As always, thank you! This chapter is a more... digestable length. Tell me what you think!

By this time next week the next chapter should be up, titled Scar.

Stars

One week had passed since the last visit from the Auror Office. Draco steeled himself for it as soon as he woke up, determined to keep his emotions in check. The cold fury, the humiliation. He couldn't let them bleed through.

His parents were mostly all right that day, especially his mother. She had had the house-elves prepare breakfast as usual, was dressed, and had put on both a touch of jewellery and makeup. Her hair was tied back into a sleek bun, and though her cheekbones were a little more prominent than they had used to be, she looked – and acted, and spoke – like her old self. Draco almost stopped breathing when she greeted him with a hug, but he deliberately squashed his own hopes. It was likely that the next day, she would be lost again.

She had forgotten the makeup on her right eye.

They weren't crazy, he told himself. They were broken, but they were on the mend.

It wasn't like there was a Mind Healer out there willing to look at the Malfoys, anyway.

His father was silent and surly again today, but it was a quiet anger that he had under control. When he spoke, it was brief and clipped, but not aggressive. Not so different from his real self. Draco thought he saw him smile slightly when he looked at Narcissa, and it warmed his heart. Still, he didn't want to let an Auror talk to them right now. He didn't want the Ministry to upset the fragile balance his mother seemed to have found, or to provoke his father into full-blown fury with their questions that always threatened to turn into taunts. So after breakfast he made sure they went back to their rooms, or the library, or somewhere – just not anywhere near the entrance hall or the drawing rooms.

It was a little before noon when the gate informed him that an Auror was requesting entrance. He stood up from the chair he'd been sitting in in the main drawing room and slowly walked down the hall to the door, then opened it.

"Hello," Potter said as he strode inside.

Draco wasn't even surprised. "Hello. Do you want another tour of the house?"

Potter shook his head. "I'm not going to do a detailed full-house check every time I visit. Not physically, anyway. Magic will suffice."

"The drawing room it is, then. If you can conduct your 'check' from there."

"I can."

Draco started heading for the second drawing room. Potter fell in step with him, shooting furtive glances at the portraits which lined the walls. Draco wondered what he found so interesting about them but kept his tongue.

They didn't sit down this time, which defeated the point of bringing Potter to the room. Draco watched silently as the trainee Auror began muttering under his breath, casting detection spells. The sight of his wand made Draco remember the ones that Potter had returned to him. He frowned.

"So what happened to getting a replacement?" he asked, keeping his tone conversational.

"Turns out no one was eager to take the assignment. It's not exactly the most fascinating thing an Auror-in-training can do, you know. And I don't know many people willing to put up with you."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?" Potter said distractedly as he traced the wall with the tip of his wand, his back to Draco.

"Willing to put up with me."

Potter shrugged. "We have to grow up someday."

He moved his hand in a strange, jerky pattern, and Draco felt a shiver run through him as the spell washed over the Manor, cold and probing as tentacles. He resisted the urge to wince.

"That's what you call this, then? Growing up?"

Potter glanced back at him. "Maybe."

"I didn't think it would be like this."

"Yeah, neither did I." Potter looked back at the wall. "But it could have been worse."

It felt like a slap in the face. Draco gritted his teeth together, knowing Potter was deliberately reminding him that he had saved the family from Azkaban.

"Yeah," he said bitingly, "it could. You could be dead."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wished he could take them back. Potter froze, then turned around to meet his gaze. Something passed between them in that glance, a hint of mocking, perhaps. Never knew you cared, Draco could almost hear, and really – since when did he care?

"Yeah, I could be," Potter said after a moment. "But I'm not."

He didn't offer a thank you. He didn't say anything, just stared at Draco, and Draco knew that there was only one thing he wanted to say: Why?

Draco almost wanted to tell him, then, what had been going on through his mind at that moment. I didn't have a choice. I didn't do it for you. But maybe it was a good idea to have Potter believe he had a shred of humanity inside him that was worth saving.

Draco looked away first. "So what's it like? Training, I mean."

Potter turned back to what he had been doing, the moment shattered. "It's all right."

"That's it?"

"What do you want to know?"

"There must be something to tell. I mean, it's, you know. Auror training."

Potter shrugged. "It's just... classes."

"Yeah? You must be pretty bad at it, then."

Potter hummed noncommittally. "It's a bit more hands-on than at Hogwarts. There's a lot of theory, but you can see where it's going to lead. It's like there's a point to everything you learn, you know? So it's okay, actually." Draco thought he could hear the smile in Potter's voice, even though the future Auror had his back to him. "I kind of like duelling, even if the instructors think I'm full of myself. They keep saying I need to work harder, and not rely only on my reflexes."

