Harry

The first week passed by without too much fuss.

Slowly everyone around Hogwarts got used to Harry Potter roaming the halls – and stayed clear whenever his frown of irritation would grow too prominent than usual. It had just taken a few days for everyone to understand that his patience with people had disappeared completely after the Battle of Hogwarts – and they didn't try their luck in case they pissed off the Golden Boy.

One teenager, however, didn't have trouble doing so.

And it infuriated Harry to no end.

"Can't he just stick it up and disappear like most Slytherins do whenever I'm in the room?" Harry finally snarled to Ron in the Gryffindor common room on their free Sunday evening. The golden trio was laying lazily in front of the fire. Hermione was rereading her Potion essay on the effects of Veritaserum and Ron was dangling his feet on the edge of the seat, his head near Hermione's face so he'd be able to steal glances of her concentrated face every now and then. Harry, however, was sitting rigid in his seat, staring at the flames as if they'd personally offended him. "I mean, seriously," he continued when his friends hadn't said anything, "He practically shoved me down the stairs today, and apologized! What's up with that?"

Ron took a deep breath, and he closed his eyes, obviously too contend and tired for this conversation. "Mate, drop it. You're reading too much into this."

"I'm not." Harry said stubbornly, clutching his chest with his arms. His friends hadn't believed him when he'd said Malfoy had been up to something during their sixth year – and that had resulted in something quite catastrophic. "I'm not." He repeated, but this time a bit softer and more unsure.

"Sure you are." Hermione hummed, not even trying to look interested.

Harry didn't care. "Who tries to humiliate me in front of everyone… and then apologizes for it?"

"Malfoy?"

Harry flinched.

Ginny joined the group, sitting down in front of him with her back to the fire, which made her hair look like it was surrounded with flames. She looked well-rested and calm, as if sitting on the floor in front of Harry wasn't a weird or awkward thing to do at all.

And Harry also hated the fact that she looked lovely enough to make his mind drift off his obsession – not that he'd admit that's what it was – with Draco Malfoy. She'd cut her hair pixie-short, making her look even older and more beautiful. Her warm brown eyes were as welcome as ever, and her smile was nothing but sweet. The words that came out of her mouth, however, weren't very lady-like, nor pretty. "You've got to quit pining about him, Harry. If we'd still be dating, I'd be jealous." She ignored Harry's deep sigh. "But, seeing as we're not, I think I have the right to tell you to either let it go, or snog him in the nearest broom cupboard." When Harry just stared at her with an open mouth, she added, with a smirk strangely resembling those of George, "In either cases you'd leave us alone, and be relieved of some sexual frustration at the same time."

"Nobody asked you," he muttered, but Ron shoved him with his foot, so he tried to be nice to the girl who'd broken his heart. "I'm not in love with Malfoy," he said after a while, but it sounded more whiny than convincing.

Ginny just raised a brow before giggling. "Whatever you say, Golden Boy."

Harry winced, and rubbed his hands over his face. Seeing Ginny just added to his already off-the-rockets frustration. "Don't call me Golden Boy."

"What?" She smiled wider. "Would you prefer 'Savior'?"

Something lurched painfully in his stomach. "I don't – god. I'm leaving."

"Where to? Bed?" Ginny's smile disappeared. "It's only eight o'clock."

There was a ringing, oozing sound in his ears now, making it almost too difficult to think clearly. All he knew was that he wouldn't, no, couldn't, stay here and make small talk with Ginny. "Somewhere - anywhere that isn't here." He stood up abruptly, and nodded to Ron and Hermione before rushing away quickly.

He ignored Hermione whispering to his ex-girlfriend; "Gin, you know he wasn't ready –" and pushed a second year out of the way to storm out of the common room. The Fat Lady called out a 'Really?!' when he accidentally threw the door open too hard and pushed her portrait against the wall with a little more force than necessary, but he didn't stay around to apologize.

He just stormed off, trying to ignore everything that had just happened.

Not that it was working, or anything.

Just seeing Ginny like this, so friendly and teasing, brought up all kinds of unpleasant memories that he didn't want to think about. Images of people kissing, shouting, apologizing, crying – oh, the crying – shot through his head, adding up with the already fuzziness. Why couldn't she just ignore me? He thought, rubbing his eyes angrily, does she have to rub it in?

