A cold hand on the back of his neck startled Harry out of his reverie.

"It seems I'm innocent," Malfoy said, stepping around him into the bedroom. "Or acquitted at least. Got my wand back and everything." He waggled it in Harry's face and grinned.

"That's good," Harry choked out. His mouth had suddenly gone very dry. He'd expected to be alone here from now on; he needed more time to figure all of this out. He wasn't ready to face the reality of what he'd remembered or the strength of the urge to touch the criminal he'd just helped to free. Logic told him that what they'd been doing here was very wrong, and every instinct he had screamed at him to bolt.

Malfoy gracefully seated himself on the edge of the bed. "You lied for me," he accused pleasantly. He patted the mattress next to him.

"Of course I didn't." Harry ignored the invitation and took a step back toward the stairs.

"You knew that I was a Death Eater, I tried to deliver you to the Dark Lord myself. Everyone knew. You sounded like a crazy person up there." His grin faltered slightly and he leaned forward, studying Harry's posture.

"I just answered her questions. That's all I did." Harry took another step back. "Why are you here?"

With a smirk, Malfoy sprung to his feet and closed the distance between them in a few swift strides. "So did they try to obliviate you, too?"

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

"Sure you don't." He leaned in close, their noses nearly touching.

Harry stiffened his shoulders and leaned back. "What are you doing here?"

Malfoy frowned, still looming close enough that his breath was warm on Harry's face. "I'm supposed to tell you that McGonagall has me moving in until my father's trial is over with, because I'm apparently still in danger of assassination by homeless-looking old men in crowded areas. You're supposed to be very upset about this news."

"Right, ok."

Harry attempted to turn and leave, he was just a few feet from freedom, but that cold hand was on his neck again. He pushed back against it as Malfoy's lips brushed against his. He turned his face, just barely deflecting the attempted kiss to his jaw.

"What are you doing?" he asked, forcing a tone of anger and disgust that felt like betrayal.

"Just stop it." Malfoy snapped. That healthy shade of pink Harry had recalled in the courtroom was rising in his cheeks. "I saw the way you were looking at me at the trial. All heartbroken and confused. Everyone else just thinks that's your usual face after all these years, but I know better. And if you're wondering if I they managed to obliviate me – no. I did very well. When Shacklebolt tried it, I parried the spell right back into his stupid face and he just sent me along my way like nothing happened. He probably didn't even know what day it was."

"I should probably get to bed," Harry muttered, twisting his head feebly against the hand holding it steady. He managed to move back a single pace only to slam his shoulder into the doorframe. If he was to quickly twist to the left, he could be down the steps and into the safety of his own room in a heartbeat.

He froze.

"You haven't been sleeping in that hole over there, have you? I spent the weekend in a dungeon and I had nicer accommodations."

"That's my room. Where else would I be sleeping?"

"In here! With me! Like you always have!" Malfoy was shouting now, and Harry recalled that this had been a frequent occurrence. "You can't expect me to believe you don't remember. Why are you even standing here, then?"

"Some of my clothes are in here… I don't know. I can't really… it's all confusing."

"I'm not in the mood for games, Potter!"

"Yeah, course. I'll just go."

Malfoy's hands were on him again, twisting into the collar of Harry's shirt as he stepped forward to block his escape. "Stop bullshitting me," he hissed, his abused lips scraping against Harry's once more. With the brutal, furious kiss that followed, Harry tasted the familiar rawness that he knew to expect. His entire body tensed and with every ounce of strength he could muster, he resisted the urge to kiss back. When he was finally released, he found himself frustratingly still rooted to the floor.

"I do not believe that you don't remember," Malfoy stated matter-of-factly.

A shrug was the best Harry could muster.

"Well let me fill you in, then. We were moved in here in October because some crazy old man tried to kill one of us. You promptly fell in love with me, and I'm beginning to like you too. You helped me learn to block spells every night because they took my wand away, which is why I'm not standing here looking sad and confused and pathetic like you."

In a whisper he continued, loosening his grip and unbuttoning Harry's shirt as he spoke. "And every night - every single night, Potter - we've fucked. In this room. On that bed."

The obscenity of his words hung thickly in the air.

"Just back off. I don't know what you're talking about." Harry pivoted awkwardly onto the stairs, stumbling slightly, and fled to safety, the sound of Malfoy's livid invectives muffled by the ancient door.

… … … …

"Wake up, Potter."

Harry groaned into the deflated pillow under his face.

"Wake up, you amnesiac piece of shit. It's breakfast time, and then we get to watch each other sit exams all bloody day."

"Don't call me a piece of shit."

