In Your Eyes

The Prophet, as it turned out, didn't need anything to be saved for it. It managed very well on its own, thank you very much. By the next day details of the Malfoy trial had been leaked, under the headline DEATH EATERS RELEASED. Harry couldn't even find it in himself to be annoyed by the sullen, accusatory tone of the article. He was rather pleased, actually. Hermione did not find it nearly as amusing ("You're not still subscribed to that rag, are you?").

"I'm still not sure about Lucius Malfoy," Ron said that morning at breakfast as he turned the pages of The Daily Prophet. "I keep thinking back to the Department of Mysteries... We always thought he was a bastard, you know? The things he would say to my father... Voldemort didn't make him do that."

"I know," Harry said. "But his position has changed now. He doesn't have the Ministry's favour anymore. I think it's going to be okay. The Auror Office will be closely following them, anyway."

Ron grimaced. "If I'd known that earlier, I wouldn't have accepted Kingsley's offer to enter training."

"It's not like it will be us, personally. We'll have enough classes as it is. It'll be some poor Auror who fought in the war and will wonder why he got saddled with the job."

"Yeah, I know." Ron bit into a piece of bread. "D'joo thin' their probation'll be over by the time we become Aurors?"

"I hope so," Harry said.

"Of course it will," Hermione said, as though they should know. "By wizarding law, a probation can't last more than three years. At the end of the three years, it is either lifted, or the person on probation is sent to prison. It will take you longer than that to get through Auror training."

"Well that's a relief," Ron said. "I wouldn't want to set foot back there for all the gold in the world."

He paused, realising what he had said, and glanced guiltily at Hermione. She had been the one to be tortured 'back there,' after all. But her expression was blank, as though she hadn't heard what Ron had said. She stared down at her glass of pumpkin juice. An uncomfortable silence followed.

They were eating at the kitchen table at 12, Grimmauld Place. Hermione sat next to Ron, across the table from Harry. The Weasleys had moved back into the Burrow, but Harry had declined the offer to stay with them, not wanting to be a burden. Instead, Ron and Hermione had followed him to Sirius' old house. Hermione had yet to retrieve her parents from Australia, though she didn't seem overly anxious about it. She claimed to want to wait until things had 'settled.' And Ron, having decided to accept Kingsley's offer that invited all of the fighters of the Battle of Hogwarts over the age of seventeen to begin Auror training, was probably going to stay here with Harry for a while.

"You haven't told us what you want to do," Ron said finally, breaking the silence. "After Hogwarts, I mean."

"That's because I don't know," Hermione replied.

Her voice was steady and calm, as though nothing had happened. Relief flooded Ron's expression. Even though he and Hermione had begun a relationship, he was still quite tactless, and seemed to spend half their conversations wondering whether he'd said something wrong.

"That's probably why I'm going back to Hogwarts," Hermione confessed, not looking up from her pumpkin juice. "I mean, part of the reason why. Of course there's the fact that I'd like to complete my education. But I also don't know what I want to do later on." She raised her eyes to Harry's. "It feels like... Well, I know there are a lot of interesting things to do. But I can't seem to find anything really... worthwhile."

"You could become a mediwitch," Harry suggested. "Or a Healer. You're easily good enough."

She shook her head. "Not that kind of worthwhile. I wasn't thinking of actually saving lives. I... I don't know how to explain it. You'll both laugh at me if I say something about S.P.E.W., won't you?"

Ron didn't laugh, but he didn't exactly keep a straight face, either. She nudged him with her elbow.

"Stop that!"

"I'm not laughing!" he protested, but when she gave him a stern look, he spluttered, then burst out laughing. "That wasn't very fair," he managed to say, before laughing again. "No, really, I understand, Hermione. After saving the world from an insanely powerful, almost immortal dark wizard, being a Healer would be boring. It's much more worthwhile to save the house elves, too!"

Harry smiled at the two of them. At one point, he had worried about losing his best friends to each other, but now he knew he wouldn't want to have it any other way.

