Thanks everyone! Hope you like this chapter – I know I do.

Next Time, I'll Just Let You Die

Draco pulled his hood down lower over his eyes and turned into Knockturn Alley. His step grew a little more hurried, a little more urgent: an old habit since his first time accompanying his father here, when he'd been nine years old. He had to suppress a shiver. He liked some aspects of Knockturn Alley: it was an endless store of fascinating objects. But these days, it always reminded him of the vanishing cabinet and Dumbledore.

He nearly walked right into a round-bellied wizard with a mean look, and ended up brushing past him to enter a small, unassuming building squashed between two much larger and brighter shops.

Inside, it as as small and dark and cramped as outside. The smell of old parchment, ink and leather hung in the air. A set of candles burned low in a corner.

"Back so soon, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco didn't start. He hadn't been able to see Jayce in the dark, but he'd known the old man would be here. He allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness before answering, looking straight at Jayce.

"These should be the last."

He'd said that last time, too, but Jayce didn't comment on it. He only shrugged.

"Let's see them, then."

Draco let his bag slip off his shoulder and pulled out the books, five of them altogether, most the sort you were as likely to use as a doorstop as you were to read them. A doorstop for a very heavy door. His shoulder was killing him.

"Akalin's Booke of Magicks," Jayce said, lightly stroking the cover of the topmost one. "Eighteenth century. Excellent condition, too. Are you sure –"

"I'm sure," Draco said.

He definitely didn't need these books in the family library anymore. Akalin had been a powerful, amazingly intelligent wizard, certainly. He'd also been a dark wizard. Draco could have just destroyed the books, but a part of him was loathe to do so. They'd been in the family for decades, some of them for centuries.

Jayce examined the books one by one. Draco waited patiently. He respected Jayce. The other man never looked down on him or sneered at him now, just as he had never bowed to him back in the days when his family had still been in some repute. Jayce didn't care what he read in the papers, he only cared about the quality of what you brought him, and how much he could make by selling it on the black market.

"Forty," he said finally.

"Akalin's is well worth that on its own," Draco argued. Haggling was so common – but he actually enjoyed it.

"It is, but I'd have to find a buyer for it, and that's not so easy. That's why you need me."

Draco scowled, because he knew Jayce was right. They haggled for a short while, until eventually a price was agreed on. Gold switched hands, and when Draco left Knockturn Alley, his pockets were significantly fuller. His bag, thankfully, was empty.

He allowed himself to eye the storefronts in Diagon Alley. Flourish and Botts still had a couple of school textbooks in the window, and Draco lingered a little too long in front of them. It wasn't that he even wanted to be back at Hogwarts. But it was where he should have been, if things were normal. If his life hadn't been turned upside down, if he wasn't on probation, if Harry fucking Potter hadn't saved the world and damned him. If he, Draco, hadn't saved the Saviour's stupid life.

He tore himself away from the bookstore and walked into a little coffee shop instead to clear his thoughts. He asked for plain black coffee, no sugar or milk. When the bitterness hit the back of his throat, he grimaced.

The coffee shop was small and quiet. The waitress had served him quickly, and there was only one other client, an old witch who was staring insistently at him with beady eyes. Draco pulled his hood up to cover his hair and looked sullenly down at his cup. Maybe he should have stayed in Knockturn Alley. At least there, everyone was criminal scum.

"Excuse me sir," the waitress' timid voice said. "I, er, I mean we are going to have to ask you to leave the premises. You're, er, making the clientele uncomfortable."

I am the clientele, Draco thought, but there was no point in making a scene. He threw his hood back – no point now, was there? –, stood up, and tossed the rest of his coffee back. It was still hot and burnt his throat on the way down, but there was no sense in wasting perfectly good coffee. He slapped a few coins down for the waitress and strode out, not without sparing a scathing glance for the other witch. She met his gaze squarely. There was no shame in her eyes, only a sort of grim satisfaction. He wondered who she was, if some of her family had died in the war. He tried not to think about her.

Her gaze haunted him all the way home.

The weeks passed slowly for Draco. He couldn't fully enjoy his outings, but staying inside drove him mad. He despised idleness, but it was all he had left.

