And the next chapter – enjoy! I've hit 50k with this chapter so, yeah, this is turning out to be long.

Static Electricity

For the next week, Harry could not get Draco Malfoy out of his mind. It gave him something to focus on when he zoned out of the boring lectures during Auror training. Wickley and Haff, who taught Defense and Offense (though the class was more casually known as 'duelling'), were experts in the matter. They could talk for ages, and though Harry was certain Hermione would have found their speeches fascinating and taken notes, most of the class spent these hours trying very hard not to close their eyes. Harry spent them thinking of Malfoy.

The only problem was that even on the rare occasions when lectures were not on the menu, he still thought about Malfoy. And that was less easy to deal with.

Wickley and Haff's classes almost always ended with five or ten minutes of freestyle duelling: all and any spells allowed, except for curses. As Aurors, they were supposed to want to incapacitate their opponent as quickly as possible, and without causing them permanent harm. Wickley and Haff tended to cut off duels that lasted longer than ten minutes by casting their own hexes. The trainees in question often ended up with tentacles or purple scales for a couple hours. Harry had been on the receiving end of that several times already, and it was obvious that the two instructors were as fond of him as he was of them.

"You're zoning out again," Neville said unhelpfully. "We've only got about two minutes left before they single you out."

Harry suppressed the ridiculous urge to jab him in the chest with his wand, and instead sent a particularly ferocious Stinging Hex his way. Neville blocked it skillfully, then tripped over his own feet, leaving Harry feeling vindicated.

It was almost as though there was a sign above Harry's head that said in flashing neon letters, MALFOY MALFOY MALFOY. Neville – and everyone else for that matter – had very quickly picked up on the fact that Harry was preoccupied with something, and that that something was not Auror training. A part of his mind seemed to be with Malfoy always. Even when he was in class, or having a laugh with Seamus, there was something that never left Harry.

He had seen things that should haunt him – he had watched his friends die – and yet, the issue with Malfoy was what fascinated him. He only had to see a flash of grey, or the corner of a black cloak to think: Malfoy, and it was as though the thought had never really left him at all. Ron – and Seamus and Neville, to a lesser degree – could apparently see the duality in his eyes, because they had called him on it several times.

"You still with us, mate?"

"Are you sure everything is all right?"

"Just – you're creeping me out a bit."

(That last one was courtesy of Neville again.)

"Sorry," Harry said as Neville stood up again, grinning embarrassedly. "I was distracted for a moment there."

"Obviously not that distracted," Neville said ruefully.

Harry smiled at him, remembering the DA distantly. Neville had come a long way since then, but his lack of confidence still resurfaced every now and then and hindered his efforts.

Harry's smile faded and a nervous panic shadowed Neville's eyes when Wickley's hand closed down on Harry's shoulder, clamping down tight enough to be uncomfortable. Harry craned his neck to look the instructor in the eye.

"Care to give the class a demonstration, Potter?"

Harry gritted his teeth together. "Not particularly, sir," he forced out.

Wickley and Haff very neatly fell into the group of instructors who reminded him greatly of Snape and his condescension, but without the shadows of his past to account for their behaviour. (The other group kept assuring Harry he was brilliant even when he failed spectacularly at something, which he wasn't sure he preferred.)

"A pity," Wickley said, not sounding as though it were much of a pity at all. His teeth gleamed as he flashed a cold smile. "Longbottom's going easy on you. I think you could benefit from fighting someone else today."

Harry glanced at Neville, whose cheeks had pinkened at Wickley's words. He wished he could say something to reassure his friend. Neville gave his everything in every duel he fought, and he often did give whoever he was facing a good challenge. The only problem was that his nerves made his results vary greatly from one day to another. Only yesterday he had sent Harry sprawling after two minutes of fierce spell-swapping.

Besides, Harry vastly preferred having Neville as a partner than Alan George, the swotty Ravenclaw Ron had been assigned this week.

Said swotty Ravenclaw was the one Wickley had decided he want to see fight against Harry, and Harry tried to take comfort in the overjoyed expression that crossed Ron's face and the way his shoulders sagged with relief as he lowered his wand. The attempt mostly failed when Alan turned to give Harry a grin that was anything but friendly. Great.

Wickley brought his wand down swiftly in a sweeping arc, and a resounding noise cracked across the room. "George, come here. Potter, opposite him. The rest of you, stop where you are. Potter is going to give us a little demonstration."