Looking at them, he felt a familiar tug of pain as he was reminded of Ginny. They had tried to talk many times, but maybe it was just too soon after the Battle. Every time they were alone together, they were interrupted by someone, or they remembered something they had to do, or they looked at each other and didn't know what to say, or something reminded them of Fred and they couldn't talk. Harry had told her about his year on the run, every little detail, but she hadn't yet had the time to tell him about her year. After seeing the state Neville had been in, Harry wasn't sure he could stomach the telling, but he knew he would have to if they hoped to mend their relationship. They couldn't have anything until it was all out into the open and they understood each other once more.

Right now, though, Harry pushed thoughts of Ginny aside. She would be at Hogwarts for another two years: repeating her sixth year, which she hadn't completed (and even if she had, the Carrows had hardly taught anything worthwhile), and then going through her seventh year. They had all the time in the world, and he knew that eventually, things would work out. At the moment, he was just glad that his friends were safe and sound and with him.

"By the way, Harry," Hermione said after having swatted Ron on the arm. "Kingsley sent an owl this morning before you woke up."

"Would that be Kingsley, or the Minister?"

"The Minister," Hermione said. "According to the letterhead, at any rate. I think we'll be seeing more and more of Minister Shacklebolt and less and less of Kingsley. Not that that's a bad thing. He'll be a good Minister."

"Yeah... I suppose. Wonder why he wrote, though. We saw each other only yesterday."

"He wants you to come see him today."

"That's not how he put it," Ron interjected. "He actually said, 'At your earliest convenience.' Which would be today, of course," he added hastily when Hermione gave him a look.

"You read it?"

Hermione had the decency to look embarrassed, but Ron just grinned.

"Hey, mate, it's not like there are any secrets between us, is there? We had to read it just in case it was urgent."

Harry smiled back. "There aren't many urgent things nowadays, but I'll pretend to believe you."

"Ron opened it because he thought it was going to be about the Malfoys," Hermione said. "I told him it wasn't a good idea."

"It's all right, Hermione. I don't mind. He's right, anyway. From now on, either of you can read my mail if you want to... I don't expect to receive anything I'd want to keep private."

"Don't say that, he'll read Ginny's letters to you from Hogwarts if you give him the chance." Hermione looked pointedly at Ron, who turned red.

"I wouldn't!"

"Did Kingsley say what the meeting would be about?" Harry asked, not really wanting to linger on the subject of Ginny.

Would she even write?

"No, he didn't," Hermione said. "The letter's on the counter if you want to read it. All it says is that he wants to speak to you. It's sort of... curt."

"That's what becoming Minister does to people, I suppose," Harry said.

At two PM sharp, Harry rapped on the door that led to the Minister for Magic's office.

"Come in," Kingsley's voice said from inside.

"I didn't think it would look like this," Harry said as he stepped in and scanned the room. The walls were bare, there was only a little furniture, and except for the stack of papers on Kingsley's desk, everything was neat to the extreme. "I expected something a little more... flamboyant."

Kingsley's eyes danced. "Yes, most people would think that, wouldn't they? But this office isn't meant to receive anyone. It's the office I'm supposed to work in, so any clutter would only bother me."

Harry eyed him. "I think it suits you. Er, I mean... sir," he added uneasily.

The smile in Kingsley's eyes touched his lips. "It's all right, Harry. Let's not pretend not to know each other. Although," he said, "this is a business matter and not a private one."

Harry frowned. "Business?"

"Sit down, Harry."

He obeyed, seating himself in the chair in front of Kingsley's death. It was made of metal and wood and was stiff and uncomfortable.

"You've applied to join Auror training, haven't you?"

"Er, yes." Did Kingsley have something to say to that? Was he going to object?

"Good for you," the Minister said. "I think you will be able to do more good in this world. But for now, it'll just be training." He looked uncertain for a moment. "I know you aren't short on money, but I have a suggestion to make."

"A suggestion? For money?" Harry frowned. "I thought trainees already received a salary."

"A poor one," Kingsley pointed out, "but you're right, they are remunerated. I have a job on the side for you that could earn a little extra. It would also," he added before Harry could object, "look good on your file, because it's directly related to the work an Auror would do. In fact, it is Auror work."

"Then why not use an Auror?"

"It's Auror grunt work," Kingsley corrected. "A simple but boring task that I don't want to waste an Auror on. They have enough on their hands as it is with the surviving Death Eaters attempting to flee. The majority of our team is abroad. Harry, I'm not going to lie; this isn't the most interesting job ever. But it might give you a taste of what's waiting for you, and the risks are minimal."