The library had once been his favourite place in the entire house. It was stacked full of obscure old books, most of which Draco would never read no matter how many hours he spent here. He had always loved how it was quiet, and how his father never set foot inside. It had been his safe space, and he'd often sneaked in snacks and drinks despite the strict ban and spent whole afternoons there.

Now he hated it. Not fiercely, not with a passion the way he hated Potter, or the life debt, or his whole stupid situation. This hatred was dull, born of sheer boredom and frustration. The site of the library door was enough to make Draco feel claustrophobic.

That didn't make it any easier to invite Potter in the next time he came around.

Draco stared at Potter.

"What's all that for?"

Potter grinned and moved past him easily, a loop of rope swinging at his belt. In his hand he held an assortment of hooks and clips.

"I've put this off for as long as I can, but I'm supposed to check the bare bones of the Manor... So some climbing is in order. I thought the library would be a good place to start. The window there looks ideal."

Draco blinked. "You're going to go rock-climbing on the walls of my house?"

"Basically, yes."

Potter moved down the hallway casually, clearly completely at ease with his surroundings. Draco closed the door behind him and followed.

"The Muggle way? With rope?"

Potter looked over his shoulder to flash him a quick smile. "The Muggle way is a lot safer than asking you to cast a Levitation Charm on me."

"Is that so?"

Draco lingered on the comment, not sure how to interpret it. Was Potter teasing him? He wouldn't know how to take that. It would be as though Potter thought there was some sort of camaraderie between them, which there wasn't. On the other hand, it could have been more biting than joking, a reminder that the only reason Draco had saved him was the life debt, that he would have let Potter die if he had had a choice... That Draco could understand, and deal with.

"Well, considering you're not allowed to use magic on me, yes, I would say that's so."

So it had been neither. Just a statement of fact.

"You wouldn't turn me in anyway, so what does it –"

Potter stopped and turned to face him; Draco almost walked right into him. There was a small, mocking smile on Potter's lips. "Do you want to be responsible for my injury if something goes wrong with your spell?"

"Please. I'm more than capable enough to manage a simple Levitation Charm –"

"Not without a proper wand you're not," Potter said, cutting him off. "You really should get a new one made. I honestly don't think Ollivander would –"

"Not going to happen," Draco said. "Forget it."

"Why?" Potter's eyes were intense.

"Will you just cut it out, Potter?" Draco snapped. "I told you to stop seeing me as a hero. I'm not! I was ready to watch you die. The real question is, why did you save my life?"

Potter blinked. "What do you mean?"

"If you hadn't saved me, then I wouldn't have lifted a finger to help you. Why did you do it? I was your enemy. I was on the other side. If it had been anyone else, you would have let them die."

"You can't know that."

"If it had been my aunt? Or Greyback? You would, Potter, you'd have let them die in the fire."

He didn't seem to have anything to say to that.

"So why didn't you let me die?"

"I couldn't," Potter said quietly, lowering his gaze. "I don't know why, but I – I couldn't watch you die." He raised his eyes to Draco's again. "Maybe because you tried to help, back at the Manor."

"I didn't."

"Yeah, you did. You knew it was me. How could you not know? You just didn't want to be the one to turn me in."

"Fat lot of good that did you." That had been cowardice, not bravery or pity.

"Luna told me, you know. About how you treated her while she was... here."

He stiffened, but kept his tone cool. "You know Lovegood is delusional."

"She's also extremely clever and brave," Potter said, bristling.

Yes. Draco could attest to that. He blinked, not wanting to remember those weeks.

"You kept her anchored," Potter went on, his tone softening. "Thank you."

"You still haven't answered my question."

Potter gave him a look that said he wasn't fooled, but he accepted the change of subject. "I don't know, exactly. I mean, it's like I told you. I couldn't not do it. I couldn't not try to help you. I'm just not like you."

That stung, though it shouldn't.

