - and he'd spent the next half hour choking back tears. It was a horrible, horrible, existence.

That first day, he finally allowed himself to think about Severus Snape. He wished he'd had the chance to thank him. Draco had practically worshiped the man until sixth year, when he'd become yet another obstacle for Draco to overcome in his desperate, failed quest. Draco had told him he was trying to steal all the glory…he'd never really had the chance to apologize, to make things right between them.

Draco closed his eyes. He had to stop thinking about Snape, possibly forever, as he was beginning to feel sick. The worst part about someone being dead? The fact that you never, ever would have the chance to tell them what you needed to tell them. Draco knew that he would never have the chance to tell Crabbe that he'd been a good friend, or to tell him what an idiot he'd been for getting himself killed. He'd never be able to tell Snape how sorry he was for acting like a prick when he'd just been trying to help. And he'd never be able to tell Albus Dumbledore that yes, he would have accepted his help. If only he'd waited a few more minutes to die…

Sobbing, Draco curled onto his side, hoping to fall asleep. He truly was pathetic. Here he was, alive when others were dead, yet was he making the most of it? Was he moving on or making progress in any way? It was at times like these that Draco wondered why he was still alive, as opposed to someone like Snape, who had done a lot more to deserve it. Not for the first time, Draco could see the rest of his life stretched before him like an endless sand. It went on and on - he would go on and on. In his childhood, this thought had filled Draco with shivery excitement - now, it just depressed the hell out of him.

Draco slept fitfully for awhile, then woke up and attempted to write a letter to Lucius. When he couldn't decide what to say, he ripped the parchment in half and hurled it across the room.

At nearly five, there was a knock on the door. Heart pounding, Draco sat up.

"Come in."

Harry came in, a tentative smile on his face. "Hey. I just wanted to check on you. See how you're doing." He bit his lip, glancing around the room. His hair was more mussed than usual, and for some reason this annoyed Draco greatly. Had he never heard of a comb? Or a bottle of hair potion?

Draco shrugged. "Fine, Potter," he said, yawning. He narrowed his eyes at Harry, who was walking around Draco's room, looking at his things, all as if he owned everything there.

"Don't you have anywhere else to go?" Draco demanded rudely. Harry froze, then frowned.

"Whatever. If you don't want me here, all you had to do was say so." Harry stared at him, those green eyes of his practically searing into Draco's soul. "I'll be in my room if you want company." Harry shrugged. "See you, then."

Harry slammed the door behind him, a sound that seemed to resound through Draco's skull. He stared at the door for a moment, trying, wishing to feel angry at Harry, but failing. Instead, boredom settled back around him like a vice, and he found himself craving human company. Even…even Harry's company.

Pulling himself out of bed, Draco crept to Harry's room, giving the door two hard knocks.

Harry, sitting at his desk, regarded Draco curiously. "Hey," he said casually. He appeared to be writing something, but set his quill down. "Are you alright?"

Draco nodded, feeling inexplicably warm. He lay back on Harry's bed, crossing his hands behind his head. He could very well fall asleep like this. "What are you doing?"

"Writing a letter. Well, a few letters, really. But starting with the one." Harry didn't volunteer any more information, but that was okay. Draco closed his eyes, the skritchy-scratch of Harry's quill and the rustle of parchment soothing him. It reminded him of simpler times, times when he'd study with Pansy in the Slytherin common room and fall asleep to the sounds of students desperately finishing their Potions essays.

Draco opened his eyes and watched Harry. His forehead was scrunched with concentration, and occasionally a flicker of some emotion would flash across his face. It was absolutely fascinating.

"I'm sorry," he finally blurted out. Harry looked up from his letter in surprise.

"What for?"

"For being an arsehole. You haven't done anything to deserve it."

"Not lately, anyway," Harry said wryly. He shrugged. "It's okay. Everyone deserves a little alone time now and then." He smiled, then went back to his writing.

"I've been alone all day," Draco said, then cringed at how whiny his voice sounded.

Harry kept writing. Draco wanted to throw something at him. Why wouldn't he pay any attention to him?

Draco sighed. "Who are you writing?"

