A/N. Thanks to those who reviewed! I honestly don't mind that there are only a few of you –I'm happy just knowing that there are people out there who really like what I write. To the person who requested a memory from Hermione's POV, stick around! You've given me an idea, but I don't want to use it just yet.

And now, here's the next chapter!

xxxxx

Draco woke the next morning with the world's worst hangover. His mouth tasted something awful and it felt like rhinos were stampeding over his head. Light was streaming in through his bedroom window and he buried his face into the pillow with a groan. He regretted waking up.

He couldn't remember much about last night. He knew he'd gone to the pub for a drink. He remembered downing shot after shot until his vision went blurry. He remembered slumping onto the bar, weighed down by the alcohol and immeasurable sadness. He did not, however, remember coming home. But there was something about green, something at the back of his mind…

Harry. Draco braced himself and slowly lifted his head off his pillow, keeping his eyes closed tightly. Carefully, he opened one eye, then the other, making sure to look down at the floor and not at the window. So far, so good. He stayed that way for a while, awkwardly hanging over his bed, propped up by his elbows. When his eyes had adjusted somewhat (though the pain in his head remained), he gingerly sat up.

"Whatever that tequila is, I am never having it again," he muttered to himself, rubbing his forehead. He looked up and saw a small bottle standing on his bedside table, on top of a note. His suspicions aroused, Draco scrabbled around for his wand. Finally finding it underneath his pillow, he cast a few spells on both the bottle and the note, trying to detect dark magic. Finding nothing, he picked up and examined the bottle. It seemed to contain a potion of sorts. He opened the note and immediately recognized Harry's scrawl.

Draco-

You don't have to come in to work today. I'll talk to your superior. If you're hangover's what I think it will be, take the potion. It should help. I found a book of sorts on the floor next to you last night. It's on your desk. I opened it to check whether it was really yours, but don't worry, I didn't read any further than the title page. I hope you find what we're looking for in the pages of her diary.

I'll check on you later when work's finished.

Harry.

Draco smiled. Harry really was a good friend. It still surprised him, their friendship –how smoothly they had gotten over years of schoolboy animosity. Draco supposed turning over to the good side, supplying inside information, fighting for their side, and marrying Hermione Granger had helped, as had working together in the Ministry these past few years. He'd lost contact with many of his friends ever since the war, mostly because of where his loyalties had lain, though Blaise would still owl him every so often, if only to ask after work or his health. Their paths would cross occasionally in the Ministry, since Draco was working in Law Enforcement and Blaise in International Magical Cooperation, and they would nod at each other, but the friendship between them was lost. It hadn't been anything Draco hadn't expected –he'd known what he'd lose by joining Dumbledore's side. Though it still stung to see years of comradeship forgotten, all because of loyalties in the war.

Draco downed the potion and immediately began to feel better. He sensed it would be a while before his hangover faded completely, but the throbbing in his head had eased and he could stand the light. He also found he was hungry. He padded down to the kitchen for breakfast.

An hour later, after eating some pancakes and bacon and drinking some juice, Draco was feeling much better than when he'd woken up. The stench of last night still clung to him, though –a peculiar and slightly unpleasant scent of cigarettes and booze and sweat– so Draco went back upstairs to take a shower. On the way to his closet, his gaze fell on the diary, lying innocuously on his desk. I hope you find what we're looking for. Up until now, Draco hadn't considered what, precisely, he was looking for between those pages. An entry about what had happened? Impossible. She'd turned up at St. Mungo's already insane; he didn't see how she'd have managed to write down what had happened. Something about why she'd left? Possibly. He still didn't understand why she'd brought it with her, though. Why was it so important that she'd take it with her?

He pondered over the questions as the shower water beat down on his shoulders, the warm water sliding down his back. The shower cleared his head some more, but he still wasn't getting anywhere with his line of thinking. Why did she bring it? And why did it come back with her?

Finally, emerging from the shower and putting on a pair of loose, dark green drawstring pants, Draco picked up the diary and flicked through its pages. The early entries were mostly about life after the war: how they'd been getting on, Draco's comings and goings, her thoughts and worries about the occupants of Grimmauld Place and the one person outside of it. His heart felt like it would implode every time he read about her concerns for him, her want for him to have stayed at Grimmauld Place with them. Even then, she had cared for him so deeply, even if he hadn't been on their side for long. Merlin, how he missed her.