"Did you ever think things could have been different?" Potter asked. "That you didn't have to be a Death Eater – that maybe Dumbledore could have helped you? If you'd let Snape help you, the Order would have –"

"Oh, please," Draco said, frowning. "Give me some credit. I was worthless as a Death Eater, but at least I knew what to do. And it was what everyone expected of me, wanted me to be. If I had tried to join your side, Potter, how long would it have taken you – all of you – to trust me? Becoming a Death Eater was the easiest thing to do. The only thing I could do."

"You're wrong." Potter sounded sure of himself. "We're not – like that. Dumbledore wasn't like that. It would have worked out. We would have found a way to understand. Maybe that's the real difference between Slytherins and Gryffindors," Potter went on. "The ability to feel empathy."

"You mean pity." Draco was disgusted.

"No, I don't. I mean empathy. I bet you don't even know the difference."

Draco ground his teeth together, but said nothing.

"I didn't feel sorry for you. You got what you deserved. I wasn't going to get all weepy about it." Potter looked hard at him. "But I did feel empathetic. I could imagine what you were going through, because... because I think I see a lot of myself in you. I suppose you can't understand that. You've certainly never bothered to try to do it for me. Empathy."

The words came out of their own accord. "What makes you so sure?"

Potter didn't even bat an eyelid before answering, swiftly, "Maybe the fact you'd like me better if I was dead."

Draco shrugged. "Well, wouldn't you?"

"Wouldn't I what? Like you better if you were dead?" Potter looked at him intently. "No, I wouldn't," he said bluntly. "I like you a lot more when you're alive."

That caught Draco off guard. "Why?"

"Because," Potter said, smiling at him. It was a genuine smile, almost affectionate, which scared the shit out of Draco. "I like having someone who still doesn't care either way about 'the Saviour.' Someone who just... doesn't like me."

"How ironic."

Potter gave him a quizzical look, but Draco didn't bother to elaborate. What a joke. How could Potter smile at him like it was normal, and then say something like that and mean it?

Fifteen minutes later, Potter was standing on a window ledge, one arm on the wall inside the library to steady himself, the other one outstretched on the outside, holding his wand as he tapped at the stone wall with it. He stood on his tip-toes, precariously balanced, his head out of sight for Draco who was sitting inside in one of the plushy armchairs, arms crossed.

"Found anything interesting?"

"I'm still trying to find where to attach the end of the rope," Potter replied. "Haven't even started looking yet."

His hand inched back slowly as he stretched out even more, groping against the wall for handholds. The feet on the windowsill also moved back, so that the only things keeping Potter balanced were his toes and the fingertips of one hand.

"You're useless."

"Coming from you, that doesn't hurt," Potter said flippantly, brushing the comment off as though it really didn't hurt.

That threw Draco for a moment. He didn't like not having the ability to affect Potter.

"Merlin, this is hellish," Potter said from outside. "I didn't know they made rocks this sleek."

"There's this thing called magic," Draco said as he watched Potter move back again, a fraction of an inch.

"You know, when I was little, my aunt and uncle brought my cousin rock-climbing once. I only got to watch, but it looked like a lot of fun."

The smile was obvious in his voice, even though the memory didn't sound like a happy one. Draco wondered why Potter was telling him this.

"Hey, Pot –"

Draco didn't know what he meant to say, exactly. Hey, Potter, you know what? I really don't care. Hey, Potter, what does this all mean? Or even Hey, Potter – I think I might not hate you so much anymore. But he would never know, because he never got the chance to say the words.

Potter slipped.

It happened very fast – his foot came down a fraction of an inch too far back and he let out a small sound of surprise as he lost his balance, teetering dangerously above the grounds. One of his feet slid out from under him and into emptiness. His entire body twisted on itself in a ridiculous effort to regain his balance, and his wand fell from his hand to the grass below, and Potter looked down.

Fear tore through Draco, blind, mind-numbing fear for Potter's life, his fingernails digging deep into his palms as a desperate desire, no, a need to do something, anything, filled him. He wrestled with the feeling as dread and denial warred in him, because No, he refused to do it. Not this time. Not again. And yet he felt himself rise out of the chair swiftly, panicked, as though his body and mind were separate, as though his body were betraying him.