"Then stop behaving exactly like one," Malfoy replied, violently dragging the blankets off of the bed. "You twat."

As far as Harry could tell, and aside from the unprecedented amount of name-calling, that day and the rest of the week passed similarly to those before the trial. He was second to wake each morning, and he did his best to ignore his roommate as completely as their forced companionship allowed. End of term exams afforded Harry several hours alone each day watching other people write and enjoying the relative solitude. No one could ask anything of him or shout indignant abuse if they were sitting an exam. It was a relief. And in the evenings, holed up in his room, he studied every lesson he'd fallen behind on throughout the bizarre term past.

If he could have found a way to spend some time alone with Ginny, things would have been perfect. He felt he owed her as much. But things were generally simple and boring, everything he'd been afraid of and now needed so badly. He'd even begun planning out tiny, dull details of his own future. He'd rented a flat in London through an agency, and he'd granted Ginny free reign to furnish it as she liked. While he was certain he'd be fine with a cot in an empty room over the holidays so long as it was his own, he felt as if he needed to make sure she was included in the process. That was probably how healthy, normal relationships worked, after all.

On the final day of the term, Harry was fulfilling a promise he'd as of yet been unable – or unwilling – to keep. He was going to attend a Quidditch match with Ginny and the others. It was simple, but hopefully enough to demonstrate to everyone that things were just as they should be.

Unfortunately, he'd forgotten about it entirely and was running extremely late, but he'd probably still be able to catch the end if he hurried. He'd make up some excuse, blame Malfoy or something, and everything would be fine. He could behave like a normal person, and he was going to prove it today.

Zipping up his coat, he opened the bedroom door a crack and peered out into the common area. It was still, aside from the fire, and silent. Faint light spilled out around the door at the top of the stairs, hopefully indicating that his roommate was within, packing for the holidays or sulking. Both were equally likely. As far as he could tell, he'd be able to slip out undetected. If he made it to the corridor, he was certain that he could make some excuse to get away from the guards for a few hours. They didn't seem especially bright, and he was confident that he could pull this off.

Slipping out silently, he ran for the exit. He'd nearly made it to freedom when he heard footsteps outside and the door swung in, nearly hitting him where he'd stopped.

Malfoy stepped gracefully into the room, smiling to himself as he surveyed Harry's winter apparel. "Look at you, all bundled up. Going somewhere without me, love?"

"No," Harry barked defensively.

"Just chilly, then?"

"I – Where were you?" Harry tried and failed to match Malfoy's composed tone.

He crossed his arms amusedly. "I had a meeting."

"No you didn't. What kind of meeting?"

"A private meeting."

"Well, why didn't I have to go?"

"Because it was private. And that hat looks terrible on you."

"No it doesn't," Harry said, quickly removing it.

"And now your hair looks terrible. Was it worth it?"

"I don't care," Harry sighed. "Can you just go and get your coat on and come with me? I'm supposed to be down at the Quidditch pitch with everyone and I'm really late. It'll be easier to get there if I don't have to trick the guards or something."

Malfoy still had that amused expression on his face. "No, I don't think so. I've got things to do."

"Just put your coat on! It's freezing out and you'll be hypothermic before we even get to the pitch if you don't."

"Why do you say that?" Malfoy asked, still looking tremendously entertained. He moved forward, stopping barely a foot away from where Harry stood. He was always doing that lately when they were together: standing too close, or sitting in a way that forced their legs to touch. He was forever just a breath away.

Harry grunted. He would have to be more careful to avoid making casual references to intimate knowledge of things like body temperature. "Look, I'm running out of time."

"I've got a few minutes. How about you warm me up a bit?" Smirking, Malfoy reached out and began straightening the wild mess of hair that the offending hat had left behind. "You've always been good at that."

"Stop it," Harry complained, shaking his head free of wandering fingers. "Stop saying things like that, it's weird."

"Yes, yes, you 'have no idea what I'm talking about' and all that," Malfoy recited, rolling his eyes.

Harry swallowed deeply, forcing down his pride as well the rapidly swelling lump in his throat. "Will you please just put on your coat and come with me? You owe me."

"No, no, let's be clear here. I did not ask you to go up on the stand and play make-believe that I'm a decent and moral person. That was all on you." He gently pushed Harry aside and moved toward the small stone staircase. "And I'm not just refusing to come with you to be difficult. I'm refusing to come with you because the match was over fifteen minutes ago, at least. I saw everyone coming in on my way back."

He disappeared into his room as someone began to bang angrily on the front door. Harry took a deep breath and greeted an extremely irritated looking Ginny.