Hary felt hot all over. He hated being singled out for no reason. The other trainees were looking at him a little curiously, as though expecting something from him, but –

"Ow!" he yelped, slapping a hand to his neck, where Alan's wordless Stinging Hex had hit him. "Wait a second –"

There was no sign that the duel had started, except for Wickley's satisfied grin. Harry grit his teeth and brought his wand up just in time to deflect Alan's next spell. His wordless spells only worked half the time, so he didn't bother trying, instead casting each one aloud. This only made them easier for Alan to evade, however, and within minutes Harry was sore all over, had blue hair, and couldn't see anything because his glasses were at the other end of the room.

"So much for the amazing Harry Potter," Wickley said gloatingly.

Harry stared glumly down at the greyish glop on his tray. Ministry food certainly had nothing to do with the fare served at Hogwarts meals.

"It's all right, Harry. Wickley and Haff were totally out line back there," Seamus said, sliding into the seat next to him and setting down his tray with a loud noise. "Everyone knows that."

"Yeah? Are you going to be the one to tell them, then?"

Seamus looked uncomfortable. "Look, Harry –"

"I know. I know."

Ron, sitting across from them, sensed an awkward conversation topic and swiftly changed it – to the only thing Harry wanted to talk about even less. "By the way, Harry, how is it going with Malfoy?"

"Fine," Harry said, setting his jaw.

Ron gave him a strange look. "Really? Hermione said you had –"

"I said it's fine, Ron."

Ron shrugged, backing off. "If you say so, mate. I was just asking."

Harry immediately felt guilty. It wasn't fair of him to take his bad mood out on Ron, but the anger and humiliation from the duelling class were still very near the surface and he couldn't bring himself to apologise. And thinking about Malfoy only irritated him further. There was more guilt to be found there. He couldn't get the way Malfoy had looked at him out of his mind – completely stunned, betrayed even. And then he'd thrown him out of the house. Wasn't that just ridiculous?

He couldn't tell Ron that. Ron was contracted to the Ministry, and if Harry didn't care to report Malfoy to the Ministry, Ron probably wouldn't have such qualms. He'd be doing the right thing, wouldn't he?

Seamus struck up a conversation with Neville as Harry gazed sullenly out the window, thinking of Malfoy. He should never have accepted the job. Blast him, Kingsley could have found someone else if he'd really tried – he was the bloody Minister! Harry knew it was as much his obsession with Malfoy as his sense of duty – his "saving people thing," Hermione would say – that had made him accept. And that wasn't right. If Kingsley knew just how far the emotional entanglement went between Harry and Malfoy, he wouldn't have suggested this.

Malfoy still owed him a life debt.

This was the thought that bothered him to the point of obsession. It kept taunting him, always there in a corner of his mind. Sometimes, if Harry thought about it hard enough, he almost thought he could feel the debt – a strenuous bond between them, the presence of something else linked to him. It was stupid, of course. Whenever he reached for it, the feeling shattered. But it showed how deeply the knowledge affected him. He wasn't sure why the idea that Malfoy owed him a debt was so unsettling, but it was.

The whole concept of a life debt was ridiculous. If you'd risked your life to save someone, why would you want them to die for you? Harry couldn't imagine a situation in which he would want to see Malfoy die to save his life. He had felt a thrilling joy when Malfoy had thrown him the wand during the Battle, but that was something else. Back then, he hadn't known that Malfoy didn't have a choice.

"Harry. Harry, snap out of it."

Harry blinked and turned his head to look at Ron, who was glaring at him accusingly.
"You were doing it again."

Something like anger – Godric, did he seem to have an unlimited amount of that lately – rose up in Harry, but he quickly suppressed it. "Sorry."

"You keep spacing out, mate. Are you sure you're all right?"

Harry could have snapped at him again, but he'd done enough of that already, hadn't he? Besides, Ron was only being persistent because he cared.

"Yeah. I'm fine, Ron. Just... thinking."

"Looks painful," Ron said.

Harry cracked a smile.

"You know, your food's getting cold."

"You sound like your mum," Harry said teasingly.
Ron didn't smile. If anything, he just looked uncomfortable. "About that, Harry – my mum's been wondering how you are. She won't believe you're fine if she doesn't see you, and you haven't been over in a few weeks, you know... Maybe you could stop by sometime."