"But there are risks?"

"I expect you would know better than I do." Kingsley looked down at the pile of papers on his desk and began shifting them around as though looking for something. "How much of a – ah, here it is – how much of a risk do you believe the Malfoys present?"

Harry blinked. "I – what?"

"The Malfoys," Kingsley repeated patiently. "They should be the only risk you would be exposed to."

"Well," Harry said slowly. His head was spinning; he thought he knew which direction this was heading in and didn't like it at all. "I would be most worried about Lucius, I suppose."

"As you should be. Does he frighten you?"

Harry considered it. "Not really."

"Here." Kingsley slid a sheet of paper across to him. "Fifty extra Galleons a month for about four extra hours of work. You'll have to do it on the weekend or after training hours, though; you're still required to attend all classes."

Fifty Galleons for four hours? Harry had never been at a lack for money, but the disproportionate sum made his head spin. He looked down at the sheet of paper, which had his name at the top. Below that, the names of the three Malfoys, and never-ending paragraphs of text.

"It's not anything difficult," Kingsley said. "They'll want to cooperate. It could take fifteen minutes, or a few hours, depending on how thorough you want to be." He hesitated. "If anything happens because you've overlooked something – a Dark artefact, for example – you can be held responsible, but it wouldn't lead to judiciary problems for you since you're not a qualified Auror. We couldn't hold anything against you."

"You want me to be the one who monitors them?"

"Ideally, yes. You've had experience dealing with the family and I know you're trustworthy."

"Isn't there some sort of conflict of interest that would make that illegal?"

Kingsley gave him a piercing look. "Is there?"

"No," Harry said, "I guess not." He reached up to touch his scar absentmindedly, then snatched his hand away as soon as he realised he was doing it. "So what does it involve, just... talking?"

Kingsley smiled grimly. "I believe even 'just talking' with the Malfoy family may prove difficult. Essentially, though, yes. The Ministry has decided on one visit per week for an undetermined amount of time. It could be up to three years. If at any point you decide you want to quit, then that's that and it's over. We'd name someone else. You would be checking up on them at the Manor every week. You'll have to check whether the Traces we've put on them have flagged anything, ask a few routine questions, look around, and examine their wands if you have any doubts. Your first few visits should include a search of the house for any suspicious objects. You should ask them if they are any. If they say there aren't, trust that they're lying and look for yourself. We would equip you with the proper devices for finding this sort of thing, although Lucius Malfoy has a way of hiding things he doesn't want found. Even when you find nothing – there's something. And if they did lead you to some objects, you'd have to look around anyway for anything they might have hidden."

"You don't trust them."

Kingsley gave him a look. "Would you trust them to tell the truth?"

Harry thought about it for three seconds. "No."

"I let you testify, Harry," Kingsley said. "I let you take their defense at the trial. If they're not in Azkaban right now, it's thanks to you. But I'm not so sure you've done the wizarding world a favour by doing it."

Harry shifted in his seat, which was growing more uncomfortable by the minute. "What do you mean?"

"When there are people you can't trust outside... When there are ex-Death Eaters walking free in the streets... Isn't that the stuff of nightmares?"

"I..." Harry bit his lip. "They saved my life."

"I know that," Kingsley said. "But is your life worth that of dozens of others?"

His gaze had become too intense, too accusing, and Harry looked away. No, of course it wasn't. That wasn't what he'd meant. He'd meant that if Narcissa and Draco had been willing to save his life, then there was a shred of decency inside of them worth saving. But when you put it the way Kingsley did...

"Think about it, Harry. Think about what you've done. Are you sure it was the right choice?" When Harry didn't say anything, he asked, "Are you going to accept the job?"

"I'll think about it," Harry said. "I probably will. I've been meaning to talk to Malfoy, anyway. But..." He looked up at Kingsley again. "Why me?"

Kingsley looked almost surprised at the question. "Several reasons. You're the reason they're free in the first place, so I immediately thought of you when I realised I needed to find someone to keep an eye on them. It seems to me they should be your responsibility. It also appears to me that you're quite suited for the job. If I have to choose a trainee, I would rather it be you." He shrugged in a very non-Minister-like way. "And you know Draco Malfoy. Maybe you'll be able to curb him somewhat."