Her arms were crossed tightly across her chest and snow was melting in her hair. "And where the hell were you?" she demanded.

"I was just… Malfoy was…"

"What, holding you hostage?" She pushed past him into the office. "And why is it that Ron told me I could just come over here and see you? I thought no one was allowed in, and he says he's been here!"

Harry shut the door gently and flung his coat onto the couch. "Yeah, I mean, I'm not sure what the rules are, but Ron came by a while ago. I guess we can have guests."

Ginny tapped her foot irritably. "What kind of boyfriend doesn't invite his girlfriend round to his private room that he's had for months? You have me running to London to get your flat sorted out, and you're back here pretending like you're on total lock down."

"I'm sorry, I never thought. I've been busy with school and with the trials. I haven't had a lot of spare time… I thought you'd like decorating the flat."

"Yeah, it was a bloody dream come true." She tossed a pair of keys and a folded piece of parchment onto the floor. "I had an extra key made, you can keep it."

"Calm down, I said I was sorry. Take your key, I don't need a spare."

From the vivid red rising in her cheeks, this was not what she wanted to hear. "That's very sweet, Harry. How kind." She paused to pick up one of the keys and studied him thoughtfully. "You know, we've all been very patient with you this year. We all figured you had post-traumatic stress or something, so we just left you to do what you needed to do. But then you get Malfoy acquitted and run out of the courtroom without even a word to us. And now, I find out that you've basically been avoiding me for months. How am I supposed to feel about all of this? It's like you've lost your mind!"

Harry wondered if he'd once had a proper excuse thought up for this eventuality, before his memory was tampered with. He racked his brain for any way to get out of this conversation, to get her to leave or to at least stop tapping her foot like that. Dim memories of arguments in this room flickered in the back of his mind like old light bulbs clinging to life. He knew that when Malfoy had shouted at him, his heart had pounded and he'd had to struggle not to physically attack him. He remembered the adrenaline kicking in and the desperate need to fight him, to hurt him, to touch him. But here with Ginny, his heart beat calmly. He was clear headed and just slightly irritated at the intrusion. He just needed to say the right thing, and she'd leave and everything would be fine again.

He took a step forward, standing just slightly too close. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "It's been tough, adjusting. But I should have thought about how I was treating you." That sounded good.

She stared sadly up at him. "I hate sounding like this, but I need to know. Do you even still want to be with me? You have to tell me, because I'm beginning to feel like an idiot."

"Of course," he swallowed thickly and kissed her. "Things will be better when I'm back in Gryffindor, I promise."

The truth of his own words hit him hard. Things would absolutely change once he'd moved back into Gryffindor. Malfoy, looking pale and perfect and irritated in his doorway every morning, would no longer wake him with a few choice insults and stolen bedding. Harry wouldn't have to follow him around all day or struggle to ignore him every evening. They would never have to speak to one another or be alone together ever again. He knew it was for the best, but it the realization made him feel sick.

"Isn't that sweet?" A third voice came drawling down them. Malfoy was leaning casually in his doorway, and Harry wondered with a start if he'd heard everything they'd been saying. "Lucky for you two, that'll be very soon. Just my father's trial left, and then we're all free."

"Would you piss off?" Ginny snapped at him. "We're trying to have a private conversation here."

He skipped down the steps toward them and plucked the parchment and remaining key from the floor. "A thousand apologies."

"We'll talk over the holidays, ok?" Ginny said to Harry, looking dangerously aggravated. "I love you."

"Right," Harry replied as she left, slamming the door shut behind her as she went.

"Our last night in here," Malfoy said, looking around at the silent room. He was standing less than an arm's length away when Harry turned to face him. "I'll miss the quiet."

"Yeah, me too," he agreed, taking the second key as it was offered to him. "We should talk – "

"No."

"Pardon me?"

"No. I don't want to hear it again. You don't remember anything, fine, you don't have to keep telling me. It's our last night here and then we never have to even look at each other again. I get it."

Harry shook his head. "It doesn't have to be like that. I was just going to say, the address of my new flat should be written on that piece of parchment you stole. Visit me over Christmas, if you want. It's fine."

"Sure, and then we can be best friends and exchange thoughtful gifts." He rolled his eyes again and slipped a hand into one of his pockets, fiddling with the paper inside.

Harry hesitated, watching Malfoy shift his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. His pale eyes appeared to be fixed on an empty stone tile and he chewed his lip like he always did. Harry reached out to straighten the already perfectly knotted green tie around his neck, eliciting a nearly imperceptible jump. "Yeah," he said. "We can be friends."