A shorter chapter this week I'm afraid! Slightly different to normal as its a Draco P.O.V (point of view).. I wanted to try and show things from his perspective and I prefer writing from Draco's P.O.V than Harry's really... But, as ever, let me know what you think about it! Should I go back to Harry and stick with him or continue changing perspective? I've got a few Draco P.O.V scenes lined up but I'm sure they can change if people don't like it!

As ever thanks to my wonderful reviewers, I love reading your thoughts and ideas about what's happening! Thank you; LadyWhiteRose2015, Ern Estine 13624 , Sherlock'sScarf17 and

Enjoy! :)

Chapter Four

A Choice

Draco Malfoy placed the last back-breaking stone into the wall before him and sighed heavily. The work McGonagall had offered him as reparation for his war crimes was, in fact, little punishment at all. The work was physical, difficult and quite frequently left him exhausted. There was no time to think as he worked and when the bell tolled to signal the end of the working day he was often too exhausted to do anything but eat and sleep. He was glad of it, glad of the distraction. Funnily enough, almost a month in a Ministry of Magic holding cell had given him plenty of time to think.

When he arrived at Hogwarts McGonagall had given him access to her office to Firecall his mother. She'd told him of her move to France, told him how the wizarding elite over there still thought highly of their name and how she would rebuild their reputation before he left Hogwarts, promising him a home to return to. She had also, in a scene which was most unlike his mother, broken down. She had told him how she still loved Lucius deeply, but she was leaving him. "You know we had the same ideals, Draco. You know we both believed the same, about the muggle-borns and blood traitors. But there are different ways to… Your father didn't need to go to such extremes… He was so… He made you… You paid his debt, you we're just a boy, you never…" She had said before breaking down into sobs, promising to write soon and vanishing from the Fireplace.

Writing would definitely be preferable to witnessing such a scene again, Malfoy thought. He knew his mother and father loved each other, but he was not surprised to hear that she was divorcing him. On the face of it, it was typical Slytherin self-preservation. She had Draco had been acquitted, Lucius had not. If they were to rebuild their name and pride they would cut him off, as easily as a Herbologist would cut a dying bud from a plant they were cultivating. However, Draco knew it wasn't just that. His father's time in Azkaban before the war had changed him deeply. He'd always been… strict, on both Draco and his mother. Strict, but loving. His words had always been firm, his expectations always high, but he had always supported Draco. He had bought Draco onto the house quidditch team after Draco had spent the entire summer complaining that Potter was the youngest seeker in a century and he'd found Draco a seat in the Minister's box at the Quidditch world cup. He had been firm, but he had been a father. However, when he returned from Azkaban, when his name with the Dark Lord was in tatters, he was… Draco willed himself not to think of it. The way he had allowed The Dark Lord to take his home, his son… Offering everything he had to seek forgiveness. He knew his mother didn't approve, yet she hid it well. Draco had not been so careful and he had been punished accordingly. They were dark times, he had been isolated, alone and he didn't wish to recall them.

Then had come the meeting with Potter. It had been two days since the meeting and it still made Draco uncomfortable to recall it.

It was hard enough knowing that Potter had saved his life once during the battle. That, Draco could live with – he'd saved Potter at the Manor, unwilling to simply hand him over. He still battled with himself as to exactly why he'd done that. They'd treated him badly – unspeakably - his own family. Well, his mother never had… But his father, Lucius and his supposed Aunt Bellatrix... They'd offered him up like a lamb to the slaughter to save the Malfoy name, forcing the Dark Mark upon him and to take The Dark Lord's bidding on his shoulders. With those things, he had no choice. But with identifying Potter… They wouldn't know; they'd never know that Malfoy knew exactly who it was, that he knew even before Bellatrix and pulled him closer that they had, indeed, caught Harry Potter. They would never know and so Draco was free to this one act of rebellion, free to have a choice.

That's what he had told himself, anyway. That was the only reason he'd saved Potter. Not because he cared, or anything like that.

