Madame Pomfrey's presence was announced by her staccato footfalls against the stone floor of the infirmary, and Draco was pulled out of his reverie.
"Well, Mr. Malfoy, seeing as you aren't showing any memory loss pertaining to your lessons, you will be resuming them immediately. I've a note for your professors."
"What, really?"
She raised her eyebrows, lifting her nurse's hat in a comical way.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Malfoy. In fact, you're late for lunch."
"Finally." He muttered under his breath.
"Indeed." Madame Pomfrey agreed a bit too heartily.
Draco stepped hesitantly into the bustling Great Hall. He easily spotted Harry, just in time to see the Granger girl whisper something to him, and then the Magnificent Trio all turned to look at him.
Draco dropped his gaze coldly and quickly made his way to the Slytherin table, studiously ignoring the empty spot next to Harry.
"Oh, sitting with your own kind again?" Pansy's taunt turned several heads in Draco's direction. He locked eyes with her.
"What are you talking about?"
"Oh, that's right, memory's gone." Several snickers rang through the crowd. She tried to lift herself from her seat elegantly, but Draco couldn't help his sneer. He saw right through her, as he always had. She sat directly across from him, a wicked smile playing at her lips.
"So...? Have you finally come to your senses?"
"Don't know what you're on about." Draco dropped his gaze dismissively to his food as he picked at it.
"Draco..." She was desperate for his attention. She leaned over the table to try to insert herself – or her cleavage – into Draco's line of site. Pathetic. "You never sit with us anymore."
"Well, I'm not sitting with him!" He didn't lift his eyes.
Blaise Zabini thought this a good time to lean in Draco's direction, upper lip curled in disgust, and say,
"You're not exactly welcome anymore, Malfoy!" All the other onlookers turned their gaze to him. He sat up defensively. "Well, he's not! Not after the things he's done with that... That... Potter! Even if he can't remember them!" The audience turned their gaze back to Draco as if the ball were in his court. Their expressions seemed to say 'fair point'...
"Fine." Draco stood with his food, stuffed a roll in his mouth, and swaggered back to the infirmary. Surely he could spend lunch there...
He didn't even notice green eyes trained on his retreating figure.
The class right after lunch was, unfortunately, a class Draco shared with Harry. Thankfully, Draco would have to look over his shoulder to see that mess of brown hair. He wasn't inescapably in his vision.
Draco tried to pay attention as Professor Slughorn counted out some kind of leaves and dropped them into a frothing cauldron. His voice droned on and on about the properties of this or that potion... Draco couldn't make himself concentrate.
To his horror, he realized the thing that called for his attention was the boy over his right shoulder. He would not look. If Potter saw him looking, it would only be a bit worse than being seen by the other Slytherins in the classroom.
Draco waited until they were assigned in-class reading from their potions book. Surely Harry's inescapable green eyes would be gracing the book with their attentions...
Draco slowly looked around the quiet room at all the hunched figures, making sure no one was watching, before he finally swiveled his head enough to see the object of his curiosity.
As it turned out, he had no reason to fear the Gryffindor would see him, for he was fast asleep in the crook of his arm. Once again, Draco was caught off-guard by this vulnerability. The brunette looked so... Peaceful. He wasn't drooling, he wasn't snoring. Draco found it difficult to find anything repulsive in his reposed form, aside from his ever-unruly mess of hair. His back rose and fell softly with his breathing.
Unfortunately, Marcus Flint, seated behind Harry, noticed Draco was staring before he did. He lifted his upper lip away from his repulsive teeth in a sneer, and Draco quickly turned forward, disgust and embarrassment staining his features.
Draco faced this kind of animosity from his fellow Slytherins for the rest of the day. By the time dinner had rolled around, he was as prickly as a porcupine. He ate in the infirmary again.
At the end of a trying day, Draco sought comfort in the Slytherin commonroom. As he looked back on this later that evening, he should have went directly up to his dormitory, instead of lingering by the fire. If only he had done that, he could have remained ignorant...
All it took was one phrase.
"Ahh, sleeping in your own bed tonight?"
He immediately felt bile rising in the back of his throat. This was followed in quick succession by rage. He stood, rounded on the source of the voice, aimed his wand, and no sooner had he thought of the smirking boy in a full body-bind, than said boy had gone rigid and fallen to the floor.
A few girls screamed. Some other boys gathered to see if he was alright. Draco didn't stick around to find out.
Draco felt entirely out of place the next day. He had yesterday, but now it was really sinking in. None of the Slytherins wanted him, and he didn't want any of the Gryffindors. He was caught between worlds, and growing increasingly uneasy.
Voldemort was dead. His father was in Azkaban. But he still had questions.
Where was his mother? Was she alright? What about Aunt Bellatrix? Who all had died in the war?
If Draco tried very hard to be honest with himself, he knew there was only one person he felt he could ask these questions. However, he was loathe to seek him out.
Eventually, concern for his mother's welfare won out. Finding Harry wasn't the difficult part. The difficult part was building up the courage to ask him.
It was pitiful of him, standing there, shifting his weight as he peeked like an urchin through the library bookshelves, at the last person he wanted to speak to, and the only person he wanted to speak to. He blamed this on his house. Slytherin had never had "bravery" attributed to it. However, the image of his mother was insistent behind his eyelids.
And so, with a quivering step that showed false bravado, he approached the reclined figure. Those green eyes lifted from his book, and Draco halted.