The guilt was back tenfold, and Harry winced. During the week, he had Auror training as an excuse for not making an appearance at the Burrow, blaming irregular hours and overall weariness. But Ron went home every weekend, and Harry hadn't once joined the family for supper. In fact, he had been consciously avoiding them. His excuse was that Malfoy took up most of his day and tired him out. (Only one of those was a lie.) Saturdays with Malfoy got him out of Saturday evening at the Weasleys'.

"I'm sorry," he said, wondering how he was going to get out of this one. "It's just, I've been busy..."

"Yeah," Ron said, frowning. "I know." His eyes said that wasn't all he knew, and Harry winced again.

"It's been difficult. Look, I'll make time, I promise."

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

There it was, the twist of the knife. Pain sliced through Harry. He'd hurt Ron. He'd been hurting the Weasleys, who were the closest thing to a family he had. And for what? Because he didn't think he deserved the love, because he didn't want to go to the Burrow if Ginny wasn't there, because he wasn't sure he could face George? None of those were valid reasons.

"I'll be there Saturday," he said firmly.

Ron looked uncertain.

"I mean, if that's all right with your mum?"

"Yeah," Ron said slowly. "Yeah, it'll be fine... She'll love it. She'll be glad to see you."

"Me, too," Harry said, and wished the words didn't sound so bland.

Just then, a flash of blond hair made him start and jerk his head, staring after its owner – a tall woman who walked away briskly, her head down. He turned back slowly to face Ron, who hadn't missed the reaction but didn't know what had caused it.

"Harry, what –"

"Just jumpy," Harry said, and the lie to his best friend tasted foul in his mouth. "Always am after duelling class."

Ron just kept looking at Harry as though to say he wasn't fooled, but Harry didn't offer any further explanation. When Ron eventually turned to Seamus and started talking about something else, Harry didn't miss the disappointment in his expression.

It was almost a relief to return to Malfoy Manor that Saturday. At least here was a place where nothing was expected of him – a place where no one trusted him or liked him or idolised him.

"When did your father buy this?"

"Summer of '92."

"Where did he buy it?"

"Borgins and Burkes'."

"Did he ever use it?"

"No."

"Was he planning to?"

"Why do you care?"

Harry sighed and straightened up in the armchair, exasperated. "You do know you're being really immature, right?"

"I'm sure it's easy, being mature when the rest of the wizarding world idolises you," Malfoy snapped. "But when that's not the case, sometimes life gets the better of you."

"My life has been anything but easy –"

"Oh, please. You've been a star since you were a baby. You're famous, you've had articles and whole books written about you, you're wealthy, you're headed for a glowing Ministry career – you'll probably end up being Minister twenty, thirty years from now. What a sob story. You know whazt, you're right. I'm so sorry you've had such a difficult life."

Harry stared at him, gobsmacked, speechless for a moment. Malfoy's spite seemed sincere; his tone was harsh and there was an underlying jealousy to his words. But Harry couldn't quite believe that he really meant any of it.

"You think – you think that's all my life is about? The fame? The money? I've always hated the attention – remember Rita Skeeter? I bet you loved her, but I didn't, I hated her, she was this awful, dirt-digging, rumour-spreading –"

"Journalist," Malfoy completed. "Of course she was out to get the dirt on you. But no one actually believed any of it."

"Are you kidding? Everyone believed her nonsense. Everyone. I can't believe you think my life is such a fairytale – you should meet the Muggle family I used to live with! They hated me. I grew up with them as my only family. I never knew my parents –"

"Wait, is this the moment where I'm supposed to cry?"

"– and Voldemort tried to kill me, several times. Yeah, that was loads of fun – bet you wish you'd been there!"

Malfoy tilted his chin up defiantly and stared right at him. "I was."

Harry flinched. "Just that one time," he said quietly, but his anger was already deflating like a pierced balloon.

It had only taken those two simple words and that hard stare to change the atmosphere. Harry stared back at the dull iron wall of Malfoy's eyes and realised what this was all about. He leaned forward across the table to grip Malfoy's forearms and bring their faces close together. He could see the emotions written across Malfoy's face – defiance, a burning anger, denial.

"Something's wrong. Tell me what it is," he said firmly.

