As ever - thank you to my wonderful reviewers! LadyWhiteRose2015, Ern Estine 13624, PuppetPrince, SherlocksScard17, TazzieLuv13, Ava-Potter gal.

I've been especially happy to see some new reviewers/readers popping up - it's lovely to have you!

In fact, I was so happy with the response to the last chapter, I've decided to upload the next already! So if there's lots of mistakes I can only apologise, I proof read very quickly to get this chapter out to you. :)

Chapter Six

A Time For Many Things

It had been over a month since the quidditch game. The game had been followed by another each weekend when McGonagall agreed, much to everyone's delight, that the eighth years were to be allowed a bookable slot on the pitch each weekend in between the times when the different house teams trained. Harry was warmed by the way such a simple game could bring everyone together, giving them a way to find enjoyment in life again after the horrors of the war. Yes, Harry was warmed, but not entirely stupid; as enjoyable as quidditch was, it far from solved the problem of Malfoy's distance from the rest of the group. Anyone who thought that it would do had obviously taken a bludger to the head during one of their games; the distance between him and the rest of the eighth years remained a deep void which Harry sometimes thought would never be filled.

Their games continued, Malfoy sometimes joining them yet often not. Harry almost found himself living for the days when Malfoy did show up to a game. When he watched him in the air his guard was down; the wind flew through his hair and whipped at his cheeks, flushing them with the exertion of the game, his grey eyes were sharp and alert, taking in the strategy of the game. The lost soul behind the eyes was always forgotten with the thrill of the game, he looked almost –

Harry stopped his thoughts right there. He may have begun to accept (okay, rather, begun to sort of strangely enjoy) his avid interest in Malfoy since the moment on the staircase when Harry had asked him to join them – but he certainly wouldn't start to spend too long thinking about how Malfoy looked on his broom. Even if he did –

"Harry?" A voice jolted him from his thoughts and almost made him jump out of his skin. "Sorry, you were miles away." The voice instantly apologised and Harry did not need to look up to recognise Hermione settling beside him.

"Yeah, er- sorry, I was…" Harry trailed off looking down to the textbook in his lap; which actually had the Marauder's Map carefully folded under one of its pages. Last time Harry had checked – admittedly, not to long ago – the dot labelled 'Draco Malfoy' was in the library sharing a table with the dot labelled 'Terry Boot'. They weren't sat closely, but the library was – as usual on a Tuesday afternoon, with everyone in class whilst the eighth years followed increasingly strange timetables to fit their classes in – empty enough to have allowed either to sit elsewhere. This arrangement wasn't a surprise; despite not providing a miracle cure for Malfoy's isolation, his sporadic appearances at the weekly game had begun to build some tentative bridges. Most of the Ravenclaw's were beginning to speak to Malfoy again and, after a short period of hesitation, Malfoy had appeared to slip back into his old Slytherin alliance with the students. Although changed by the war, as everyone was, those in Ravenclaw never forgot their thirst and quest for knowledge (especially with N.E. approaching) and it would be hard for anyone to deny Malfoy's flair for potions. Given this it appeared, for the Ravenclaw's at least, that spending time with Malfoy to study was acceptable. However, the Hufflepuffs, and the rest of the Gryffindors, whilst accepting of him on the quidditch pitch to make up their numbers were not as accepting outside of the game. Harry huffed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. If they could just see that Malfoy wasn't the same, that he wasn't… bad, then he could join them in the common room, he could stop looking so lost behind his careful façade of calm cool, things could be normal.

But what was normal?

Would it be normal to see Malfoy, a Slytherin, reformed and forgiven Death Eater, joining in a game of Exploding Snap with a group of Hufflepuffs? That certainly wouldn't be normal. Harry doubted that normal even existed. There had been a war, lives had been lost, those left behind had all changed… It would take time for the dust to settle, for wounds to heal, for people like Harry to stop existing and start living before things could be described as normal.

"You've been watching him again, haven't you?" Hermione asked, although her tone suggested she already knew the answer. She shook her head somewhat pityingly as Harry caught her gaze, instantly making him flush a guilty red. "I'm not going to say anything to you Harry, I just think – you've done what you can for him. He's got to figure out if his life is worth living for himself. You need to start thinking about living your life."