"A few people," he said, barely pausing. "Really, I'll be done in a little while."

"So it's a secret, then," Draco muttered. Harry appeared to fumble with his quill for a second, but he continued to write.

"I get it. Really."

Harry made an annoyed sound, then threw his quill on the floor. Draco flinched.

"Goddammit, Draco. Maybe it's none of your business who I'm writing, ever thought of that?"

Draco sat up, his entire body shaking. "Whatever. You should have just told me you didn't want me here, Potter. I have better things to do than to sit here and watch you write your stupid letters." Well, he actually didn't, but Harry didn't have to know that. Harry said nothing, putting his face in his hands and groaning.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. He raised his head wearily. "I know this gets old as an excuse, but I really am tired. I have these dreams…"

"What sort of dreams?" Draco asked quietly, his anger fading as quickly as it had appeared.

"Dreams where I die," he answered. "Dreams where people who died die all over again. Dreams where people who didn't die, do." He paused. "Did you know…I was supposed to die, Draco. That was the plan all along. And I was willing to, if it meant saving everyone. But I didn't want to. Doing it…walking to what I thought was my death - it was the hardest thing I've ever done."

Draco could only stare at Harry. He couldn't imagine what that must have been like, to willingly accept and walk towards one's own death, when every instinct screamed to run away, to survive…

Harry put his head on the desk. "I'm just tired," he whispered. And in that moment, Draco made a decision. Standing to his feet, he closed the distance between himself and Harry.

"Come on," he said, tugging Harry's arm. Harry started, but allowed himself to be pulled upright and guided to his bed. Draco forced him to lie down, then swiftly removed his glasses.

Harry blinked, his eyes startlingly green without the shield of glass in front of them. "What are you doing?"

Draco pulled a blanket over him. "Helping you, of course. It's what…it's what friends do, isn't it?" Draco held his breath, fearing he'd said too much. If Harry said something now, something careless and stupid, he didn't know if he'd ever recover.

"It is," Harry said, meeting his eyes. "It's exactly what friends do."

Draco barely resisted the urge to breathe a sigh of relief and smile himself silly. He didn't quite understand what it was about Harry, how this person he'd once detested could now make him feel such a myriad of emotions. But then again, he always had.

He sat back on his heels beside Harry's bed, resting his head on the corner. "Well, I'll let you get some rest, then."

Harry bit his lip. "You don't have to. Leave, I mean."

"You want me to stay?" Draco asked softly.

Harry nodded. "If you don't mind. I mean, I think maybe if you just talked to me, it might help me fall asleep."

Draco shivered, that warm feeling spreading through him once more. It was akin to being drunk. He wondered if Harry had ever asked Granger or Weasley for such a thing, but doubted it. As much as Harry seemed to care for his friends, he didn't appear to rely on them for much of anything. Why, Draco had no idea. Did he honestly think, at this point, that they could reject him for being too needy, too demanding? As hard as it was for Draco to admit it, he had a feeling that either one of Harry's friends would have jumped through fire if he asked them.

But he didn't ask them. Instead he asked Draco - not to jump through fire, but to stay with him until he fell asleep.

Draco nodded. "Okay." Harry closed his eyes, and Draco stared for a moment at his lips, his eyelashes. Their faces were only a few inches apart - Draco couldn't remember being this close to another person in so long. Every time Harry took a breath, Draco could feel it.

"I was thinking about Snape earlier," Draco said quietly. Harry's face twitched. "I never really trusted him again, after sixth year. I never got to thank him."

"I think about him too, sometimes," Harry said, opening his eyes. "I hated him, Draco, but he kept me safe all those years. And when I think about the last year of his life - everyone hating him, distrusting him - yet he kept right on going, to the end. He never got any thanks for it, not from anyone." Harry sighed. "He was the bravest person I've ever met, and I never even knew it until it was too late."

Draco had no idea what to say to that. "You had no way of knowing."

Harry smiled wistfully. "Right. Like that makes it okay."

Draco sighed, full of regret for bringing up the subject. "Potter…Harry," he said with some conviction. Harry's eyes widened, and Draco was once again struck by how intensely green they were.