His feet were walking automatically. He'd wandered Hogwarts in thought so often that getting lost was close to impossible, and he didn't really care as to where he would end up. As long as it wasn't the dungeons, nor the Room of Requirement – he really wasn't in the mood for something like that.

After what felt like eternity he felt, for the first time, something like tiredness and gave up. He was close to the Owlery, and he figured that was as good a place as any to hide out for a while. It was certainly too cold for couples to make out, too dirty for people to study, and too loud for most people to think clearly. Harry, however, welcomed every bit of it.

He liked being around owls, for it distracted him of everything. Sitting up here in the owlery made him forget all about last year, made him forget about the horrendous summer and –

"What the hell are you doing here?"

For a second Harry doubted if it was worth it to fling himself off the tower. Then he remember that he shouldn't give the other boy the satisfaction that he had the power to get such a strong reaction out of him. "Walking. What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

"Sitting." Malfoy was staring down at him, his feet dangling beneath him. He was sitting on one of the high arches – how on earth had he gotten up there without slipping and falling down? – and he looked angry and scared at the same time that his hiding spot was found out. "It's almost nine, Potter, shouldn't you be tucked into bed by now?"

Harry scowled, and ignored him. He walked towards one of the biggest windows – though it wasn't really a window, it was more of a big hole in the wall – and gazed across the Forbidden Forest stretching out in the distance. He could just make out a tiny light burning inside Hagrid's cabin, but other than that it was pitch black out there.

Somewhere out there… somewhere between those dark trees… he'd died.

Maybe for the last time, if you believed Hermione's theory. Which he didn't, by the way, though that was more out of fear for his own fate than her reasoning, which happened to be quite believable.

"If you aren't here to use an owl," Malfoy said after a while, disrupting Harry's disturbed thoughts with a soft voice, "what are you doing here?"

"I already told you, Malfoy." Harry brushed his hair from his face, trying to keep calm. He wanted to hit something. (Which, actually, for the first time in days had nothing to do with the fair-haired boy.) "This tower isn't exclusive to insensitive brats, you know."

"Really?" Harry could almost hear the smile in his voice. "Could've fooled me. You're here, after all."

Harry groaned, resting his head on his arms, who'd been leaning on the edge of the window. It was an awkward position, and his back was starting to hurt already from the weird angle, but he stayed put. Even bickering with Malfoy wasn't enough to distract him from Ginny, and he didn't want the Slytherin to see his face right now, in case it showed more emotion than he cared to acknowledge he had. "Shuffpmoy."

"I'm sorry," Malfoy said, "Didn't quite catch that."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry repeated, this time lifting his head up a bit.

"So eloquent for a Gryffindor, who would've thought."

"I'm really not in the mood."

"What, someone didn't applaud when you entered the room?"

It took all Harry's willpower to not grab his wand and hex Malfoy into oblivion. "Get lost."

"Was it maybe your Weaslette, not bowing down at your feet? You can't honestly expect even your girlfriend –"

"Don't call her that." This time, there was a definite tremor in Harry's voice. He was clutching his wand tightly inside his robe, his hands shaking of anticipation to just do it.

"- to kiss the ground where you walk on, do you?" Malfoy went on mercilessly, not noticing Harry's anger.

"Shut up!" He bellowed this time, turning around with his wand in the air. Every bit of frustration was pouring out of him, aimed at the blonde Slytherin smirking down at him. Harry could literally feel the air around him buzzing with magic, twirling around him and ready to pounce. "Shut up, Malfoy, or –"

"Or what? You'll hurt me?" Malfoy sneered at him, his mouth contracted into an ugly smile. "You wouldn't."

"And why wouldn't I?" Harry couldn't stop shaking. Why couldn't he stop shaking? "You used to make my life a living hell, Malfoy, so give me one good reason why I shouldn't hex you for it."

The other boy raised a brow, almost bored, before slowly lifting his white T-shirt.