Harry mulled over his reply. He could say that he hadn't possibly done everything he could – that he could try harder to include Malfoy, to cheer him up. He could say that Malfoy probably didn't have a clue about if his life was worth living or not. He could even say that he felt the same way. He could admit it, tell Hermione that his obsession was actually feeding from a deep understanding of Malfoy – the moment they had shared on the staircase over a month ago still bore in Harry's memory. They understood each other. Both lost in a way that no one else could quite comprehend. No words had been needed to tell Harry this, the fleeting connection between their eyes before Malfoy had turned away had been all he needed to figure it out. It was strange, Harry didn't know if the idea of Malfoy understanding him terrified, thrilled or disgusted him. Perhaps a little of all three.

Of course, he couldn't actually tell Hermione any of those things. Not when he'd only just considered them himself.

"There's a Hogsmeade visit this weekend, it was just announced. The first of the year now people feel a bit safer, so students can go and get Christmas presents." Hermione continued, clearly on a mission to think about living Harry's life for him. "Come with me and Ron, we'll invite Ginny too, it'll be good for you."

Harry didn't need to mull over his reply for that one. Inviting Ginny certainly would not be good for him. He didn't dislike her by any means and it wasn't as if they didn't speak – but they spoke only in the safety of the Gryffindor table, of the other students and their friends. Going with Ron and Hermione would be… Too much of a date. It would be awkward, raise expectations about things that were not to be expected….

"I don't know if that's a good idea." Harry muttered, throwing the textbook before him closed. Truth be told he hadn't been really reading it before Hermione showed up, anyway.

"We'll invite the others, too." Hermione quickly amended, determined not to let Harry slip away. "Neville, Seamus… Whoever. We could all go down together. Make a day of it. You'll enjoy it."

Resigning himself early, knowing that he would not hear the last of this from Hermione – and that she'd soon get Ron involved if he protested – Harry nodded, agreeing to the visit. His agreement made Hermione's face light up with happiness and Harry found himself smiling too. He might not be – as Hermione had noticed – living his life to the fullest right now, but at least he could still try and keep his friends happy.

"I know… I'm not trying to push you, Harry. I know it's hard. I know you gave up so much more than everyone else…" She swallowed uncomfortably, placing a gentle hand on his arm "But I know you. I know you're not happy. Other people might not have noticed but… I'm worried about you. You spend all your time obsessing over Malfoy, you need to think about rebuilding your own life, not other peoples." Her voice was nothing more than a whisper as she finished, clearly apprehensive about the words that had left her lips.

"I'm trying, Hermione." Harry replied, and it was true. What his friend didn't know, however, that it was his obsessing over Malfoy that was helping him rebuild his own life. Each time Malfoy joined a quidditch game, each time Harry saw a little more joy and a little less loss in those grey eyes, the more alive he felt himself. It was strange, but Harry had a feeling he couldn't shake that if Malfoy found his way then Harry could too… If he could just find a way to make Malfoy happy… Make his eyes shine as brightly, make his body look as alive as it did when they played quidditch…

With that, Ron entered the common room with a string of curse words regarding a detention he'd managed to get himself – for what, Harry hadn't quite noticed as he focused more on the relief washing over him that, at least for now, the uncomfortable feelings Hermione had just unwittingly forced him to face could be forgotten.

-o-

December swept into the castle, icy and cold but with a glimmer of Christmas cheer. The Hogsmeade visit had cheered most students no end and the prospect of soon returning home to visit family and friends had swept the students of the castle into an almost permanent cheering charm. It was the final week of classes and there was a smile on the face of every student in the school.

Well, except for one.

Harry would check his map frequently, often finding Malfoy hard to locate within the castle walls which made him feel uncomfortable. When he could find Malfoy, he was often up in the Owlery. Given the time of year coupled with the fact Malfoy was – as part of his probation – contained to Hogwarts for the entire year, it was likely Malfoy was writing to his mother more often. Of course, Malfoy wouldn't be returning to his family – what was left of it – this Christmas.