Malfoy immediately stiffened, and Harry realised he'd tried the wrong approach. For a moment, Malfoy simply stared at him, looking like a deer caught in the headlights of a car; then he roughly pulled out of his grasp and shoved him back into the chair. Harry could see, for the first time, the Death Eater in Malfoy. He could see it in the way his eyes flashed and in the arrogant, aggressive stiffness of his spine.

"What do you think is wrong? You lied to me is what's wrong. I owe you a life debt is what's wrong. I fucking owe you my life! If you suspected it, then you should have told me. You should have warned me! Instead I find out when you do something completely stupid and nearly kill yourself."

"You didn't save me," Harry pointed out. "How do you know there's a debt? You didn't save me. Wouldn't you have –"

"I'm a wizard, Potter, not a miracle worker," Malfoy cut in. "Even magic isn't that fast. Believe me, I know. I can tell. When you slipped, the debt knew you were in danger, and it... I..." He stopped, as though he couldn't bring himself to say whatever it was had happened. "I tried, but I couldn't get to you in time."

Harry looked down at the elegant wooden table. "I didn't mean for it to end up like this."

"Really? Great. Then fix it."

"And how exactly am I supposed to do that?" Harry asked, exasperated. "Trust me, if there was a way –"

"Trust you," Malfoy repeated, his mouth twisted into a sneer. "Yeah, that doesn't sound like a stupid idea at all."

Harry's jaw tightened, but he let the comment pass. "I've spent the past month researching life debts," he said. It was only a small lie; he'd at least opened two books before the stuffiness suffocated him. "While I was trying to figure out whether we had contracted a second debt or not. There is no way. It just can't be done. Unless you repay it."

"Fantastic," Malfoy said. "Owl me the next time you're planning on getting yourself killed, will you? I'll make sure I'm around." He scowled. "Can't you, I don't know, do it intentionally? And with no risk to myself?"

"I'm not going to put myself in a life-threatening situation on the off chance that you'll decide to save me, Malfoy."

"That's the whole fucking point, Potter. There is no decision. If there was, then you trust me, I'd let you die without a second thought. The problem is I don't decide anything anymore. The fucking debt does."

"Surely you can –"

"No, I can't!" Malfoy's voice was loud, almost a shout; Harry stopped talking. "Don't give me that kind of talk, Potter. 'Surely you can...' You don't know what it's like, so don't try and pretend you do."

"Then tell me," Harry said. "Tell me what it's like."

For a second, it seemed like Malfoy was just going to ignore him, but then he started to speak. "The feeling – it's like – it's like – when you're in danger, like when you slipped last time, there's this fear that takes precedence over everything. Nothing else matters, except the fact that you're in danger. That's how I knew there was a second debt – I felt that fear, right here." Malfoy pressed a fist to his chest. "You know, I honestly don't care whether you live or die, but the debt creates this fear, forcing me to act. I can't decide. My body acts of its own accord, and all the while I'm thinking No, no, no, but it doesn't matter, because I don't have a choice. If I did, then you would be dead by now, I swear it, and the Dark Lord would still be alive, and I would still be serving under him."

The venom in Malfoy's tone made Harry start.

"Is that – how you would have wanted it to be?" Only a few weeks previously, he had been convinced to his core that there was some humanity in Malfoy; he told himself that was why this hurt so much.

"It's how it should have been." Malfoy closed the distance between them, leaning forward until he was in Harry's face. He pulled his sleeve up and thrust his arm forward, revealing the ugly black snake that lay there, the Dark Mark, forever inked into his skin. "Do you know what this means, Potter? It means I served the Dark Lord. It means I thought he would win."

Harry refused to back down; he stared right back at Malfoy. "Everyone thought he would win. Even I did, for a long time."

"But he didn't," Malfoy said. "You did. No one can understand it, but you did. And now I owe you. You, the so-called 'Saviour'. The person I hated throughout all my years at school. The person who could have killed me in fifth year."

"Accident," Harry said shortly.

"I don't blame you – I was going to cast the Cruciatus. But it just shows how much we couldn't stand each other, doesn't it?"

Harry tried to read into the depths of his cold grey eyes. "Could you really have done it? Put me under the Cruciatus?"

"Of course," Malfoy said coolly. "My aunt taught me how to use it. I could hold my own. It would definitely have been effective."

"But would you have done it?"