Skimming over the entries, Draco paused as the word buried caught his eye. Frowning, he looked down at the page. It was dated some weeks after the last entry he'd read. Settling onto his bed (and deciding to take up Harry's offer on missing work), he began to read.

xxxxx

We left Grimmauld Place for the first time since the battle today. Under normal circumstances, I would have welcomed this opportunity with open arms. It's been so long since I've last felt the sun on my face and the grass between my toes, since I've heard the sounds of the city. In the house you never feel the day go by, never really seem to notice the daylight change to darkness. My feet no longer really feel the worn carpet on the floor. And the house is always so silent, so quiet that it's deafening. Oh, normally I would have been delighted to be outside. But I am not. If I have already begun to remember what happiness is, today has erased all improvement.

Today we buried the Creevey brothers.

There had been an ambush at their house. Death Eaters. They had gone down fighting, had even taken a few of their assailants with them. They were so brave, but so young. Their mother sat next to the coffins, staring straight ahead. Their father stood behind her, weeping quietly. I almost laughed at the reversal of archetypal roles. It was the closest I've come to humor in ages.

The funeral was short, since there were still dangers, risks to being outside. Harry, especially, though we had him concealed beneath the cloak for protection. The rest of us had our identities out in the open, however, and I doubt any of us was at ease with that. Our eyes were always moving, watching, wary to anything suspicious. We didn't say anything when we left the house, but we all thought it. We could be attacked. Quite a few Death Eaters had managed to escape after Dennis and Colin had died. They could show up again.

It was Luna who told us all of this, shaking on the couch in the living room, her hands clenched around her cup of tea. Luna. She sat next to me at the funeral, her normally wide and happy eyes lowered and empty. She was so brave today. She wouldn't cry, wouldn't show signs of weakness. I knew she was trying to be strong for Dennis and Colin, and also for the sacrifice that had been made the night they had died.

Tomorrow we bury Neville.

He had rushed to their aid. They lived in the same area, and leaving Luna, who'd been asleep, hurried to their house. Luna had woken up to the sound of the front door closing, and, glancing out the window, had seen the lights of magical battle. She'd quickly followed him, guessing at the location of the fight. She'd arrived on the scene soon after Neville, just in time to see him fall to a Killing Curse. Dennis was still alive then, and had shot a Killing Curse in return that found its mark, only to be shot down by a Death Eater behind him. Having accomplished what they came for, the remaining Death Eaters left. Luna came straight here. After she'd told us everything, we all just sat there in stunned silence. Harry was the first to react. He took Charlie and Draco (who'd been visiting) to the Creeveys' house and retrieved their bodies. Luna had simply sat there, waiting. The memory of her lifeless eyes has haunted me in my sleep for the past two days. Luna, who'd always been so happily nonsensical, so honest and so full of life, was suddenly so… empty. It was a painful sight.

Draco stood on my other side, at the funeral. I was grateful for his presence; he seemed to prop me up just by being there. Though he did not really know the Creevey brothers, even when he was already on our side, his support meant a lot. When the time came to lower the coffins into the earth, he'd gripped my hand, tightly. There was warmth in his fingers, warmth I hadn't felt in so long, and my heart actually felt a little lighter. He promised he'd come to Neville's funeral. I hope he does. I don't know if I can go through it without him. I still can't believe Neville's dead. He was so brave, so strong, no longer the shy, bumbling boy I'd met on the train, searching for his toad. Luna couldn't find Trevor in the house. I remembered that during the funeral and nearly giggled hysterically. What a thought to have had, at a time like this.

After the funeral, we returned home and made our way to our separate rooms. Or the others did. I went to the kitchen, made myself a cup of tea, for lack of anything better to do. I sipped it, sat at the counter, stared off into space. Suddenly a hand was on my shoulder and I nearly dropped my cup. I looked around and stormy gray eyes were looking down at me. Draco. He withdrew his hand and for some reason, my shoulder felt lacking from the loss of his touch.

"Are you –I mean, will you be, er, all right?" His question caught me off guard, but his eyes relayed his concern. I actually smiled. It felt so weird, the smile. I haven't smiled in so long, it's like my lips have forgotten how to. The smile felt awkward and wrong and horrible and twisted –and absolutely wonderful. It was real. Draco Malfoy had actually made me smile.

I think my smile may have worried him because the frown on his face deepened. I simply nodded, not wanting to ruin the smile on my face by opening my mouth. His hand hesitatingly made its way back to my shoulder and when our skin touched I felt relief. It was as if by taking away his hand he had taken something from me, and by putting it back he had completed me once again. I wonder why I felt this way –still do, even now. Why has our relationship changed so much in the past few months? Why is it that his touch can make me feel this way? For now, I can think of no other reason than my needing some form of comfort after witnessing so much death and destruction.