"So mum says she wants us at the Burrow on Christmas, Hermione wants to see her folks but we'll visit over there later" Ron explained to Harry who had only been half listening to his rattle about the upcoming festivities "She needs us more, Hermione knows that. It's the first Christmas… Without… Well yeah, so we said we'd go over to hers for the last week of the holidays, but you'll be fine mate, everyone'll still be at ours so…"

"I'm not coming," Harry blurted out; unaware he had even made the decision before he said it out loud.

Ron simply stared at him for a moment, as if struggling to understand what he'd just said "What?"

"I'm going to stay here, at Hogwarts." Harry clarified although that much was obvious. He cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly, meeting Ron's gaze. "I want you and Hermione to enjoy your Christmas… All of your family to enjoy Christmas."

"You know your family too, mate." Ron pointed out in a tone that suggested he felt that delivering this fact was like he was pointing out that Voldemort was dangerous.

"I know, I appreciate it, you know I do. But you and Hermione deserve some time on your own, and with Ginny, well, you know, it's awkward…" Harry trailed off, shrugging in a way which apologised for the pathetic nature of his excuses; not that they were excuses, they were both valid reasons. Ron and Hermione did deserve some time alone – Harry didn't fancy playing third wheel for two weeks - and it would be awkward with Ginny. Yes, the Weasley's would all be home close to Christmas, but George had the shop to run, Bill had his life with Fleur, Charlie had returned to Romania… The long stretch of the two weeks, including a week without Ron or Hermione, would undoubtedly be beyond uncomfortable for himself and Ginny. That was reason enough, he justified, without having to accept the larger, more persistent reason for his desire to stay behind at Hogwarts…

"Okay mate, I get it." Ron sighed "Mum'll go spare, if she asks I tried a lot harder than this to convince you." He warned before breaking into a grin and clapping Harry on the back in a friendly gesture. Harry smiled himself, glad the tension of the moment had lifted with little difficulty. He was about to respond when Malfoy, standing tall with his usual guards drawn across his face, entered the common room and swept across the floor up the staircase. Harry was unaware he was still staring at the empty bottom step until Ron's voice brought him back to the present moment.

"You be careful with him, staying here." Ron warned, nodding after the foot of the stairs where Malfoy had just been.

"What?" Harry asked, somewhat confused, careful? With Malfoy? What did Ron think he knew – had Hermione picked something up in their conversation a few weeks ago? Before his thoughts could splutter elsewhere, his best friend spoke again.

"I'm not saying he's evil. Mate, I don't like the git – never will - but I agree with you, he's not a dark wizard. But I've seen him. Staring at you. It's creepy…" Ron trailed off with a shudder and Harry's features went slack with surprise. Malfoy, staring at him? How? When? Surely Harry would have noticed – he spent enough time obsessing over Malfoy, surely he'd catch him out if he was doing the same?

"He stares at me?" Harry asked incredulously.

Ron nodded, mistaking Harry's surprise for horror. "I dunno, maybe he thinks he owes you. He thanked Hermione, didn't he, 'cause he thought it was her at his trial. Maybe he thinks he's got another life debt, what with you saving his arse from Azkaban and everything."

Harry was hardly listening as Ron prattled on about life debts being a serious matter for pureblood wizards and how Harry should watch out for Malfoy over the holidays. He tuned Ron's voice out to the point where he would be aware if he stopped speaking, but could focus more on his own thoughts. Malfoy, staring at him. So maybe he had felt… whatever it was Harry had felt… that day on the staircase too? Harry shook his head. He hated to admit it, but Ron was probably right. As strange as the feelings that Harry were battling with were, he was certain Malfoy wouldn't be thinking anything of the same. Harry was imagining things, they didn't understand each other – okay, maybe Harry understood Malfoy, he could recognise the despair, the lost hope in his grey eyes – but Malfoy wouldn't waste any thoughts on him.

"I will, Ron, yeah." Harry muttered with what he hoped appeared to be a grateful nod as he sensed Ron had come to the end of his monologue. It must have fit well as the redhead nodded back in response, sitting back on the sofa and flicking open a copy of 'Quidditch Quarterly'.