Malfoy stared him down. "I've used the Cruciatus Curse on people I didn't even know. It would probably have been easier, using it on you."

A shiver ran up Harry's spine, but he tried not to let it show. "For how long?"

"Fuck, Potter, it was a defense mechanism. I was – you caught me – well, it was an instinctive reaction. I don't know what would have happened."

"I caught you crying."

The muscles in Malfoy's jaw tightened; he gave a sharp, jerky nod.

"You have pretty brutal instincts."

"I learnt from the best." Malfoy closed his eyes for a brief moment, then opened them again. "It wasn't enough, apparently, or I'd never have ended up in this situation." He stepped back slightly and lowered his gaze to a spot on the floor in front of Harry's feet. "A life debt."

"Look, Malfoy, it doesn't matter, all right? It's not like I intend to call it in or anything."

Malfoy raised his head, heat and anger flashing in his eyes. "You really don't get it, do you? You don't understand. You don't even have to call it in, Potter. If you're in danger and I can do something about it, then I'm going to do it without any regard for my own safety. I won't have a choice." His jaw was set. "I've told you what happened during the Final Battle wasn't my choice. You wanted to make me out to be some kind of hero who put our past grudges aside and did what was right, butI'm not and I didn't. I didn't have a choice. And if something like that happens again, then I'll have to do it all over again. Do you realise how that makes me feel?"

That was when Harry pinpointed it, what exactly the emotion written all across Malfoy's face was. "You're scared."

Malfoy stiffened, but instead of denying it like Harry had expected, he didn't even reply.

"But what – what are you scared of?" Harry asked. "It's not like I spend my time getting into danger while you're around."

Malfoy shot him an incredulous look.

"Okay," Harry said. "I see your point. But that's over now. Voldemort's gone."

"It's not about him," Malfoy hissed; he hadn't even flinched at the name. "It's about you. You attract trouble. You just can't seem to avoid it. I don't want to die for you, Potter. Is that so difficult to understand?"

"You won't have to."

"So you say." Malfoy shook his head, clearly not believing him.

"I promise, Malfoy, you won't –"

"You don't know that," Malfoy said. "You can't know. Don't go making promises you can't keep, Potter."

"I swear," Harry said. "I swear on my life –"

"Don't," Malfoy interrupted him harshly. "Don't swear on that. Anything but that! If you put your life in danger, guess who's going to be there for you?"

Harry gritted his teeth, then forced himself to relax his muscles. He tried to soften his tone. "I don't want you to be hurt, Malfoy. I don't hate you. Do you know when I realised that?"

"No." Malfoy's voice indicated he didn't really care.

"It was in sixth year," Harry said. "In Myrtle's bathroom. When we –"

"I remember," Malfoy said, cutting him off.

"Yeah. Well... When I saw you, lying there, all bloody, I really thought you were going to die. Before Snape showed up, I really... well, you get the point. And I felt so..." He looked for the right word. "I felt awful," he said finally, though it sounded bland even to him. "I saw myself living in this world without you there to always taunt me, to provoke me, and you know what? I didn't think, Oh, yeah, that'd be nice. It just felt alien to me, imagining that, because ever since I discovered I was a wizard, you've always just been there, you know? And when I thought that you wouldn't be around anymore, I realised that I... I'd miss you."

"You were just feeling guilty that you'd almost killed me," Malfoy said, but even he didn't sound convinced.

"There was some of that," Harry admitted. "There was a lot of that. I couldn't bear to think I had hurt you so badly. But there was something else, too. Even if it had been someone else... I never wanted you dead, Malfoy."

"You're too good to want anyone dead."

There was something in Malfoy's tone, something beyond the surface bitterness – wistfulness, maybe, or envy. It made Harry look up sharply, but Malfoy's expression was as blank and unreadable as usual. Harry scanned his face, looking for something, anything, but came up empty-handed.

"Don't make me out to be a hero," he said. "You, of all people... Don't. Just don't. Or these encounters will become even more unbearable."

"They're bearable," Malfoy said unexpectedly. "Just barely, but they're... not unbearable. You're not really doing anything."

"I should be," Harry said. "Kingsley would have my hide if he knew. But so long as you don't kill anyone, I don't think he'll ever find out. Just try to live a normal life, and it'll be fine."

"Normal," Malfoy echoed. "I don't think I know what 'normal' is."