"Potter."
"Draco." Harry put the book down and uncrossed his leg. Draco cleared his throat.
"Can I have a word?"
"Of course."
Harry gestured to the open seat across from him. However, a crowd had gathered of mostly Slytherins, and they were all watching with amused anticipation.
"In private?" Draco uttered through clenched teeth.
"Certainly." Harry's civility seemed forced as he stood and instead gestured to a corridor. A few catcalls emitted from the crowd, and Draco ducked his head as he made to follow Harry's suggestion. Harry, however, rounded on them.
"Don't you ever get bored?"
It was such an honest question. Draco watched with amusement as all the taunting faces sobered. Harry then turned to follow Draco.
They ended up at a far corner of the library, in the light of a tall window. There were two luxuriously upholstered chairs, which appeared as though they had never been used. Draco daintily swept the dust from his chair before sitting down. Harry chuckled quietly.
"So... What was it you wanted?"
"Well... I just..." Draco didn't know what to say. He was tongue-tied. A very strange thing to happen to him. There was nobody watching, no pressure to be rude to this boy, no staring audience. "I wanted to know... About my mother."
"Your mother, I believe, is safely at home. You write to her every so often, and she writes back. She misses you, but she's still... Reeling, a bit."
Reeling from the fact that her son is a pouf, no doubt.
Draco's jaw clenched. Harry studied him cautiously.
"I suppose you are, too."
Draco warred with his cowardice to ask his next question. He just had to know.
"Am I a virgin?" He looked at his hands as he said this, unable to meet the green eyes probing his reactions. There was silence for a moment as Harry gauged Draco's emotional stability. His answer came carefully.
"No."
Draco watched his hands curl into fists.
"Unless you're defining it mentally. According to your memories, I'd think you are. And your opinion of yourself is the only one that matters." Draco looked at Harry incredulously. Could he actually believe that?
As Draco looked at the brunette, he truly saw him. He saw the circles under his eyes, the pain in them, the way he sat so uneasily. His hands were fisted, too, as if it were a necessity to keep them off Draco. He swallowed dryly.
"I don't remember being a pouf."
Harry winced at the term. Draco wanted to look away from the pain so obvious on his face, but he found he was trapped in those green eyes. He couldn't look away if he wanted to.
"No, I suppose not."
Harry shifted in his seat.
"You... Were dating that Weaselette, weren't you?"
Harry winced again.
"Ginny. Yeah, I... I was."
Draco cleared his throat. He could feel the uneasiness in the air.
"What happened?"
Harry smiled weakly.
"Guess."
Draco felt his cheeks warm. He hastily decided to redirect the conversation.
"What about my aunt?"
Harry's face fell.
"Bellatrix?" His voice took on an unfriendly tone. "She died in the war."
Draco took a moment to let this sink in before continuing.
"Who else died?"
"From their side? Voldemort."
Draco winced involuntarily at the name, but his mind loudly noted that Harry had said "their," not "your." He decided not to comment on it. Instead, he addressed the name. Surely Harry knew what kind of effect if had on Draco.
"Could you not...?"
"Nope. One of the things you'll just have to get used to." Draco grimaced, and attempted again to look away. He still could not.
Just then, something crossed Draco's mind. A hole in his memory.
"Oh, God... Dumbledore, did I...?"
"No! No, you... You didn't."
Draco's heart was racing. Professor McGonagall now sat in the Headmaster's – Headmistress's – chair.
"But he is...?"
"Yes. Dumbledore is dead."
"Who...?"
"Snape."
Draco clenched his jaw and nodded. That meant he had been to weak. He didn't have the strength to do it.
But now, in retrospect, Draco realized he never wanted to kill Dumbledore. He wanted his father's approval, he wanted to keep his family's reputation intact, and he wanted to keep his life, but all the things threatening those had been eliminated. Or sent to Azkaban...
Oh.
Draco got a glimpse into the possibility of being on the good side. He suddenly had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He could feel those green eyes studying him, but his world was spiraling around him, changing. It was a perspective shift.
There was no bad side anymore. No Dark Lord. No one to fear. He was at Hogwarts. He was with Harry Potter, the savior of the wizarding world. In every sense of the word, apparently. No more war. And here he was, the boy who vanquished the Dark Lord. The boy who had lost so much, and kept on fighting for the things that remained. The boy who had reached out to an ostracized Slytherin, an ex-Death Eater. The boy who had fallen in love with an ostracized Slytherin, and an ex-Death Eater. A relative to the Blacks.
Draco's world shattered.
Draco had never truly hated the boy. It was an appearance he had to keep up, and after a while, it just became habit. But now, with no pressure from his father to uphold his family name, and no Dark Lord breathing down his neck, he could clearly examine his heart. If he were honest with himself, he... Admired Harry. He had only ever been brave, and honest, loving, kind to the pariahs, he stood up for what was right.
Draco had been raised to believe certain things, like only purebloods should deserve to learn magic, and for the large portion of his life, he believed it. His mother and father, the supreme authorities of his life, had raised him this way. Who was he to doubt it?
But now, with neither of them instructing his every move, he could think freely. He could decide things for himself.
It was terrifying.
Draco found himself hyperventilating, and when he could no longer stand the silent, patient scrutiny of the Gryffindor, he muttered some excuse about needing to go do something or other, an apology, and ran out of the library. Harry didn't say a word.