So that was why it had been ok when Potter saved him from the fire in the Room of Requirement. He'd saved his life and now the debt had been repaid. Simple. Potter had as much as admitted it himself. During that awful meeting. Potter's response to his forced thank you came swimming clearly into Malfoy's memory;

"Well, s'ok… I mean, you saved me first, so…"

So, you had to, Malfoy finished the unspoken words. The wizards on Potter's side weren't thick. Weasley, blood traitor as he was, was pureblood after all and would have likely told Potter of the consequences of life debts after they'd escaped the Manor, and that Mud- Muggle-born Granger would have probably read about it somewhere….

Except that now, it wasn't so simple. Potter had to go and act the hero again. He had to be such a bloody noble saviour and write a testimony supporting Draco at his trial. He had to go and save him again; now Draco had a debt to owe. It wasn't a life debt, of course. Draco hadn't been in mortal peril. It was a debt of honour and if anything, that was worse. To add further insult, Potter had sent Granger to watch his trial, to watch over as his testimony was given because of course the Chosen One was probably far too busy for such trivial things as trials of pathetic, childhood ex-Death Eaters… What had disturbed Draco more – not that he would ever admit it to anyone – was that he had been thankful. Thankful for the bloody frizzy-haired, buck-toothed Mudbl - Muggle-born Draco reminded himself - who'd probably only come to watch over what happened to Potter's investment rather than Malfoy himself. Even worse was the way Draco had begun, even in his thoughts, to stray from the term 'Mudblood'. As he'd watched the war progress he would have been a fool to deny Grangers raw magical power. During their time at Hogwarts he'd told himself anyone could learn anything from books, but in the war… She was different, powerful. He could no longer believe that bringing her into a place where her talents could be nurtured, used, celebrated, was a drain on wizard kind. Further, he couldn't help feeling – even if it was only on Potter's orders – thankful that she had attended his trial, a familiar face in the sea of despair…

Father would be disgusted.

But…

He didn't have to think like his father now, did he? For the first time, he had a choice.

Potter had been given a choice, in his first year. The Sorting Hat had wanted to place him in Slytherin. Draco turned this new piece of information over in his mind. He wasn't wasting his time day-dreaming of what ifs; what if Potter had been sorted into Slytherin? What if they'd become... Friends? What if Potter had been truly turned by Slytherin and joined with The Dark Lord? The last one made a large, unsavoury shudder run down Draco's spine. He definitely wasn't wasting time thinking of what ifs. No, he was wondering what he could do from now, if he was given the choice.

Slytherin certainly was a place which valued many of the things he held dear. Cunning, cleverness, careful calculations… And a high regard for old-fashioned Wizardry and Pureblood status. The war may have changed the way he viewed Dark magic and The Dark Lord's agenda, but he wasn't about to let go over his Pureblood ideals, engrained in him from birth, overnight. Granger may have presented herself as an exception, but he still didn't celebrate the way Muggle-borns came into their society, unknowing of their ways - and worse brining their strange muggle customs into the wizarding world. Besides, he mused, plenty of powerful Pureblood families held such ideals without resorting to the… methods of The Dark Lord. Blaise Zabini; his blood ran as pure as Draco's and despite his contempt for muggle-borns and blood traitor's, his family had never aligned themselves with dark magic. Then there was Pansy; Draco's stomach twisted a little painfully at the thought of his close friend. Her family, too, had been Pureblood and although not in as deep as the Malfoy's, they were supporters of the Dark Lord. But Pansy, during their last few months of seventh year before the battle, had begun to confide in Draco about her doubts, her fears… Her family had absconded, escaping the country whilst the battle still raged, saving themselves from what they had determined quite correctly to be a lost cause. She was safe, Draco knew, through coded owls and as they weren't as close to The Dark Lords inner circle, the Ministry wouldn't be hunting for them anytime soon. Then, of course, there were wizards in Slytherin who were as blinded led by The Dark Lord as his father had been. Crabbe… Malfoy almost sneered as he thought of how he met his end, in the flames he had conjured himself. He should have put money on him making his own demise, what a bloody idiot. He only had himself to blame, Malfoy had specifically instructed them against dark magicthat night in Room of Requirement and Crabbe had defied him. Goyle had not – last he heard, with his father killed in battle, Goyle and his mother had fled to Germany whilst Aurors ransacked their home.