Fat chance, thought Harry as he left the office.

Two days later, Harry stood in front of the gate to Malfoy Manor. It was elegant in a cold, unfriendly way, made of wrought iron that coiled upwards and ended in dark, fearsome spikes at the top. He remembered it well. Every detail of that day was etched into his mind forever, from the moment he'd spoken Voldemort's name in anger to Hermione's screams as she was tortured to Dobby's death. He would never forget any of it. Big as the manor may be, he suspected he could find his way to the cellar they'd been kept in with no trouble.

Harry hadn't thought he'd been that shaken by the events that had happened here until right now, as he looked behind the metal bars straight at Malfoy Manor. A chill ran up his spine and Ron's words from two days earlier came back to him. "I wouldn't want to set foot back there for all the gold in the world." Which, Harry imagined, included the extra fifty Galleons he would be receiving from the Ministry for this. He wondered whether his friend hadn't been right.

Ron had been appropriately horrified when Harry had come back and told him about Kingsley's offer.

"You're joking, right? He didn't really ask you to be the Malfoys' – their what? Their probation officer? Oh Merlin, you're not joking. Don't tell Hermione."

But when Hermione had asked what Kingsley had wanted to say, there had been no way for Harry to lie to her. She had taken it remarkably well – or maybe she just hadn't let them see how much it affected her.

"Well, someone has to do it," she had said calmly.

The words echoed in his mind. Someone has to do it. It was true. And that someone was him.
He reached out and firmly pressed his hand against the cold iron. Almost immediately, the coils of metal at the top began to move and slither – there was no other word for it – around. He watched as a face appeared.

"State your identity and purpose."

Harry took his hand back, then reached out again, this time pressing a badge Kingsley had given him to the gate. It glowed white for a second.

"Auror Office," he said simply.

The face disappeared. Harry blinked, then realised it meant he was allowed to pass. He closed his eyes and walked through the gate, feeling nothing but a slight chill, less unpleasant than having a ghost float through you. When he was on the other side, he looked back at it. The iron looked as cold and solid as ever.

He looked down the drive, caught sight of an albino peacock, and was surprised by the amused smile that tugged at his lips. Peacocks, really. He knew he had seen one, that night, but everything seemed to take on a different dimension now. For one thing, it was daytime; for another, he was in charge this time around. He walked up to the manor neither quickly nor slowly but fluidly, because he had a right to be there. The best right. He made his way up the broad stone steps easily, but stopped at the door. It was open, and Draco Malfoy stared out at him.

It was the first time Harry had seen him since the trial, and he had changed very little in those few days. There was a tension around his eyes that spoke of fatigue and bitterness, and he looked drawn and pale. He also looked like the world was playing a very bad joke on him. Harry rather shared the sentiment.

"You've got to be joking," Malfoy said in disbelief. "They didn't assign us to you."

"Actually, they did."

"You're not even an Auror! Have you even started training yet? You're still – you aren't any older than I am!"

"Our Aurors have better things to do. Like tracking down Death Eaters on the run, for example. Look, Malfoy, I'm about as thrilled about this as you are."

"Like hell you are," Malfoy snapped. "I'd rather have a Blast-Ended Skrewt checking up on us than Harry bloody Potter."

"Trust me, the feeling's mutual. Are you going to let me in, or do I have to force my way through?"

Malfoy eyed him skeptically. "You wouldn't."

"What do you know about me?"

He smiled, a bitter half-smile. "More than I want to."

The bravado was forced, though, and Malfoy stepped aside to let him in, not without scowling at him. Harry ignored it, but he felt the itch to start a fight just for the hell of it. He saved your life, he reminded himself. And unlike Narcissa who had only been thinking of her son, Draco had thrown himself between Voldemort and Harry for no viable reason at all. The antipathy between them was still strong enough to make the air crackle with tension, but Harry had decided to ignore it.

"Second drawing room, I imagine?" Malfoy said, more to himself than to Harry. "Since the main drawing room is where... where..."

"The second will be fine."

Malfoy shot him a glance. "I thought so."