"Neither do I," Harry said with a grin. "That doesn't bode well."

Malfoy shot him a look, one that was hard and assessing. "How can you joke about this?"

"Excuse me for trying to make this a little more livable."

"Just do your job. Don't act like we're friends."

"Trust me," Harry said, "I don't treat my friends like this." He set his jaw. "Fine. You can help me write up my report for this week, then. I need to come up with ideas for what you've been doing these past two weeks. Maybe you bought something for your mother's birthday or something. Is her birthday coming up? Maybe, I don't know, you went for a walk in Muggle London."

"Unlikely," Malfoy observed. "Wait, you make up things about me?"

"Obviously," Harry said. "I told you I wouldn't ask what you were really doing, but I still have to tell the Auror Office something. Preferably something believable, but it doesn't have to be, as long as it's not illegal. At the moment, your file must be very boring to the one who reads it. Maybe I should spice it up a bit. I could have you do something, like work out, or swim. Maybe you're a closet, I don't know, handkerchief collector."

Malfoy looked perplexed. "You're joking. Why are you joking? There's nothing funny about this situation."

"That's why we should try to make it funny. But I suppose with you around that's a lost cause. You have no sense of humour."

Malfoy looked like he was going to protest for a moment, but then he ducked his head and let it pass. "Maybe you should go back to checking out those artefacts."

"Or maybe I could take your word for it that they're not Dark," Harry said.

Malfoy didn't even look surprised, though he tensed a little at the words. Then he gave a strangled little laugh.

"I just don't understand you, Potter. Sometimes I think we don't even speak the same language, and that's why nothing you say ever makes sense." Malfoy's lips curled into a sneer and he deliberately accentuated his aristocratic accent when he said, "Merlin knows you do butcher English."

Harry smiled at that. "I'm sure I don't sound half as ridiculous as you do."

"Don't you have a job to do, Potter?"

"Actually," Harry said, "my job is to talk to you, something you don't seem to want me to do. I'm supposed to ask you what you did this week, why you left the house three times, how your parents are doing, if you've bought anything recently, if any of you have been sick, if you've been drinking... I have a list, but I don't think you'll be interested."

Malfoy ran a hand through his hair, absentmindedly messing it up – something Harry had never seen him do. "I'm sick of this," he admitted.

"So am I. I never wanted this." Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry. You don't deserve this."

"Of course I don't."

"You don't," Harry insisted. "I know this is difficult for you. I know –"

"Don't feel sorry for me." Malfoy's tone was sharp enough to cut glass. "Don't you dare, after what you've done, fee –"

"For Merlin's sake," Harry said. "Why do you have to be so bloody annoying all the time? It's like you have to take offence at everything I say, you have to pick fights with me and you have to act like I'm the worst thing that ever happened to you. I understand that this is hard, Malfoy. I understand that you can't stand me, but maybe you should grow up and get over it."

Malfoy didn't even get angry. He swept his eyes over Harry without saying a word, looking so cool and superior and untouchable that it infuriated Harry more than any insult could have.

"You always have to act like you're above me, don't you? When you don't know what to say, you pretend I'm beneath your notice."

Malfoy's lips curled into a half-smile. "That's not why I do it."

Of course not. Malfoy not knowing what to say was just wishful thinking on Harry's part. The truth was blatantly obvious to both of them: Malfoy knew his not speaking irritated him.

"Funny," Harry said, not thinking it was at all funny, "that someone who knows me so well tries to make me believe I don't know him at all."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "If you hate me so much, why are you even doing this?"

"I never said I hated you."

"You do, though."

Harry ran his hands through his hair. "Godric you're annoying. I've already told you I don't. I don't hate you. I've never been able to."

"Of course. Envy, hatred, resentment... You're above all that, aren't you?"

"Of course not," Harry retorted. "Merlin. I'm not a saint. You of all people should know that. I almost killed you!"

"Doesn't count as murder when the victim had it coming."

"Yes, it does," Harry said firmly. "Killing is never right."

"Even killing the Dark Lord?"

Harry felt his jaw tighten. "Even him."

"You're an idiot."

"Yeah, well, so are you. For Merlin's sake, do you have to have such a pessimistic outlook on everything? On everyone, even yourself?"

"I was born to be a pessimist," Malfoy said fluidly. "My blood type is O negative. As in, optimistic not."