"Better make the most of this while it lasts, Hermione'll have her colour coded revision timetables ready for both of us when we come back after Christmas." He said, his tone was grim with the thought but he wore a slight smile – clearly Hermione's overbearing need to organise the boys N.E.W.T study schedules had been transformed from annoying to endearing in Ron's mind.

"Tell me about it." Harry replied, giving a chuckle as he returned to his own book and flipped the page, watching the familiar dot labelled 'Draco Malfoy' lying on his bed in the upmost eighth year chamber.

-o-

It was the last lesson before Christmas break – Transfiguration - and Malfoy was absent. Although he often missed lessons, he always turned up to Potions, Hermione had told him he never missed Arithmancy and he was always in attendance for Professor McGonagall's lessons. Although as Head of Hogwarts her Transfiguration classes had been taken up by another professor she taught the eighth year group as fitting their classes in around the rest of the students was proving difficult. Harry wondered if he was running late, then almost laughed to himself at the thought. He may not have been brought up with the right morals, but Malfoy had been raised to be ever aware of the importance of tardiness and was never late – unless for effect, when he would stroll into Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures lessons halfway through, a cocky eyebrow raised as if challenging him to punish him. Harry shook the thought away, that wasn't Malfoy anymore. He'd changed.

"As I am sure you are all undoubtedly all too aware when you return from Christmas break your N.E.W.T's will be drawing ever closer. With the difficulty of your timetables were are significantly behind on our Transfiguration syllabus. Today we begin the study of Animagus – if you do not know what an Animagus is, please leave my classroom now." McGonagall's gaze travelled the room slowly, her thinly pressed lips smiling as no one moved. "Indeed, becoming an Animagus will not be a N.E.W.T expectation, merely a sound knowledge of the written exam. It requires a very high level of magical competence and a very real desire to take animal form. All these things, and more, you will learn over the holidays. I expect 2 rolls of parchment detailing the conditions, mastery and magic of Animagus after the holidays." Despite the groan which swept the classroom – two rolls of parchment at Christmas! - McGonagall pressed on. As she continued Harry gazed to the empty space which Malfoy would usually occupy. He never missed McGonagall's lessons, she had offered him sanctuary and he respected her. So where was he? He let McGonagall's voice wash over him for the rest of the lesson, picking up bits here at there…

"The witch or wizard has no control over his form… His Animagus form will be somewhat of a 'spirt animal', taking the form of which connects most with the witch or wizards personality, with their needs…"

"Despite this, the animal will display some traits, such as colouring, which are the same as its human form…"

"The magic surrounding Animagus is extremely advanced – well beyond N.E.W.T level competency – only a minor percentage of witches and wizards accomplish it…"

"Usually, the first change will be mastered after a great emotional upheaval, although each consecutive change after that will become second nature to the witch or wizard who masters the art…."

The bell rung loudly and a chorus of cheers escaped the room. McGonagall, who would normally be stern at such a display, instead smiled fondly at the students before her.

"Enjoy your holidays," She said, closing the textbook on her desk as she sunk into her seat "But not too much – there will be no excuse from the 2 rolls on Animgaus study. We will not have time to visit this topic again and you must be prepared for its potential appearance on the examination."

Most of the class were only half listening to her words, hurriedly packing away their quills, books and notes with the anticipation of collecting their belongings and heading home.

"Mister Potter, a word?" McGonagall asked from her desk at the front and Harry looked up, nodding in her direction.

"Mate, the express leaves in half an hour – with us being off timetable were behind everyone else – we'll have to get going," Ron said, pulling Harry back before he went to McGonagall.

"Of course, go, have a good Christmas." Harry said, giving Ron a brief, manly 'back slap' hug before Hermione pulled him into a much bigger one.

"You too, Harry. Write to us, won't you? Look after yourself. Try to… Try to enjoy yourself. Remember what I said… You need to live your life." She whispered into his hair as she hugged him and all Harry could do was nod in response. Releasing her, he gave Ron and Hermione a final wave before heading up to McGonagall's desk.

