A/N: So, I, uh, didn't really intend for this to be longer than the one-shot I posted in September. But. I had an idea. (This is a real problem - my life would be so much *simpler* if I could just stop having these ideas!)

Anyway, I've changed the rating and whatnot since this has taken a somewhat sexier turn than expected. This chapter is as far as it will go, though - I mean, don't get all excited about future smut because... you'll be disappointed. There are plenty of Drarry fics out there for you, but this one ain't it. Or something.

Not sure how much further I'll take this, or how often I'll update, seeing as NanoWrimo is starting...pretty much now. Certainly not every day.

Oh, and Happy Halloween, guys! 3


Draco was brooding.

He sat on his bed, in his tiny room, shut away from the nosy questions and hostile glares, scowling at the blank wall and kicking his feet restlessly against the bed-frame.

Thunk. Thunk-Thunk. Thunk.

The outright bullying had stopped, at least. He couldn't be too grateful, though - he was sure Potter had had a hand in it. It was so like him, sticking his do-gooder nose in everyone's business. In any case, the bullying had been replaced with indifference. Not the casual indifference that might include a cautious 'hello,' a tentative smile, hell, he'd even take a homework question. They shut him out, so he shut himself in. That way, he could pretend it was his choice, and retain a little dignity, which was the only thing he really had left.

He'd finally worked up the courage to ask Granger for the transfigurations books he needed, and had been brushed off as he'd expected. He'd hoped she'd give them to him without forcing him to involve McGonagall, but that was looking less and less likely. He rubbed his eyes, forcing back frustrated tears. He'd only come back this year because it had been a condition the Wizengamot had set on his pardon. He still couldn't quite believe that Harry fucking Potter had breezed into his family's trials, and successfully argued that Draco and Mother should go free. Well, mostly free. Mother was confined to the Manor, and Draco was required to return to Hogwarts to complete his schooling. Father had been sent to Azkaban anyway, but… well. It wasn't like he didn't deserve it. Draco and Mother had taken the news philosophically, and then spent the summer scrubbing the Manor, inside and out, with magic and by hand, and ridding it of everything that bore even a hint of dark magic. Father, if he ever got out of Azkaban, would likely die of apoplexy when he saw his study, but… they did it anyway. They had had their fill of dark magic.

Eighth year was shaping up to be a disaster. There had been some confusion when they first arrived, and there weren't enough beds in the houses - except Slytherin, but Draco tried not to think about the empty beds - and in the end, the castle had sprouted another tower especially for them. Draco still wasn't sure what he thought about that. On the one hand, he was incredibly grateful not to have to sleep next to the empty beds that should have held his friends. On the other… he had even fewer friends here than he would have in Slytherin. Blaise and Pansy, less deeply involved in the war, had been given the option to attend Beauxbatons for their final year, and had jumped at the chance. Traitors. Draco was the lone Slytherin eighth-year here, and he hated it. The professors didn't seem to know what to do with the returning eighth years, changed and marked by war, revered or bitter. Or, in Harry Potter's case, revered and bitter.

Draco sighed, flopping back on the bed. He did not want to think about Potter.

Thunk.

Draco jolted upright, hand automatically reaching for his wand.

Thunk.

Oh. The door. He relaxed, but kept his wand out, held loosely in his fingers.

"I'm coming!" he called, "hang on." He straightened his robe, glanced in the mirror that hung over the back of his door, checking to be sure the tears he'd been holding in all afternoon didn't show.

Thunk.

Draco rolled his eyes. "What do you want—" he sighed, as he swung the door open, then he looked at his visitor, and the sentence stuttered to a halt. "Er, Potter?" he finished, lamely.

"Malfoy." Harry stared at him, impassive, expressionless mask firmly in place.

Draco recovered his sarcasm and raised one eyebrow. "Are you lost?"

"No."

Draco felt the false bravado whoosh out of him. He sighed, relaxing his ramrod-straight posture and slumping against the doorframe. "So… Why are you here?"

Potter bent down, hefted a stack of books into his arms, and held them out to Draco. "Brought you these."

Draco caught his breath. 'These' were the two books McGonagall had told him to ask Granger for, and the others on Transfigurations that he'd not read yet - including the ones Madam Pince had marked as "missing."