Harry froze, something screaming in his brain. "What are you –"

"You wanted to know why you shouldn't," Malfoy just said, and jumped down. More graceful than anyone could've been jumping down from a high ledge he landed, right on the ball of his feet, before turning into the rigid ice prince Harry grew to irritate. Malfoy wasn't smiling, and even his eyes were cold. "You already took your revenge, Potter, no need to hex me again," he said softly, pointing at his bare chest.

First Harry couldn't move his gaze from Malfoy's face. There was just something so powerful in his gaze… as if warning him that this wouldn't be easy…

But after a while of listening to his fastened heart-beat, Harry looked down.

And gasped.

Malfoy's pale skin was covered in long and deep gashes, creating an ugly pattern all across his chest. His normally lean and fit figure – thanks to Quidditch, Harry supposed – was tainted with red and white scars, scars that obviously had to hurt every time the other boy moved. Even now, just standing still, Harry could see the too quick and shallow breaths Malfoy was taking to stop himself from stretching the skin too much. (Or, maybe, the boy was nervous. But that couldn't be the case, could it, not for the pretentious Draco Malfoy.)

Harry stepped closer, his heart hammering in his chest and his throat dry. "Is… Is that from…"

"Your curse?" Malfoy quickly pulled on his shirt again, his cheeks darkened. "Yes."

"Why…" He'd always regretted hexing Malfoy like that, with Snape's curse which he hadn't known what would do to the boy… but actually seeing the result was a thousand times worse. "Why hasn't it healed yet?"

Malfoy shrugged carelessly, straightening his shirt.

Harry's gaze locked eyes with Malfoy's. He understood that the boy hadn't just done this to make Harry feel bad, to answer his question – because really, they both knew it had been rhetorical – but to also let him know that he was human. That he was hurt by Harry, just as much as Harry was ever hurt by him. "I'm…" Harry tried to think about a possible way to apologize for the hurt he'd caused the boy, but he knew that no words would ever be enough. "I'm sorry," he just said, lowering his wand and head at the same time.

"It's fine."

The words were so sincere that Harry looked up, and he was even more surprised to see Malfoy smiling at him.

"You saved my life a couple of times last summer," Malfoy said as an explanation, "I guess that makes us even."

"How can you not hate me?" Harry asked incredulously, "I scarred you for life –"

"Like I said." Malfoy crossed his arms now, almost angrily stubborn to make him belief the apology was truly accepted. "I figured a few scars weigh up against an entire life. Surely even a dim-witted wizard like you could –"

"Don't." He was so, so tired. "Don't joke about this. You saved my life first, remember? At your manor? You recognized me, Malfoy, but –"

Malfoy suddenly stepped back, his face slipping into a cold and pale mask. "Forget it, okay? It's all right."

Harry let it drop. It was obvious that something about that encounter triggered some unpleasant memories – and Harry was the first of all people to understand it. "Okay," he said softly, rubbing his hands across his face. "Now what, then? We established that I can't hex you or hurt you…"

"I can't h… hex you either," Malfoy said, almost struggling to get the word 'hex' out of his throat, "seeing as without you I'd be dead… or in Azkaban."

Something told Harry that Malfoy had wanted to say 'hate', just as much as he'd wanted to say that instead of 'hex'. "And you somehow can't insult my friends, nor me, on heritage, family or income…"

"We're stuck, it seems."

"No," Harry decided after a long and heavy silence, and he gazed up at the blonde boy seriously.

He knew Malfoy'd had it difficult during the war, facing things teenage boys weren't meant to see, nor do, all because his father had supported Voldemort. Malfoy didn't know Harry knew what he'd done – since he'd seen it all in dreams – and Harry wasn't likely to tell him. But still, he couldn't obliviate his knowledge, and he wouldn't have tried to forget it even if he could.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" Malfoy said, raising a brow.

And without saying another word, Harry stuck out his hand.

For a second it seemed as if Malfoy had stopped breathing.

"We can start over," Harry whispered, afraid that if he'd spoke too loudly the other boy would run away. Malfoy certainly looked shaken enough to bolt any second. "Let bygones be bygones."

Malfoy opened his mouth… and closed it again. Every bit of color had disappeared from his face, making him look as if he was shining in the moonlight.

"Your mother actually saved my life, did you know that?" Harry went on, even softer. "Voldemort had killed me that night, but I came back, and she had to check if I was truly dead… she told them I died, so she could find you and get you somewhere safe. She saved us both with one word."