"Yes, Professor?"

"I heard you're staying with us for Christmas, Mister Potter." McGonagall began, flicking her wand to summon a chair from across the room to sit beside her desk, gesturing for Harry to sit.

"Yeah, er… I am?" Harry asked, wondering why this was a cause for concern.

"You are probably aware that you and Mister Malfoy are the only two eighth years who are remaining with us. In fact, you are two of the few in the school. Record low numbers staying behind, after the war, people want to be with their families…" She trailed off, a sad, wistful expression tugging at her features, no doubt recalling those they had both lost. Clearing her throat, she continued, "I have noticed, Mister Potter, that you appear to have taken an… Interest, in Mister Malfoy recently."

Harry's cheeks coloured at McGonagall's words and he didn't know why. Just what was she implying? Sure, Harry had felt a lot of things. He'd felt like he needed to save Malfoy, like they were both lost, like saving Malfoy would save him, like they understood each other… But there was something about the tone of McGonagall's voice, something that implied…

"I mean my comments to have no implications." She said as if reading Harry's mind. "I simply wished to thank you – Mister Malfoy may never have been my favourite student, but he was a young boy who was seriously misled, misunderstood and horrendously mistreated. He regrets his actions from the war deeply. He must find a way to forgive himself. He must find a way to forget the past, move from mere existence to life." She paused, carefully placing her gaze to Harry, her eyes boring into his, the look so intense it made Harry want to squirm. "I feel that you, also, must find a way to do this. You were raised so young to believe your destiny was to defeat Voldemort. You too were a young boy, misled, misunderstood and – yes – mistreated. You provided a great service to wizard kind, but that weight should never have been placed on your young shoulders."

Harry swallowed thickly as McGonagall paused. He had never seriously – only in anger – questioned what had been billed as his destiny. He had accepted his life, accepted his duty, accepted what was expected and he had provided it. So had Malfoy. Two boys, two different sides of the war. Both lost, both trying to figure out what life held for them now.

McGonagall nodded as if she was watching the gears in Harry's mind turn with her words. "I felt that my purpose here today would be to point out to you that you and Mister Malfoy were more alike than you thought, however, I see you appear to have reached that conclusion yourself."

Harry looked down. He had, that day a couple of months ago, when they had shared the moment on the stairs. He had brushed it away since his conversation with Ron, convincing himself that not only did Malfoy not feel the connection, but Harry had imagined the whole things too, but with McGonagall's words, it all came flooding back.

"Christmas is a time for many things, Mister Potter. I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round, as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable time; the only time I know of when witches and wizards seem by one consent to open their closed hearts freely and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave." Harry rose his eyes back to McGonagall's as she spoke, her words beautifully raw and meaningful. "I feel this message, particularly its final words, is one Mister Malfoy must be taught to believe; not in the way he may have needed to in years gone by, but in seeing himself as higher than his fellow students, but now in seeing himself as not beneath, but an equal to us."

"Why… You could tell himself, Professor… I mean…" Harry muttered awkwardly, trying to avoid the thick, heavy feeling lining his stomach at her words.

"Believe me, Harry, I have done so. Not in so many words, but I have tried. I feel, somehow, that you may have more success than me." Her eyes twinkled in a most un-McGonagall like way as she spoke and she rose to her feet. "Goodbye, and good luck."

With that she left the classroom, leaving Harry numb under the weight of the words she'd spoken. He had no idea how long he sat there, it was dark outside, he noted, but that early darkness was expected at this time of year. The fog of his thoughts didn't leave him as he trailed back through the school, returning to the tower where the eighth year dorms were. A faint rumble in his stomach told him he must have missed dinner, he vaguely thought about raiding the stash of Chocolate Frog's he knew Ron kept under his bed before a sight stopped him in his tracks.

Malfoy, curled up in the arm chair in front of the fire with a book in his lap. He would have looked peaceful if the sound of the portrait hole door closing behind Harry had not jolted him from his reading.