Even given the choice, Draco highly doubted he could belong anywhere else. Hufflepuff? Definitely not. Not Gryffindor, either. That thought was unthinkable. Ravenclaw… Perhaps. Slytherin's and Ravenclaws had always been allies of some form, both with a great value on intelligence. Although Ravenclaw's used their intelligence alongside truth and honesty; Draco highly doubted he could truly celebrate use of intelligence that wasn't cunning or underhand in some way…

That wasn't the choice Draco really had to make, anyway. He was a Slytherin to his core and even so their housing would only matter for another year at most. The choice was what he would do with his life now, who he would become now free from his father's influence; a choice he was highly unlikely to make over his evening meal of Pumpkin Pie.

Then, of course, was the significantly substantial problem that he couldn't stop thinking of Potter. Thinking of Potter constantly. Obsessing over him, if truth be told, over why when he looked at Draco he seemed to… care. Merlin, the sooner he figured out a way to repay his debt, for saving him yet again, the better. That was the only problem, he told himself, the only reason he couldn't get Potter out of his mind. Then he'd be able to stop retiring to bed each night with thoughts of Potter, he'd be able to stop his vastly increasing need to go and –

"Mister Malfoy?"

Draco's attention snapped from his thoughts and back to reality. He gazed around, seeing he was now almost completely alone in the Great Hall and their meal was long since over. Turning to the voice which had addressed him he managed a nod.

"Sorry, Professor. I was thinking." He replied, his guard now allowing itself to be only half in place around McGonagall. The witch was understanding yet firm, which Draco appreciated. She had helped him beyond any expectation, offering the rebuilding of Hogwarts to the Wizengamot as a method of reparation for him as they battled on how to suitably punish him in light of the evidence that he wasn't actually as dark as many of them had first believed. He had been grateful for her help and he was respectful. Potter's testimony had ensured he wasn't rotting in Azkaban, but without McGonagall he didn't know where he would be. The work she had tied him into had given him meals, a bed, distraction from his thoughts and most importantly, forgiveness.

"I could tell," she replied, offering a small smile as she motioned for him to stand. "Come, there are some things I would like to discuss with you, before students return on Monday."

Draco swallowed at this. Of course, September was almost here. The castle was completely rebuilt and all that remained as the restoration of the Quidditch pitch and the restoration of plants and wildlife around the Black Lake. The Quidditch pitch would be continued to be worked on under a magical veil of illusion to save students from the horror of its appearance and the lake would become a herbology project for N.E.W.T students, Draco had learnt that much from the conversations he overheard as he worked. Surely that wasn't what she wished to speak to him about, was it? Had she… Draco paled as much as his already white skin would allow. She hadn't – She didn't – know, did she? His mind began to race, she'd asked him for honesty and he'd obliged, in most areas, but there was one part of him he'd kept to himself, the only secret he kept which allowed him to be free…

He told himself firmly to get a grip and arranged his features into a suitably bland expression as he followed the headmistress from the Great Hall to her office. There was no reason for her to know, although… She'd proven herself as someone who could help Draco, perhaps even someone he could trust. She had, one night, told him of Professor Snape's turn and the reasons behind it. Malfoy had been complete at a loss for words, hardly daring to believe it. Snape had, for all this time, not been the spy that Voldemort had believed him to be but had actually been… And for Potter's mother, of all people… He wouldn't have believed it if it weren't for the look he took at his favourite professors portrait and seen the wistful, yet sombre expression looking down at him. "You are young, Mister Malfoy. You have been given a chance, do not be a fool." The potions master and former headmaster had told him before sweeping from his gold gilded frame. After that meeting Draco had confided much in her that he would have refused to believe he would have even spoken to his own mother about before the war. His mark, his mission… His tortured inner debate as he hung in limbo between two sides of a divide. Maybe, if she knew of his… Well, it wouldn't be so bad and she could help him. Keeping his face straight as they approached her office and she gave the password he steadfastly refused to acknowledge the way his stomach had knotted itself uncomfortably.