He coughed to cover his confusion and pulled the familiar cloak of snark back around himself. He raised both eyebrows this time. "So. You're Granger's errand-boy, now?" He expected a reaction - was hoping for one. He could always get a reaction out of Potter. But this time he was disappointed.

Potter shrugged easily. "When it suits me."

They stared impassively at one another for a moment, until Draco decided it was too much effort and deflated again. "Not that I care," he said, scowling, "because I don't, but…why? Are you going to hex me?" He stepped back, suddenly suspicious.

Potter snorted. "Hardly."

Draco raised his eyebrow again, because it was easier than searching for the words he wanted. He hated being off-balance, and Potter was being particularly trying.

Potter understood. As usual. "She didn't want to come, I wanted to get away from her and Ron and their excessive PDA, and…"

"And?" Draco was not curious. He was not.

"I need a tutor."

Draco's mouth fell open, and he closed it with a click. When he felt certain he could control it, he said the only thing he could think of. "A tutor."

Harry looked around the empty corridor. It was too early for the eighth-years to be going to bed - they were all still lounging about in the common room. "Is there an echo in here, Malfoy? Or did part of your brain go missing, during the war?"

"Oh, har, har." Draco rolled his eyes. "What do you need a tutor for, Potter?"

He swept a hand through his messy curls, briefly exposing the lightning-bolt scar. "Transfigurations. Also, Potions."

"Me," Draco said, incredulous.

"Mm."

"…OK, I guess." He sighed. "I can't believe I'm doing this, but… sure. But you're actually going to have to work, Potter. I'm not just going to let you copy my work and call it your own."

"I know."

Draco didn't think he was imagining that Potter's smile had turned sheepish. "Good. Um. Fine. When would you like to—"

"I'm free now."

"Ah. Right. Let me, ah, we'll just—"

"Your room is fine."

Potter brushed past Draco and into his room, leaving Draco staring, flabbergasted, after him.

"Didn't your mother teach you to ask permission to enter someone's room, Potter?"

He realized his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth.

Potter's back tensed for a moment, his hands clenched into fists, then all the tension seemed to drain out of him. "Apparently not," he said quietly, back to Draco.

"Potter, look," Draco said, words stumbling over one another as he rushed to get them out, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

Potter shrugged, still not looking at him. "Don't worry about it. Funny enough, I believe you." He turned, a small smile teasing the edges of his lips. "Where should I put these?"

Draco remembered the stack of no-doubt quite heavy books, and rushed to take some from him. "Oh. Here." He set the ones he'd managed to snag from Potter's arms onto the cleared corner of his desk, and Potter followed suit.

"It's funny, Malfoy," Potter said, smirking as he turned to him, "but I expected your desk to be a lot neater." He looked pointedly at the stacks of scribbled-on papers, more of which were tacked messily on the wall above the desk, the assortment of quills and brushes jammed into a jar far too small to hold them, the jumble of ink bottles, and the pack of pencils that had come open, spilling in a pastel rainbow across his desk.

Draco sighed. "It is, usually. I've been working on something, and…"

He trailed off, gesturing vaguely, at a loss to explain the crazed mania that gripped his brain when he was in the throes of creative passion, how it was impossible to be neat and tidy until after he'd bled himself dry and tamed the beast inside him.

Potter smiled, a smile that held secrets and gave away none. "I know. I do it too." He turned away, studying a sketch Draco had done last week, staring out over the lake as the sun sank below the horizon and the colors bled out of the world.

Draco shook his head, feeling more off-balance than ever. "Um. Ok. So… where should we start?"

Potter shrugged. "Today's transfiguration?"

Draco stared at him. "Potter… You did that one perfectly in class. I saw you."

He didn't remember until he'd said it that he sat in front of Potter. He closed his eyes, mentally cursing, waiting for the hex, or at the very least an angry tirade.

After a moment, he cracked open one eye to find Potter giving him a crooked smile.

Draco scowled at him. "What?"

"Nothing." Potter's smile turned into a smirk.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a Potter-induced headache forming. He wondered idly what Madam Pomfrey would say, if he went to her for a pain potion, and told her that.

"Why do you need me to tutor you, then, if you don't actually need help?"

Potter opened his mouth, then closed it again. Frowned. "It's… I thought you would accept it more easily than the real reason. I didn't count on you watching me." The shadow of the smirk reappeared.

"Which is?"