Draco himself almost smiled at that. "Duelling, huh?"

"Reminds you of our second year, doesn't it?"

"When you spoke to that snake."

"Well, yeah, that part, too, I suppose. I was thinking more of the 'Scared, Potter?' bit, though."

At that, Draco did smile. "That was fun. I bet you were scared, though."

"Whatever you say."

That brought him up short. "What?" An attack on that Gryffindor courage couldn't just be ignored.

"Like I said, Malfoy. We have to grow up someday." Potter put his wand away and turned back to face him. He was still smiling. "Besides, maybe I was a little scared."

Draco didn't really know what to think about the words, or the disturbing fact that Potter was smiling at him. "Are you done?" he asked.

"Not yet. Can I speak to your parents?"

"No," Draco said immediately, "you can't."

Potter marked a pause. "Why not? I'm supposed to, you know. I let it slide last time, but if this is to go on –"

"How long?" Draco asked. "How long will the Ministry be checking up on us?"

"I don't know. A year, maybe more. Maybe a lot more. I'm going to have to talk to them one day, you know."

"Not today."

Potter leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. "Why?"

"Because I say so."

Because his parents weren't in any state to be talking to Potter.

"They haven't been out of the house. The wards we've set around here would have told us if they had. What are you so worried about?"

"I'm not worried."

"Yes, you are."

Draco was silent.

Potter looked at him speculatively, then shrugged. He moved forward and sank down into one of the chairs around the table, as though he was tired of the subject.

"You're lucky I didn't find a replacement, you know," he said slowly. "I'm probably the only one at the Auror Office who would put up with this."

"Like you're doing me a favour," Draco snapped. "What, am I supposed to be grateful that you're going to check up on us every week?"

"No, but you could be grateful that you're not in Azkaban," Potter said hotly. "I did everything I could to keep your sorry ass out of prison – and your parents, too, even though Merlin knows your father didn't exactly deserve it, did he?"

Draco brought his hands down on his lap; they were shaking with anger. "Don't you dare bring my parents into this, Potter. You didn't do this for them. The only reason you bothered to testify at their trials is that you've been obsessed with me for years. Saint Potter, my eye. What about Pansy? What about Theo? Not worth your time, were they?"

Potter looked unsettled, as though he hadn't even realised that he could have helped anyone else. When he spoke, his tone was calm and even again, all traces of his former irritation gone. "Neither of them saved my life."

Draco averted his gaze, his anger fading abruptly, replaced by a sense of uneasiness. "I didn't, either."

"You did. Twice."

"Are you talking about what happened here? I tried not to be the cause of your death," he snapped. "There's a difference."

"Not in my book. Not when you and I were –"

"When we were what?" Draco asked. "You've said it yourself. We weren't enemies. We were nothing. Nothing at all. But you were obsessed with me."

A faint flush darkened Potter's cheeks. "I didn't –" he began hotly, then seemed to change his mind. "Let's not argue about this," he said. "That's not what I came here for. You're right. We were nothing. And yet you saved my life."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Let's not pretend anymore," Potter said. "You know I don't mean what happened here in your other drawing room. I meant –"

"I know what you meant."

"When I saw you there, I –"

"Shut up, Potter."

And he did, but not without looking intently at Draco. Draco couldn't stand it. It felt as though Potter wanted to pierce his soul, read his thoughts, know what had been going on in his head at that moment. But unless he asked, Draco wouldn't say a word. He didn't think he had come to terms with it yet.

"Malfoy, can I –"

"I'm not expecting you to say thank you."

"I wasn't going to," Potter snapped. "I just –" He shook his head. "Forget it, okay?"

"Gladly."

"I bet," Potter muttered, but he dropped the subject. "So. Your parents. Next time?"

"Possibly."

Potter looked surprised. "Really?"

"It could happen."

"Aren't you going to tell me why?"

For a moment, Draco thought he meant the Battle again; then he realised they were still talking about his parents. "No."

Potter shook his head, then gave him a speculative look. "Are they... are you all right, Malfoy? Something seems off about you."

"And you've noticed, have you? What do you know about me, Potter?"

A grin. "Probably a hell of a lot more than I should."

Draco looked at him. "Probably. But that's not the point."

"Something's wrong, though."

"Look, Potter, I'm not in the mood for a heart-to-heart with you. Not now, and probably not ever, for obvious reasons."

Potter grimaced, but he didn't insist. He looked out the window.

"You know, they didn't go to Azkaban."