He led the way, and Harry tried hard not to look at the portraits that lined the walls, or at the door which he knew led to the main drawing room. He was extremely aware of his surroundings, as though everything was a painful memory of the past. But the room Malfoy led him to was an entirely unfamiliar one, and that was a mercy. He gave the room a sweeping glance. It was smaller than the main drawing room. The walls were painted a deep blue. There was a fancy fireplace in one corner, portraits – always portraits – on the walls, and a small, low wooden table around which were positioned several uncomfortable-looking, obviously antique wooden armchairs and a plushier couch. It was actually fairly unassuming compared to the main drawing room.

"I suppose... you'd like to take a seat," Malfoy said, gesturing.

Harry elected one of the armchairs and was surprised to find it wasn't really that uncomfortable. Malfoy sat in another one across from him, on the other side of the table. He leaned back into the chair and folded his arms defensively. They sat in awkward silence for a moment, just staring at each other.

Now that he was alone in a room with him, Harry could tell there was something different about Malfoy. Not just the weight he'd lost or how pasty his skin had become, but something else, something inside his eyes. They had lost the spark Harry had always been able to ignite in them – that spark caused by fury, amusement, mocking.

"You've cut your hair," Malfoy said suddenly.

It was such a ridiculous, inane comment that Harry almost laughed. But he didn't; after all, he had just been staring at Malfoy's eyes.

"What?"

Malfoy shrugged. "It was almost to your shoulders last time you were here. You looked like a mess."

Harry looked at him speculatively. "But you still recognised me, didn't you?"

Malfoy lowered his gaze and didn't reply, which was all the confirmation Harry needed.

"Well, you're probably in need of a haircut yourself," he said, wondering if that was bait enough for an argument.

It wasn't. Malfoy didn't even react.

"Here," Harry said, reaching into the pocket of his robes.

Malfoy stiffened and leaned further back into his chair if it were possible. Harry caught the movement and frowned. Scared again? He pulled out a wand and rolled it between his fingers, watching Malfoy's expression cautiously.

It took a minute for Malfoy to get it, and then his eyes narrowed and his mouth set into a firm line.

"Hawthorn wood," Harry said. "Ten inches, unicorn hair core, and... what was it Ollivander said? 'Reasonably springy.'"

Malfoy looked down at the wand, his expression unreadable.

"It's yours," Harry said, sliding it across the table to him. "I'm giving it back."

"I don't want it." The words were said in a flat tone that brooked no argument.

Harry was stunned. "What? Why? It's your wand."

Malfoy stared at it with obvious distaste. There wasn't a hint of longing in his eyes. There wasn't a hint of anything.

"No it's not. You know it isn't. It's yours, now. 'Winners, keepers,' remember?"

Harry thought about arguing but stopped himself. Malfoy didn't look like he was going to let himself be swayed. He pocketed the wand again, trying not to think about the way it felt in his hand. Like it fit.

"Are you going to get a new one, then?"

Malfoy turned the full force of his gaze on him. "Obviously. I'm sure Ollivander would be glad to come back here to make me one," he said dryly.

Harry flinched. "Oh."

"Oh," Malfoy repeated with an eye-roll, and there it was – that condescending tone Harry had always associated with him. Until now.

Harry was silent for a moment.

"Then... will you take this one?"

Malfoy's eyes snapped to him. "What?"

Harry slid the wand that had killed the Dark Lord across the table. This time, Malfoy raised his eyebrows.

"I don't know whose this is," Harry said. "But you gave it to me. I didn't take it, so... it's not like its allegiance has changed, or anything." And it felt strange in his hand, twisted and ugly. He would be glad to be rid of it.

Malfoy stared at the wand. Something flickered in his expression.

"It doesn't belong to me," he said slowly. "This wand... it's Goyle's. I took it from him during the Battle. I watched him get Stunned by one of yours..." He paused. "He was arrested, wasn't he?"

Harry nodded. "He's facing serious charges. It's likely he'll be in Azkaban for a while. I don't know what else to do with this..." He shook his head as though to clear his head. "He was your friend."

Malfoy was quiet for a long time. "Not really," he said finally. "We weren't really... friends. Crabbe and him, they were..." He trailed off.

Whatever he might say, Harry could see the pain and regret in his eyes. It wasn't the feeling he had been hoping to elicit, but it was a start. He remembered, suddenly, that Crabbe had died during the Battle, and how Malfoy had reacted to that, saying the other Slytherin's name as though he couldn't quite believe it...