"Please take a seat, Mister Malfoy." McGonagall requested, leading him to her desk with a flourish of robes. "I am sure it will come as no surprise to you that you are the only student from your house returning to Hogwarts to repeat their seventh – or rather, enter their eighth year." She told him, peering down at him from across the table. She was right; this came as no surprise to Draco. The students from dark families were either in Azkaban, had fled the country or were dead. Those who had not ever sided with the Dark Lord… Well, they hardly needed to return to Hogwarts, did they? Slytherin's were notably wealthy; born into rich, well-established wizarding families. With the understanding around their lack of N.E.W.T scores and a family name which would see them into any job they hardly needed to return.

"Indeed, there were losses on both sides of the war, Mister Malfoy. Some unable to return, some unwilling…" She trailed off, clearing her throat before continuing with purpose. "Either way, the dormitories are not equipped for an additional eight year quarters and given the number of pupils returning we see fit to provide yourselves with a dormitory of your own. You were all touched by this war, in greater ways than the students below you, as you were of age and able to fight. We feel it best that you are given a space where you may heal together away from the prying eyes of the school."

Malfoy's head was whirling. This was certainly not what he had expected. Share a dormitory with the rest of his year group? Who no doubt, having read about his trial in the papers, hated him? At least if he had returned to Slytherin he would have been somewhat welcome, using his status to command fearful respect from the younger students. But now he would have to live with Potter –

"I am not, however, a complete imbecile, Mister Malfoy." McGonagall continued as if reading Malfoy's thoughts. "I know that this will not be easy for you and this is why I have come to offer you a choice. Your co-existence with your fellow year group will be compulsory yet sleeping arrangements may be considered. We will of course have two wings, male and female. The wings are equipped with four floors. We reasoned the best way would be to sort by house, that way giving students at least some connections to their previous time at Hogwarts. You may choose a house to sleep with or you may take a sleeping quarter alone."

The answer was simple, wasn't it? After his thoughts earlier… He knew he didn't belong in any of the other houses.

"Alone." He answered without missing a beat.

McGonagall sighed, as if she had known the answer and resigned herself to it. "I thought, perhaps Ravenclaw…?"

Malfoy shook his head firmly. Yes, the returning Ravenclaw students would be the best of a bad choice. They would value his intelligence and take the logic from his trial; that he had been acquitted and forgiven. But it wouldn't be right. "Alone." He repeated firmly "At… At the top floor, so I can keep to myself."

"Solitude will not save you from your demons, Mister Malfoy." McGonagall replied in a quiet, sombre tone. "You will do well to remember that as this year progresses. You have been acquitted and pardoned, for many crimes you had no real choice in."

Malfoy nodded curtly. She had assured him of this many times, yet he didn't believe her. People didn't just forgive. They didn't just forget, not even if Harry bloody Potter had supported him. The thought of Potter startled him again. Merlin, an eighth year dormitory…. That would mean even more time around Potter. More time thinking about him, watching him… He had to solve his bloody problem with him, and soon.

"I must express to you that as the school resumes on Monday I will not be as available as I have been. My door will always be open, Mister Malfoy, but if there is anything else you need to ask, anything I can help with, now is the time to speak."

Malfoy didn't know what it was. He didn't know if it was the fact he had been subconsciously expecting her to challenge his… situation since she called upon him in the Great Hall. He didn't know if it was because she had taken the care to forewarn him of what the year ahead would bring, or if it was because she had helped him so much already.

He didn't know why, but he trusted her.

"I…" He trailed off, wondering how to tell her as their eyes met.

"I was wondering how long it would take for you to tell me, Mister Malfoy." McGonagall said stopping him and, to his surprise, she smiled.