Then it was over, the feelings simply gone, leaving Draco feeling suddenly empty as both fear and denial vanished. Suddenly, miraculously, Potter was on two feet again, and Draco was standing not a foot away from him, staring. Potter looked down at the ground, eyes wide. It had all happened in a second or two, and it was over now, but he could have hurt himself.

Could have... died.

By the most stupid of ways for the Saviour of the wizarding world.

It had all happened in an instant, but an instant was enough. Draco knew. He knew. It all clicked into place.

That bastard.

"Well," Potter said, his tone light, his expression slightly amused as he turned to look at Draco. "That was... intense."

Draco hardly registered the comment; he was too busy staring at Potter, whose expression quickly turned into a concerned frown.

"What's wrong, Malfoy? You've gone completely white."

Draco would never admit that in that split second during which he'd thought he was about to watch Potter fall, he had actually been scared for the git. But it was true. Fear was the feeling that had coursed through him, fast and hot, as he watched Potter slip. A sense of sheer panic that he wasn't used to feeling, and that was saying something – Draco was no stranger to fear. He had felt that same fear once before – only once.

He stared at Potter. The fear had faded as quickly as it had gone, as soon as Potter was out of danger, leaving a dull anger rising in him by the second.

"Hey, Malfoy," Potter said, casually swinging down from the window ledge. "It's all right. I just slipped. Nothing happened." He reached out to touch Draco's sleeve. "Are you going to be all right?"

Draco jerked away. "You bastard."

Potter looked confused. Not hurt – the words hadn't affected him. But confused as to where Draco's anger came from. Confused, as though Draco had no reason to resent him anything. The anger sharpened.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

"Tell you what?"

"Don't play innocent," Draco said. "You know full well what I'm talking about – why didn't you tell me I owed you two life debts? Cross that – when did it happen? I don't remember a second situation, unless the trial counts – which it shouldn't!"

Realisation flooded Potter's expression, quickly followed by guilt. He had know, and he had chosen not to tell Draco.

"It was during the Battle," he said, instead of denying it.

"Fuck!" Draco hadn't wanted it to be true.

"It happened after the Fiendfyre incident. You were with a Death Eater, telling him not to..." Harry rolled his eyes with the effort to remember. "Telling him you were on his side, but I don't think he believed you. I Stunned him – you didn't see me because I was invisible at the time. Um, you may have heard something like – 'That's the second time we've saved your life tonight, you –'"

"'– Two-faced bastard,'" Draco completed. "That was you?"

"Actually, that bit was Ron. The punch, too."

"I remember that," Draco said. "I wondered who it was – figures it was you, I should have known – you were invisible in Hogsmeade in third year, too."

"But I don't see why there's another debt – I didn't really save your life, did I? He wouldn't have killed you –"

"Apparently he would have." Draco shook his head, filled with horror as his suspicions were confirmed. "I owe you two life debts," he said, his voice icy. "Two."

"Just one now. You've already repaid one –"

"Two," Draco said again. "And you never thought that maybe I would want to know?"

"I didn't want it to be awkward –"

"Awkward? Trust me, Potter, there is nothing more awkward than being indebted to you and not even knowing it. Salazar." He swore under his breath. "You fucking liar. You knew about this."

"I didn't," Potter denied. "I guessed, but I didn't know for sure. I just... thought it was a possibility. There was no point in telling you. Things were already difficult enough as it was."

"Are you at least sure there's just the one?"

"I'm sure. I didn't even know for sure if there was a second one, because you can't predict life debts. Look, I don't see why you're so angry about this –"

"You don't see? It's very simple, Potter. The fact is that I would rather be dead than have been saved by you, even once. And twice..."

"Is that true? You seemed rather happy about it at the time. You smiled!"

"I didn't know it was you!"

"You're acting like a child," Potter snapped. "Listen, if it makes you any happier, next time I'll just let you die, all right?"

"Fuck off."

"Malfoy –"

"Leave! Just leave."

"Malfoy, don't –"

"For fuck's sake, Potter, get out!"

He left.

Draco let himself fall into an armchair, his head sinking between his hands, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts.

Fuck.