Malfoy was shaking his head ever so slightly. "Potter… You don't know…"

"I don't know what?"

"You…" Malfoy's whole façade of emotionless was slowly ripping at the edges, revealing spots of fear and panic in his eyes. "You're the savior, Potter. You can't just… do this with me. Especially with me."

Harry leaned in closer, a determined expression on his face. "I can, and I will. Come on, Draco," Malfoy's eyes widened fully at the sound of his first name rather than his last, "don't leave me hanging."

"You're impossible," Malfoy hissed under his breath, but he took it. His hands were clammy and cold, but his grip was firm and he didn't let go.

"I certainly do my best," Harry countered back, smiling.

Harry

When Harry got back to his dorm that night his mind was slowly spinning out of control.

He had bid Malfoy goodnight, with his voice stammering awkwardly – though he was convinced that that was due to the fact that he'd just shaken the hand of his former nemesis, not because he hadn't wanted to let go, absolutely not – before rushing out and almost running back to the Gryffindor Tower.

He'd always known that Malfoy had had it difficult.

So why hadn't he sought the boy out sooner?

Sure, they hadn't exactly been best pals during his former years at Hogwarts, but still. He should've noticed, he should've asked him instead of just following him around and suspecting the worst.

"Harry!" Hermione's worried voice pulled him out of his misery.

His friends were waiting for him by the fire – even though it was nearly eleven. "What are you guys doing up? 'Mione, you never stay up before a Monday –"

She came running to him, for a minute as if she was going to hug him, before pulling her hand back and hitting him hard on his arm with full force.

Harry recoiled in pain, cursing out; "What in the name of Merlin –"

"You can't just run off and disappear for two hours, Harry!" Her eyes were wide-open, and her mouth was contracted in one of anger and relieve, which was kind of an odd combination. "We talked about it this summer, you can't leave us without knowing where you are!"

She was right, of course. They'd talked about how utterly hurt they'd been when Harry had taken off into the Forbidden Forest to sacrifice himself without even saying goodbye. She, and Ron, had blamed themselves for not trying to stop him – though Harry knew that was ridiculous, nobody could've stopped him in that moment – and the only thing Harry could do to make it up to them was swear that he wouldn't do that again, not at least before telling them. The fact that they were overly protective, even now when the war had ended, was just a side-effect. Harry knew they couldn't help it. Harry didn't find them noisy or irritating, and he didn't complain. But right now, at the moment his emotions were already out of control, it was the cherry top to everything.

"c'mon, Hermione," Harry groaned. "I can't tell you where I am constantly, I'm not going to disappear –"

"Don't." She crossed her arms. "Where were you?"

"Owlery."

Ron had gotten up from the couch, too, and he looked torn, wanting to back up Harry, and not wanting to cross his girlfriend on the same time. "For two hours?"

"Yes." Harry's cheeks reddened, and he hoped Hermione wouldn't notice. "I ran into Malfoy."

"What was Malfoy doing in the owlery? At a Sunday evening?"

"Never mind his reasons," Ron intervened, a grin splitting his face in two. "Did you hex him? Throw him off the tower?"

"Ron!" Hermione scolded, "Don't joke about –"

"No, I didn't hex him." Harry said, quickly interrupting before they'd started bickering. "I actually made up with him."

"Why on earth –"

"Just because." He ruffled his hair, took a good look at his baffled best friends, and said in a soft voice; "Sorry. I'm just really tired, really confused, and this whole evening has been nothing but a big mess."

Hermione's eyes softened, and when she put her hand on his arm it was a gesture of comfort rather than scolding. "Of course, Harry, it's fine. We were just worried…"

"It's fine." He sighed. "I'm off to bed. See you tomorrow."

"Yeah," Ron said softly when Harry sped off to his dormitory. "Sleep tight, mate."

Draco

Draco Malfoy was a mess.

Not that he would admit that to any of his Slytherin roommates, nor even to himself, but he was a chaotic emotional mess and it was all the fault of that damned Harry Potter.