"Will you take it?" he asked. "He wouldn't want me to have it."

Malfoy scowled. "That's for sure," he said, and reached out to take the wand. He stared at it for a moment, then looked back up at Harry. "Are you sure? I mean, this wand..."

"I'm sure. I repaired mine –"

"I still can't believe you lost your wand during the Battle."

"That was yours, actually. Mine was broken, that's why I was using yours." He paused. "It worked well for me."

The corners of Malfoy's lips turned down into a slight frown.

"But I've repaired mine," Harry said again, "and I don't need any other."

Malfoy eyed him. "Not even the Elder Wand?"

"Especially not the Elder Wand," Harry said firmly.

"Did it... was it really..."

"Yeah. It was."

Malfoy almost smiled. Almost. "How very Gryffindor of you to give it up." He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. "So how is this supposed to go? Should I offer you a drink?"

"You don't have to."

In fact, he would rather Malfoy didn't. This was awkward enough as it was, he didn't want to make more conversation as they drank. He stood up.

"I need to see the house. All of it."

"Why?"

Harry looked at Malfoy pointedly. "Why do you think?"

"You won't find a thing," Malfoy said stiffly. "If you ask, though..."

"Will you show me what I want to see? And give them over to me?"

Malfoy shrugged. "We won't be needing them anymore, I'd expect."

Five secret caches and one hour later, Harry was back in the second drawing room with an impressive amount of dark artefacts in his arms. It was unnerving even to touch them. They seemed to radiate an aura which made him uncomfortable. It was probably all in his mind, but he would be glad when they were handed over to the Ministry.

"Satisfied?" Malfoy asked.

"Not really," Harry said, carelessly dumping the objects on the table.

Malfoy's pale eyebrows knitted together.

"Not yet, at any rate." Harry moved across the room and stood close to the wall, inspecting it. "I still have to check you're not hiding anything." He caught Malfoy's look. "Orders are orders," he said.

"So that's how it is, is it? We cooperate, and you treat us like shit?"

"Like criminals," Harry said absently, tracing the wall with his fingers. "Which you are."

"Brilliant," Malfoy said bitterly. "Fucking brilliant."

Harry ignored him and focused. He cast a detecting spell, moving his wand along the wall, eyes alert. Nothing appeared amiss.

"Now are you satisfied?"

"Not yet," Harry said again. "You'll have to show me the entire manor. Everything. Cellar, attic if you have one, bedrooms, kitchen, whatever."

"That's stupid," Malfoy said. "If we were hiding something, you would never find it."

"Everything," Harry repeated firmly.

Malfoy scowled. "Fine. But it's going to take some time."

"I've got all day."

They went through Malfoy Manor like that. Malfoy kept shooting him spiteful glances and the occasional furious comment – Don't touch that or, That belongs to my mother –, but he didn't step in to stop Harry. It was when they reached what was obviously his parents' room that he started to crack. He gritted his teeth at everything Harry did. When Harry started opening the clothes drawers, he cursed under his breath. Harry turned to look back at him.

"Is something wrong?"

"Azkaban would be better than this." His tone was flat.

Harry stared at him. "You're not serious."

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

Harry's jaw tightened. "I could send you back to Azkaban, if that's what you want. We can go there right now, as a matter of fact. Just send a house-elf to inform your parents and we'll be on our way."

Malfoy scowled. "Fuck you, Potter."

"I didn't think so."

He completed the search without finding anything else and without another comment from Malfoy. When they came back to the second drawing room empty-handed, Malfoy's expression was vaguely smug.

"Now are you satisfied?"

"Not completely, but it'll have to do."

Malfoy frowned. "So that search was pointless."

"Pretty much."

"You just spent three hours going through every room in my house and it was pointless?"

"That's what I just said, yeah."

"Bloody hell."

"I'd like that drink now, if the offer still stands."

"It's not like I can say 'No, and get the hell out of my house,' is it?" Malfoy moved away and rang a bell just beside the door, once. "It's magically linked to one in the kitchen," he said when Harry looked at it questioningly. "Our house-elf will come up in a moment."

There was a quiet pop as the elf Apparated into the room. It gave Malfoy a deep bow, then raised its eyes on the master's guest. Its eyes widened briefly in recognition and it bowed again, at least as deeply. Harry thought he noticed a flicker of annoyance in Malfoy's expression.