"Potter" He said, somewhat startled, closing the book before him – Advanced Artihmancy Aide – and unfolding his legs to stand "I didn't think you'd – I thought you'd gone with Weasley and Granger."

"No, I'm staying for Christmas." Harry replied, taking in with alarm the way Malfoy rose from his seat. This was the first step, he knew it, don't mess it up now. "Don't go – I mean no point – er… The common rooms plenty big enough for both of us." He shrugged, cursing inwardly at his monumentally awkward mess up. Why did he have to mumble like an idiot?

Eyeing him carefully, Malfoy nodded and sank back into his chair. Harry held back a sigh of relief and sank into a chair – not the one opposite Malfoy, but not too far away. The pair lapsed into a silence, an uncomfortable tension prickling the air. After a few moments passed there was an audible crack and a house elf appeared beside him. "Mister Potter, sir, Professor McGonagall noticed you did not attend the feast, sir, and she asked me to bring you some food." With a flourish the house elf whipped a cloth from a tray he was holding and presented an entire pumpkin pie and a goblet of juice. He placed it down on the table before him and bowed before disappearing with another crack. Harry felt a tug in his heart for Dobby as he watched after where the house elf had gone, Dobby wouldn't have had to have been told Harry hadn't eaten to bring him a plate bursting with food…

Now was not the time to dwell on upsetting memories, Harry's stomach told him as it rumbled at the sight before him. He took a slice of the pie and pulled it towards him, digging in. As he did so he caught Malfoy's gaze watching him over the top of his book. A brainwave hit him – pumpkin pie, Malfoy's favourite.

"Want some?" Harry asked, nodding toward the pie. Malfoy looked at him sceptically, considering for a moment before apparently deciding the pie, brought by a house elf not moments ago, couldn't be poisoned. He nodded in thanks, flicking his wand toward an old copy of The Prophet and transfiguring it into a fine china plate to load a slice of pie onto.

"Impressive." Harry commented and Malfoy nodded, once again without the usual arrogant air he would have once taken at such a complement – not that Harry would have given him such a complement. Silence stretched between them as they ate and Harry couldn't help but say "You weren't there today. Transfiguration."

Malfoy looked off guard for a moment, his eyes giving away something Harry couldn't quite figure out before he shrugged, his expression once again neutral. "Wasn't feeling well" he responded. You look fine enough now, Harry almost said as he watched Malfoy dig into the pie once more but he bit his lip, holding back the comment. Don't push it, he told himself. They returned to their food plates which were cleared once empty and Malfoy returned to his book. Harry spent a moment watching him before pulling out his Transfiguration textbook, opening it on the chapter on Animagus. Two rolls of parchment to figure out, he may as well start now…

The pair sat, reading together for hours and the fire in the grate had died to ash as Harry looked up from the chapter he was only halfway through, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he looked up. Malfoy, book forgotten, lay sprawled out with his legs over the arm of his chair, fast asleep. His sleep, however, looked anything but peaceful. His brow was furrowed and his arm twitched as he moved in his sleep. It was clear he was having a nightmare. Harry watched for a while, wondering what visited Malfoy in his nightmares. He was sure he had many to choose from, shuddering as he recalled some of the things he'd said during his trial. Harry couldn't help but wonder if they shared some nightmares, if the fire in the Room of Requirement haunted Malfoy as it did Harry.

He watched until Malfoy's furrowed brow relaxed and he let out a long, drawn-out snore and rolled over, face buried into the back of the chair. With nothing more to see Harry rose to his feet and retired to his bed.

With a final look over his shoulder at the figure he'd left sleeping, he seriously considered finding the house elf who'd thought to bring pumpkin pie of all dishes and buying them a Christmas present.

That night his dreams began as they often did. Malfoy close to burning in the fast licking flames, Harry on a broom throwing down a hand to save him – but then their hands clasped and he pulled Malfoy onto his broom, his arms looping around Harry's waist as he slipped behind him and the rose from the flames, higher and higher as if the ceiling didn't exist, flying together, far away into the darkness.

Note: McGonagall's words about Christmas aren't mine at all, they're a slightly edited version of a Charles Dickens quote about Christmas that I love. :)