Draco's eyes shot to his. "What?"

"Parkinson... and Nott. You mentioned them earlier. Well, they didn't get sentenced to Azkaban."

He did know, but he was surprised that Potter did. And seemed to care.

"That's good."

"Well, it's not like... I mean, they didn't actually break the law."

Pansy's words from the other day came back to him. "All I wanted was to survive. But I never actually broke the law."

"I feel kind of bad that they were in Azkaban at all," Potter admitted. "Since they didn't really do anything. But it wasn't my choice. I wasn't even aware of it. For a week, I didn't even know you were in Azkaban." He looked directly at Draco as he spoke.

Draco could tell it was important for him to say the words, but they meant nothing to him. What did he care, whether Potter had known or not that he was being subjected to the Dementors' presence?

"At least I deserved it."

Potter bit his lip. It was obvious that wasn't the answer he had been hoping for.

"You didn't."

"How many people do you know who agree with that?"

Potter seemed to honestly think about it. "Three... maybe four. I suppose."

"Point proven."

Potter shook his head. "You couldn't just make this easy, could you?" he asked, as though it were all Draco's fault.

"I couldn't make it easy? I'm not the one who chose to come here to laugh at you in your own home every week."

"It's not like that," Potter snapped. "It's not. I didn't decide to come to have a good laugh or to torment you. You're lucky it was me, because someone else just might have done that. But my life does not revolve around you, and I don't care about getting revenge or anything like that. All I care about is making sure your family won't hurt anyone ever again. Because that's my job. And my job includes having to talk with your parents. And if I have to blast you aside to get to them, then I'm not going to let that be an obstacle."

Draco felt his jaw clench. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

"You're a Gryffindor," Draco said, trying to convince himself. "You wouldn't attack a defenseless wizard. I can't use any magic against you without landing myself in Azkaban."

"Yourself and your parents," Potter reminded him.

Draco felt anger tear through him like fire at the words. Without taking his eyes off Potter, he surged forward and slammed his hand down on the table between them.

"Don't you dare bring them into this again! I told you – not them! They don't have anything to do with this – this is all about you and me."

"No," Potter said coolly. He looked stricken, but determined. "It isn't. It isn't about me, and it isn't even about you. It's about your family." He eyed Draco's hand. "And you're not helping them by acting like this."

"I'm trying to protect them," he said, grinding the words out through clenched teeth, and instantly realised it was the wrong thing to say.

Potter's eyes narrowed. "Protect them from what?"

"Nothing," Draco said, biting back a curse. Idiot. "I just... just..."

Potter waited, but Draco offered nothing more. Potter looked at him appraisingly and, then, to his surprise, nodded.

"All right. But next time, Malfoy –"

"I understand." Then, before Potter could leave, he asked the question that had been burning on his lips, for his mother's sake. "What happened to my aunt?"

Potter looked up quizzically. "Your...?"

"My aunt," he repeated. "Bellatrix Lestrange."

Something flickered in Potter's expression. "She died," he said carefully.

"I know that," Draco said, gritting his teeth. He'd been there, he'd seen. "But her body –"

"Oh." Potter seemed to understand. "She was... buried."

"Where?"

"The..." Potter hesitated. "On the grounds of Azkaban."

Draco lost his balance; stars erupted before his eyes and he reached out a hand to catch himself against the wall, feeling sick. It wasn't like him to lose control, but this, how could he hear this without wanting to throw up? All that time spent in Azkaban, and Bellatrix's corpse had been lying just a few feet away, rotting slowly below the earth, and his mother had so desperately wanted to know what had happened to her sister's body, and now... how could he ever tell her? The entire world shifted, and he closed his eyes.

"Malfoy?" Potter sounded concerned.

"Give me a second." He took a deep, shuddering breath and brushed the memories of the Dementors away, opening his eyes again. "Is there..." he began, then swore when he heard the tremor in his voice. "Could we have her moved?"

Potter looked at him as though he had grown a second head. "Moved?" he repeated.

"She was my aunt," Draco said. "My mother's sister. I don't care what she was to you, Potter; she was family."

Potter started to say something, but changed his mind mid-sentence. "I don't thin – I'll have to see with the Ministry. I... it should be possible."

His eyes searched Draco's face for a reaction, latching onto grey eyes for a moment before he nodded briefly. Draco almost asked what he thought he'd found, because he was certain he'd let nothing slip past his mask, but suddenly all he wanted was for Potter to leave.

Because, for a brief moment, he could have sworn he had felt Potter's concern and sympathy, wrapping around his own horror, and that was impossible.