I wonder how many funerals are yet to come, in this war that doesn't seem to have an end yet. How many deaths we'll have to witness, on our side, before we can finally put a stop to this madness. Who else will we have to bury along the road to justice? How many loved ones will we lose? The thought brings to mind gray eyes and awkward, stumbling words, and I hope with all my heart that that is one funeral I will never, ever attend.

xxxxx

Draco blinked, surprised to find tears in his eyes. He remembered that day well, the day of the Creevey brothers' funeral. He remembered not knowing why he'd decided to go, but going anyway. They had even let him sit near the front, next to Hermione. Though he hadn't looked at her the entire ceremony, he could feel the façade she'd put up. Her hands had been shaking from trying not to cry. They had been standing close enough for him to feel them lightly against his skin. Finally, unable to stand it, he'd taken her hand and the shaking had stopped. They had stood like that for the rest of the funeral, until the time came for them to return to Grimmauld Place.

He also remembered her smile. It had looked so strange –not like it was forced, but like her lips weren't sure how to form one anymore, and were trying to remember how to be. It had been lopsided and a little scary, but it had been a smile. Draco had been taken aback but happy, though he hadn't been able to smile himself.

His fireplace chimed and he looked up from the diary. "Who on earth could that be?" he wondered aloud. As he shifted on his bed, his foot touched the note from Harry and he remembered. He got up and grabbed a shirt from his closet. Pulling it over his head, he made his way downstairs. The fireplace chimed again. "I'm coming, no need to be impatient," he said, arriving at the shelf. The grinning face of Harry looked up at him. He tapped the figurine and Harry stepped onto the floor, dusting off soot.

"How're you doing, mate? Better?" Harry looked at Draco, his brow slightly furrowed.

"Fine now, thanks to you. You'll have to spot me some of that potion in the future." Draco laughed. "Tea?"

"You make it," Harry replied, hurrying to a nearby armchair before Draco could trick him into making his own tea again. Draco chuckled and made his way to the kitchen. "As for the potion, you can buy it in Diagon Alley. It's a simple headache cure, modified to treat ones caused by alcohol."

"I'll pick some up next time I'm there then," said Draco, coming back with two steaming cups of tea. For a moment they simply sat there, enjoying the warmth of the drink. Draco studied Harry's hands, particularly the left one. A simple gold wedding band sat on his left ring finger. Harry had finally married Ginny sometime after defeating Voldemort, to everyone's relief. Hermione had voiced her concern to him once, about how she was worried Harry would never propose to Ginny. The Prophet had been all over the wedding, even slipping in comments about the "hopes of society that another wedding will take place soon, between a certain blonde Ministry law enforcer and a good friend of Harry Potter's." Of course, to the delight of many a gossip in the wizarding world, he and Hermione had married a year after Harry and Ginny. Draco smiled sadly at the memory. It had unnerved him, how the wizarding world had accepted his role in the downfall of Voldemort so smoothly. Not to say there weren't protests, but Harry's testimony about Draco's help had quelled any of them.

"Have you found anything yet?" Harry's voice was so quiet that Draco almost didn't catch his question. He looked up, breaking from his thoughts. For a moment he couldn't comprehend Harry's question. I hope you find what we're looking for. Draco blinked, remembering.

"No, not yet." He looked at his tea, the brown liquid reflecting his frown. "But I haven't read much, so I haven't been expecting anything."

"Is it really her diary?"

"Yes. She started it after… after we retreated from Hogwarts."

"Oh." The two lapsed into silence once again, and Draco could almost feel all the unasked questions in Harry's head. But he didn't want to share what he'd read in the diary, all the pain and sadness. It would only call up old memories he knew Harry wouldn't want to have at the moment. They stared at nothing in particular, each lost in their own thoughts. Draco wondered if he ought to visit Hermione soon. Christmas was in a few days, and she might like his company, if she were lucid enough to enjoy it.

"I think I'd better return to the office." Harry stood up, setting down his cup. "Thanks for the tea. I'm glad you're feeling better. Though," he said, turning to Draco with a serious expression on his face, "don't pull something like that again, mate. For a second I thought you'd died on the bar."

"It'll take more than tequila to kill me," Draco replied, a wry grin on his face. Harry laughed, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Well… just take care of yourself, all right?" Draco nodded in response, and with a wave, Harry stepped into the fireplace and vanished.

Draco returned upstairs, sat down on his bed. The diary lay there, red against white sheets, almost like a bloodstain. His fingers touched it lightly, feeling the smooth, worn cover. He wondered how many more entries he'd have to read, how much more pain he'd have to remember, before he found what they were looking for. If it was even here.

xxxxx

A/N. So… is the romance too choppy? Was this new entry awkward? Do Harry and Draco seem gay when they talk? (HAHAHA not that I mind Drarry; just that in my heart, Draco ends up with no one but Hermione.) R&R, much appreciated!