That raven-haired Golden Boy had always managed to get under Draco's skin like no one else. The day he had refused to take Draco's hand on the 1st of September in 1991 it all began. The years of infuriation with the boy, making him want to tear out his own hair in frustration. His skin just itched whenever Harry Potter came nearer, his heart bursting with… annoyance… whenever the savior of the wizarding world would curse, hiss, or glare at him again. His friends had always called him 'obsessed', Pansy had always slapped him whenever the name 'Potter' would come up, and this year was no different.

Although…. A little different, since Pansy wasn't even at Hogwarts nowadays. Zabini was, however, but he wasn't his old self anymore – probably needed a good shag, if you'd ask Draco. But it was still kind of the same. Just like before, every time he opened his mouth to complain about Golden Boy to anyone who was sitting close, they would either flee, groan at him, or just blatantly ignore him.

Not that he could blame them, or anything, but was he really the only one who was distracted by those idiotically big green orbs for eyes behind those ridiculous glasses? Was he truly the only student who desperately wanted to push Potter against a wall to just shut up?

And now, instead of ignoring the boy as he had planned to this year, he had shaken Potter's hand.

He had actually touched him.

And not as a result of physical violence – oh no – this gesture had been friendly. Friendly.

Draco groaned in frustration, running his shaking hands through his hair.

Everything he did involving Potter was done rashly. Everything he did not involving Potter was cool, focused, clear-headed: everything he, the Malfoy heir, was supposed to be. Yet that infuriatingly stubborn raven-haired boy drew the weirdest, oddest and most raw parts of him above the surface, without even knowing he could.

Would he really be able to act civil? To act as… Draco almost hissed… friends?

Zabini's head quirked up, staring at Draco who was muttering to himself and pacing the Slytherin common room. "You okay, Draco?"

Draco went rigid, his gaze first unfocused before settling down on his dark-skinned friend. "Of course I am. You're not going all Hufflepuff on me, are you?"

Zabini pulled a face, as if Draco had just insulted him – and in a way, he had. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm just wondering why you're talking to yourself."

"I'm not –" Draco sighed. "I'm going to bed. See ya, Blaise."

He took off, his right hand still going through his hair, until his best friend suddenly called after him. Blaise's voice had been soft, but the message arrived loud and clear. "It's Potter again, isn't it?"

"No, it's not." Draco said, also soft, but he had frozen, his right foot dangling above the stairs which led to his private dormitory.

"It is." Blaise rose from his seat. Draco didn't need to turn around to know he was smirking. "It's always him, isn't it? So what's he done now? Insulted your father? – can't blame him there – Pushed you down the hall? Or was it him being 'annoying' again by 'not paying attention in class' or 'rubbing his fringe from his face constantly – doesn't he know that there are people here trying to concentrate –'"

"Shut up!" Draco said, hissing, and he turned around with his fists balled – but Blaise was laughing.

"You're so in love, Draco, just admit it."

"I'm not gay."

"Didn't say you were." Blaise quirked a brow, still smirking like an idiot. "You could be bi, or pan –"

Draco sighed deeply. "Did I mention that I hate you?"

"Only a couple of hundred times… this week." Blaise's smirk turned into a smile, which somehow, was worse. "And you still haven't denied that you're in love with him."

"I'm not –" Draco gave up, resigned, and put up his hands. "I'm not in the mood for this. I'm going to bed."

"Just admit it, Draco!"

"Admit what? That I am in so-called love with –"

"No, that you met up with him tonight."

Without Draco's consent, nor knowing it would happen before it did, his cheeks started burning. Malfoys weren't romantic. Malfoys didn't embarrass themselves. Malfoys didn't blush. And here he was, former death-eater and heir of his family fortune, blushing at the question of he had 'met up' with the Golden Boy. He was pathetic. "It wasn't planned."

The honest-to-god squeal that escaped Blaise's lips didn't even sound human, and Draco took that as the right time to leave before it got even worse. He managed to get out a; "good night!" before storming off, trying to forget the look of pure happiness and mischief on his friend's face.

The Hogwarts he used to know and like was falling apart.

His collected and high-born best friend was squealing.

He, Draco Malfoy, was blushing.

And that was all due to the infuriating Harry James Potter, Boy-Who-Lived and Savior of the goddamn Wizarding World.