He sighed. "I don't want to be an auror. I know that's what everyone expects of me. But… I'm done killing dark wizards. I've done what they wanted of me. I've seen more blood -" he looked at his hands - "spilt more blood than I could ever atone for. Why would I want to go into something that would force me to do it all over again?"

Draco stared at him as Potter scrubbed his hair into further disarray, expression sheepish. He'd had no idea Potter felt that way - though he could certainly understand it. It had been a mystery to him why the Boy Who Lived would want to go into the auror program. And here was the answer - it seemed that he didn't. But everyone else expected it.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked carefully

"Well, I wanted to get away from Ron and Hermione, for one."

"They didn't realize that you don't actually need help?"

Potter shrugged again. "I do need help, in Potions, at least. And I need help figuring out what I want to do. And I wanted to get to know you better. I feel like I missed an important chance, when I refused your hand that day."

Draco stared. Potter was full of revelations today, it seemed.

"O…K. All right. We'll start with the easy questions. First, what do you like?"

Potter held his empty hands out in front of him, turning them over, studying them. "Dunno. Never had occasion to find out."

Draco massaged his temples "This is going to take a while. What do I get out of it?"

"Besides the pleasure of my company?" The crooked grin was back. "I'll throw my weight around when you need it, help you get what you want."

Draco stared. "Anything?"

Potter nodded.

"That's a dangerous promise to make to a man like me, Potter." Draco glanced significantly at left wrist, covered right now by the sleeve of his school shirt.

"Call me Harry. And… I'm not worried. I've been watching you, too, Draco."

Oh. He swallowed, forced a note of bravado into his tone. "Like what you see?"

Harry's smile turned sharper, dangerous.

"Yes."

He stood, suddenly, stalking across the room toward Draco, who backed slowly away from the intense expression on Harry's face.

"Uh, Harry, what are you—"

He hit the wall with a quiet thunk, pressed his palms flat against the cool stones. He was on fire, helpless before those green eyes, and Harry kept moving forward, pressing their bodies together. Draco let out an embarrassing noise halfway between a sigh and a whimper as Harry leaned in and trailed fiery kisses along Draco's jaw and down his neck.

"You don't know how long I've wanted this," he muttered between kisses.

Draco's breath hitched. "Harry - ah - what about…about girl Weasley?"

Harry snorted against his neck. "What about her? We broke up when I left to hunt the Horcruxes - never got back together."

"Wh-why?"

Harry leaned back to look intently into Draco's eyes. "I did some thinking, after the war, that I'd been putting off. I realized that I wanted something else. Someone else."

"Me?" it was barely a whisper. Harry smiled.

"Yes."

He moved to return to kissing Draco's neck, but Draco pressed one hand against his chest, holding him in place.

"Harry. Wait."

He pouted. "You don't want me?"

"I do - Merlin, I do. But… Harry. This is… this is too fast. I can't - I need —"

"What do you need, Draco?"

Harry didn't move closer, but he did roll his hips slightly, just enough to send blood rushing from Draco's brain; sparkles danced around the edges of his vision.

"Oh, Harry - Merlin, stop."

Harry stopped, searched Draco's eyes intently, then moved back until they were no longer touching. "All right."

Draco nearly cried as the cold air hit his body, but he needed to say this.

"Harry; it's not that I don't want you, but… this is too fast. I need - I need to trust you first. I can't do this if it's just a one-time thing for you, if your heart's not in it."

Harry nodded, surprisingly not upset.

Draco bit his lip. "Sorry to disappoint you…"

"I can't say that I'm surprised. Disappointed… not really. I mean," the crooked grin made another appearance, "a little. But I want more than that too. I can wait."

He looked toward the door reluctantly. "I should probably go."

Draco took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. "Yes."

Harry nodded. He paused at the door. "Enjoy your 'light reading'"

Draco felt a ridiculous smile blooming on his face. "Mm. Oh, and Harry?"

"Yes?"

"I'll see if Slughorn will let us use the Potions classroom. And before we get together next time, I want you to do something for me."

"Yes?"

"Think back over the things we've learned - in classes and out of them - and write down at least five things that you enjoyed. Not that you enjoyed the result of, or felt like it was "good" or "right" - five things that you enjoyed doing."

Harry nodded. "I'll see you later, Draco."

The door clicked shut behind him, and Draco threw himself onto his bed with a groan. This was either going to be the best thing he'd ever done, or a complete fucking disaster.