Draco later blamed the combination of head injury and potions for his next action. Only that could explain why he soothingly brushed his hand through Harry's hair and down to his neck, and why he did it multiple times. Like he was petting a cat. A giant, Potter-cat.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed contentedly. The sudden exhale of air startled Draco, and he hurriedly drew his hand away. His heart was pounding, adrenaline coursing through his veins as if he'd just played a Quidditch match.

"That was nice," Harry muttered sleepily, his eyes remaining closed.

Draco swallowed dryly, then shakily repeated the action. This time he tentatively smoothed his hand down Harry's back, rubbing circles with his thumb. He could practically feel the tension melting away as he gently massaged Harry's back, neck, and shoulders, even as doubts about his own sanity increased.

But…for some reason Draco couldn't explain, it was nice. Just like Harry had said.

Eventually, Harry's breaths became deep and even, and Draco knew he was asleep. He drew away carefully, unable to tear his eyes away from this person who had always inspired such strong emotions in him. But where intense hatred and loathing had once resided, now that space was filled with nothing but intense protectiveness and possessiveness.

Draco sat back on his heels, watching Harry sleep. It spoke volumes to Draco that Harry trusted him enough to fall asleep in his presence. Of course, Draco had fallen asleep in front of Harry plenty of times when he'd been in the Hospital Wing, but it was somehow different. Harry was trustworthy, after all. Draco…wasn't. He barely even trusted himself these days.

Harry was his friend. The thought came to him in a rush, and it nearly took his breath away. Draco had never felt more unworthy, more humbled by another person's trust and regard. In that moment, he swore to do all he could to deserve it.

As quietly as possible, Draco rose to his feet. He glanced over at Harry's desk, where the letters Harry had been writing lay unfinished. He walked past them to the door, a warm feeling in his chest as he glanced one more time at Harry's sleeping form.

Deciding to make a cup of tea, Draco headed to the kitchen to do so. He felt slightly high, and though that could certainly be attributed to the potions he'd been taking, he had a feeling it wasn't. He wondered what that meant for him, for Harry.

"Are you feeling any better?"

Draco nearly jumped out of his skin. He'd been so absorbed in thought that he hadn't even noticed Weasley's presence at the kitchen table. And not only that, but the question itself was rather startling, considering the source.

"I am," he said, his voice coming out more shakily than he'd intended. Ignoring Weasley, he set about on making tea.

"Do you want any?" he asked after a moment, deciding it was only fair to exchange civility for civility. Not that he'd ever cared before, but it had been a strange day.

"Already got some," Weasley said, holding up a cup. "But…thanks anyway."

Draco shrugged and finished making his tea, then turned to head back to his room. "Well, see you later, then."

"Hey," Weasley called out, just as Draco had begun walking away. Slightly annoyed, he turned around. Weasley gave him a tight smile. "Umm, so this is a little hard to say."

Draco blinked. "Okay."

"I mean, if someone had told me five years ago that we'd all be living together, I'd have thought they were completely mad. But now we have been, and really…it's been alright."

Draco sipped his tea. It was cooler than he would have liked. Giving a mirthless laugh, he said, "have you considered that maybe that's because we hardly see each other?"

Weasley laughed. "Well, yes. But maybe we should change that."

Draco stared at him. "Weasley, I'd wondered if my potions were doing things to my mind, but now I know they are. Because I'm pretty sure I'm hallucinating right now."

Weasley stared at his fingers for a moment, looking supremely uncomfortable. "I just think…I mean, it can't be easy for you right now. Not that I'm making excuses for anything you've done," he said quickly. "You had choices, and you made the wrong ones. But I did something really stupid not too long ago, and I wasn't sure if Harry and Hermione would ever forgive me. But…they did." He exhaled loudly, as if he'd been holding his breath throughout his entire speech.

"You punched me in the face when I had no wand and couldn't even see you. I'd say that sums up our relationship rather nicely."