"Dippy," Malfoy said, "Potter would like a drink." He glanced at Harry.

"Water would be perfect."

Malfoy nodded. "A glass for me as well," he instructed the house-elf.

Dippy Disapparated.

"Can they Apparate while holding glasses?" Harry asked.

Malfoy shot him a look that clearly implied he thought Harry was an idiot. "If they wanted to, they could, but they don't need to come to send the glasses."

Sure enough, two large glasses of water appeared on the table shortly afterward, not unlike the way food appeared on the tables at Hogwarts. Hogwarts. As Harry took a deep gulp of water, he thought about the school he would never return to. It had been his home for a long time. He would miss it.

"Are you going back to Hogwarts?" he asked suddenly.

Malfoy looked at him strangely. He pulled a wrinkled piece of parchment out of his pocket; it only took a glance for Harry to recognise the green ink and unmistakable penmanship. He didn't know why the sight of it surprised him so much; he had received his own Hogwarts letter – as though anyone thought he was going back – the previous day.

"You got it, too," he said stupidly.

"Yeah. Fucking joke it is."

"So you're not going back?"

Malfoy shot him a look. "Are you toying with me, Potter?"

"I just thought –"

"No, you didn't," Malfoy said. "Of course you didn't. Because if you had thought about it for even a spit second, you would have remembered that I can't. Because I'm stuck here. With you."

"Oh." Harry blinked. "Oh, right." He hesitated. "I'm sure something could be worked out..."

"Of course. I'm sure they'd all be thrilled to see me. And having my N.E.W.T.s would be more than enough for me to secure myself a wonderful job as soon as I step out of school," Malfoy said dryly.

Harry winced. "I only meant –"

"I know what you meant, Potter. I'm not going back. What's the point?"

"It's..." Harry looked for the right words. "I don't know," he said finally. "I just wondered."

"Well now you know."

"Yeah." Again, Harry paused. "Would you want to? Go back, I mean?"

"That's not really the point, is it?"

"Are your friends going back?"

That earned him an unamused look. "Define 'friends.'"

"I... oh, you know. I meant the other Slytherins in our year."

"I don't know, for the most part. I doubt Pansy will. I suppose Blaise might. Theo, too."

"Theodore Nott?" Harry said, frowning.

Malfoy shot him a look. "Son of the Death Eater Nott, yes."

"Sorry. I didn't mean..."

Malfoy's expression softened somewhat, the creases on his forehead easing up. "I know."

"Are you friends with him?"

"After a fashion. Again, Potter, you'd have to define the word 'friends.'"

"Never mind," Harry said, giving up.

He took another sip of water. When he looked up again, Malfoy was watching him intently.

"What?" he asked.

"You shouldn't have bothered with those Occlumency lessons in fifth year , Potter. "

"How do you even know about those?"

Malfoy arched an eyebrow. "I was a Death Eater, Potter... And I knew Snape." He shrugged. "They were a waste of time, you know. I don't even need Legilimency to read your mind."

He tensed up. "What do you mean?"

"Everything you think is written all over your face. I know why you came."

"Yeah?" Harry looked at him. "Why's that? Does it have anything to do with the fact that the Minister asked me to?"

"A little," Malfoy said, "but not much."

"Then what is it?"

"Don't play dumb, Potter."

They held each other's gazes for a full minute, daring each other to look away.

"Are you done here?" Malfoy asked finally, lowering his gaze first.

Harry blinked. "I... yeah, I think. But where are your parents? I should talk to them."

Malfoy squared his shoulders. "Not today."

"Why not?"

"Because I say so."

Again, his tone brooked no argument, and against his better judgment, Harry decided to let it slide. Just this once. Because it was Malfoy, and Malfoy had saved his life.

"Then yeah, I'm done here."

"That's great. Good-bye, Potter. Try to convince the Ministry to send someone else next time."

"Will do."

He was escorted off the grounds by Dippy the house-elf. Malfoy stayed behind in the drawing room.

Just before Harry stepped out into the daylight, he set Malfoy's wand on a little table beside a vase of flowers just inside the door.

Just in case he changed his mind.

It wasn't like he wanted to carry a piece of Malfoy around with him forever.