Harry blinked at him. "Was that – a joke?"

"No, Potter, it was not."

"It was a joke!" Not a very funny one, but still... "Blimey, Malfoy – I really didn't think you knew any jokes. You sure pick your moment – how did we go from Voldemort to jokes?"

Malfoy stiffened at the name. Harry looked at him, analysing his expression – mildly irritated, mostly closed-off. His hands lay flat on the table in front of him.

"You didn't deserve to die," Harry said softly. "Okay? If anything, I'd have missed you if you'd died. You're not... You know how Dumbledore said you weren't a killer?"

Something flickered in Malfoy's expression; his fingers curled slightly. "How do you know about that?"

"Doesn't matter," Harry said. "I just meant... You're not like them. I know you're not."

There were other things he wanted to say – things about Snape, things about the bathroom incident, things about how he'd never really hated Malfoy – but when he reached out and brushed his fingers against the back of Malfoy's hand to illustrate this, the words stuck in his throat. Something like a spark shot up his arm straight to his chest, almost painfully; then another feeling, a jarring, intense fear that Harry knew did not belong to him. He snatched his hand back reflexively; for a moment, the exchange reminded him of the flashes he had been able to see of Voldemort's mind. His scar didn't hurt, but the feelings were just as vivid. Harry thought he saw something shift in Malfoy's expression as he looked down at his hand, curling the fingers reflexively.

"Did you feel that?"

Malfoy looked up. "Feel what?" he asked, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

"It was like... static electricity."

Malfoy looked at him blankly. "Static what?"

Harry shook his head slowly, clearing his thoughts. "Never mind," he said. "Just my imagination, I suppose."

But it wasn't. And he knew it hadn't been the sharp zap of static electricity. This tingle lingered, even though they were no longer touching. But Malfoy didn't seem to have noticed. Harry sighed.

"What is it?" Malfoy asked.

Harry almost laughed at the obviously forced show of concern. "Nothing. It's just, I've had a pretty shitty week, and I figure tonight's going to be even shittier."

"Auror training not all it's cracked up to be, then?"

"No, it's cool, I just... Sometimes it just feels like I don't really exist to people, and –" he flushed and ran a hand through his hair – "and that just sounded really conceited, didn't it?"

He knew Malfoy was going to sneer and say something about how many times he'd been in the Prophet and he couldn't really be more visible than that if he tried – but instead, Malfoy propped his elbows up on the table and stared at Harry, his chin resting on his hands.

"No," he said quietly, pensively. "No, actually, it doesn't."

And just like that, a door was opened, a floodgate of realisation. Harry saw things, drew parallels, noticed similarities – and he realised that really, maybe he and Malfoy weren't so different after all. And it scared him.

"I should go," he said, standing up. "I just – I'm done here for today, yeah? See you next week, I guess."

Malfoy mumbled something, and curiosity made Harry stop in his tracks.

"What was that?"

"Do you want to stay for dinner?" Malfoy repeated clearly.

The air around them went very still. Harry raised his eyes to meet Malfoy's. "What?"

"You aren't deaf, Potter. It's getting late, we were having a conversation – I'm asking you whether you want to stay a little longer."

Harry was stunned. "I... I can't," he said when he regained control of his vocal cords. "I'm having dinner with the Weasleys tonight."

Malfoy looked unsure whether that was the truth or just an excuse, but he nodded curtly. "I see."

"I really am," Harry said, biting his lip. "Malfoy, I... Thanks for the invite. But really, I can't. Not tonight."

He would have said, Maybe next time, except he was certain the invitation was a one-time thing that Malfoy was already regretting.

Hermione Floo'ed him that night from some professor's office. Harry almost jumped out of his skin when he saw her face in the fire. He'd been about to leave for dinner at the Weasleys', having given up trying to flatten his hair.

He knelt in front of the fireplace. "Sorry, Ron's at the Burrow."

"Hello, Harry," Hermione said pointedly. "Did you really think I would Floo your place to talk to Ron?"

Harry looked ashamed. "Sorry. I, er, how are you?"

"Fine, fine." She looked a little worn, but it was hard to tell in a fire. "I just thought I'd check up on you. Today was your Malfoy day, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry said, unable to stop a little sigh from escaping him.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "If he's giving you any trouble –"

"He isn't," Harry said hurriedly. "Really, Hermione. Don't worry about him. It's not just Malfoy."