Weasley laughed again. "Oh, please. It goes both ways and you know it. You never pass up on a chance to tell me how poor and worthless my family is. And you know what? My family isn't wealthy like yours, so you've got me there. I just think…maybe we should grow up. Soon we're all going to be out in the world…Hermione will probably be Minister for Magic or something," a fond smile appeared on his face as he said this, "and I just think we should all enjoy this last year at Hogwarts, have some fun before all the responsibilities set in. And…we have something in common."

"What's that?" Draco asked, unable to keep the tremor from his voice. He had no idea why Weasley had chosen today to reach out to him, but now, stripped as he was of all defenses, it would be hard to simply dismiss him as he might have any other time.

"Well, Harry. We all care about him - me, Hermione, and you. You don't even know it, but you've helped him a lot. And as he's my best friend…that means something to me." Weasley fixed him with a challenging look. "Don't even try to deny it."

Harry, Harry, Harry. Why must everything in his life always come back to him?

Draco sighed, then sank bonelessly down to a chair at the table. "I'm not denying it. And Weasley, if you must know - and I'm sure you'll love this - my family is on the verge of losing everything. So soon we'll be poorer than you, and you can give it right back to me." He blinked, startled to find himself close to tears. If he cried in front of Weasley, he'd have to kill himself. It would be that mortifying.

Weasley frowned, then sighed impatiently. "No, I don't love it. That's what I'm trying to tell you - we should both just grow up. A little bit, at least." He smirked. "It's not like I'm wanting to settle down and have kids or something."

"Lord forbid," Draco muttered. The thought of little Weasleys running around…every single one with Granger's big mouth…it was the stuff nightmares were made of.

"Have you told Harry about it? The money, I mean. Because Harry might be able to talk to the Ministry, work something out…"

"Fuck you, Weasley. Is that what this has been about? You're trying to see what my angle is or something? I'm not…I'm not using him if that's what you've been trying to get at. Maybe you think that I'll forever be the same as I was at thirteen, but I have news for you - I have grown up, in ways that you'll never dream of. Do you remember Greyback? Well, did you know he-" Draco cut himself off, his mind finally catching up to his voice. What the hell was he doing?

"He what?" Weasley asked, looking slightly ill.

Draco shook his head. "Nothing." He pushed away from the table, his tea cold and forgotten. "I'm going to my room."

"Malfoy, I wasn't accusing you of anything, okay? If I'd thought you were trying to use Harry, do you think I would have chosen such a roundabout way of asking you?" He snorted. "Maybe you've been around too many Slytherins in your life, because I'm simply not capable of that."

Draco managed to bite back any and all sharp comments. His emotions were simply too raw, too exposed. Damn Weasley. He claimed to not be a manipulator, yet here he was, chipping away at Draco when he was most vulnerable.

"Okay, whatever. I'll keep it in mind. I - I do appreciate it, Weasley. And if you'd keep what I said about my financial situation…and Greyback, to yourself, I'd appreciate it even more."

Weasley cocked his head quizzically. "You didn't tell me anything about Greyback."

"Exactly. Well, talk to you later, then."

*

For some reason, Draco felt like breaking things when he returned to his room. Thanks to Weasley, the pleasant high that Harry had caused had dissipated - replaced by self-loathing, despair…and anger.

He sat down at his desk and began writing.

Dear Father,

Today I realized something. I realized that everything is your fault. Everything. I'm supposed to feel sorry for you sitting up in Azkaban, but I don't. I'm supposed to respect you, but I don't. How could I? You sold us out - your own family! - to some insane reptile-man. For what? You've lost your wand, your dignity, your freedom…and now we're going to lose our money, and probably the Manor as well. When I was younger you were always quick to point out the smallest signs of weakness in me, and I would have broken my legs if I'd thought it would please you. Nothing was ever good enough for you - least of all, me.

You've made me what I am now, and I'm afraid it isn't much to be proud of. I have no idea what will become of Mother and I - we'll probably become some pathetic charity cases, or worse. No one will ever want to hire me - the name Malfoy is forever ruined. And you're to blame.

Your son,

Draco

As soon as Draco put down his quill, he knew he could never mail that letter. But…he felt better, if only a little bit. Yes, if one simply ignored the tears streaming down his face, he felt perfectly fine now.

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