"Then what is it?"

"I've been doing some thinking, lately, and I just... Actually, Hermione, since you're here – what do you know about life debts?"

Hermione looked wary all of a sudden. "Not much. They're not well-documented. There's no way to know when a life debt will be formed or not. Why?"

"It was just... something I thought about."

"Oh, Harry."

Hermione's voice was so full of compassion and understanding that his eyes jumped to hers, scanning her face. Did she know something? His gut clenched at the thought.

"It's nothing important," he said hurriedly. "I was just wondering. I didn't know they existed until recently. I guess I wondered whether there was any way to... cancel a life debt."

Hermione looked incredibly sad. "As far as I know, there's no way to just declare a life debt null and void, Harry. Once it's been contracted, that's it. It'll exist until it is repaid."

"But surely someone, some day, must have found a way to work around it. It's such a restrictive magic I can't imagine everyone just putting up with it for centuries."

"It wasn't like that." Hermione sighed. "Harry, it's... it's complicated. There are things about magic we don't fully understand. It's not science, you know, it's magic. Those prophecies Trelawney made about you, or the fact that your mother dying to protect you cast such a powerful protection over you. Those are things we've accepted, but we don't really understand them. It's the same with the concept of life debts. They're not a tangible thing. Some wizards doubt they even exist." She hesitated. "When you told me Wormtail died because of his debt to you..." She looked away and bit her lip. "Some might scoff and say it was his conscience finally making an appearance. Or that his hesitation cost him his life and his own hand turned on him. But I think he didn't have a choice. You saved his life. He had to repay that. The hand didn't betray him; he betrayed himself. You forced him to."

A sick feeling pooled in Harry's stomach.

"Life debts have been mentioned in writing from as early as the sixteenth century, but never with a clear definition. Only a few things are certain. It's an amazingly powerful magical bond that is created by saving a person's life while risking your own in the process, and only if you don't already owe that person a life debt. It links the two people, to the point of making the indebted fulfill their debt unwillingly. It can come into action at any time. Why some cases of saving someone's life seemed to contract life debts, while others clearly didn't, how exactly the life debt is enforced, or how to cancel it... No one knows, Harry. I'm sorry."

"Someone must have tried. There has to be a way. "

"I'm sorry, Harry. There isn't. And as long as it's not fulfilled, you can't know what will trigger it or when. The indebted person will suddenly feel the urge to help you, to put themselves in danger for you, and they won't be able to resist it."

"What about feelings?" Harry asked, thinking of the tingle that had shot up his arm when his and Malfoy's hands had brushed, and of what he had felt when Malfoy had invited him to stay for dinner. "I mean, what if the two people hate each other?"

"Doesn't change anything regarding the debt."

"Can the debt affect feelings, though?" Harry insisted. "You said it created a very strong magical bond between the two involved. Does the bond affect anything else?"

"I don't know, Harry."

Merlin, how he hated hearing those words come from Hermione.

"I suppose... I suppose it could be possible. In some cases. Maybe. I mean, it's not entirely out of the question."

These were the words he had been hoping against hope she would not say.

"Life debts are too fluctuating a magic for me to be able to predict their effects accurately, Harry... but it's possible, I think." Hermione suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "I don't know how to say this, Harry, but what happened to Wormtail wasn't your fault. He made his choices. In the end, what happened to him... I don't want to say he deserved it, but maybe it was for the best. You shouldn't feel guilty."

Harry started. Guilty, over Wormtail? The thought had hardly crossed his mind. He'd felt sick, yes, but he didn't want to waste time regretting how Wormtail's life had ended. Even if he would have preferred to give Pettigrew a fair trail... it just hadn't worked out that way. But he wasn't about tell Hermione about Malfoy's debt to him.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "I suppose you're right, Hermione. Thanks." He smiled at her. "Thanks for checking in. I have to get going; Mrs Weasley will worry if I'm late. Bye."

"Bye, Harry," Hermione said reluctantly.

Harry stepped back from the fireplace, Hermione's words still rolling in his mind. "I suppose it could be possible."

"Damn you, Malfoy," he muttered, looking at the wall, and felt some comfort in the fact that, somewhere in Wiltshire, Malfoy was probably thinking the same thing about him.