I am a question to the world

Not an answer to be heard

Or a moment that's held in your arms

And what do you think you'd every say

I won't listen anyway

You don't know me

And I'll never be what you want me to be

-John Rzeznik

The bedroom felt refreshingly cool after a short, scaldingly hot, shower. Harry towel dried his hair as he watched Malfoy with a weary eye. Malfoy stood with his back to Harry, staring out the far window with his arms wrapped around his torso. His blonde hair still gleamed with wetness from his shower, making it reflect the moonlight even more brilliantly, shimmering like stars caught in a silver sky. There was something almost ethereal about him standing there, soft and silent as a ghost.

"Enjoying the view, Potter?" Harry jumped, flushing at the realization that he had, in fact, been staring. He walked quickly over to his bed, throwing the towel over the headboard and exchanging it for a shirt. He threw the thin cotton over his head, consciously refusing to look at the other boy.

"You've been doing it all day," Malfoy continued, turning towards him. "Looking for something?"

Of course Harry was looking for something. He was looking for an explanation—how an ex Death Eater had managed to find himself in the Burrow just weeks after Voldemort's defeat. Moreover, how the entire Weasley family had seemed perfectly fine with it. He still couldn't believe how George and Ginny had banded against him, as if they'd forgotten all the pain that Malfoy and his father had caused their family.

"Do you blame me?" Harry seethed.

"Don't answer a question with another question, Potter."

Harry glared at him, his muscles instinctually tensing the same way they always had around Malfoy—poised and ready to fight. "And since when am I required to answer all the questions you ask me, Malfoy?"

Malfoy's expression darkened. "Feeling uncharacteristically witty today, are we?"

"Call it what you will." Harry straightened defiantly. "I just don't think its fair that you expect me to answer all your questions when you've answered none of mine."

"And do you expect the same sort of exchange from the weasel and his little mudblood girlfriend?"

Harry started forward. "Don't talk about them like that," he hissed with a thunderous clarity.

Malfoy didn't back away from Harry's advance. In fact, he only seemed more encouraged. "Why not?"

"Because you're not worth the dirt on their shoes!" Harry could feel himself becoming incontrovertibly riled. What was it about Malfoy that always did this to him?

"Is that really what you still think of me?" Malfoy's voice was the mirror of Harry's; smooth and acidic. "Are you really that conceited?"

"Conceited?"

"I made you an offer on the train at Hogwarts."

Harry faltered. That hadn't been the rebuttal he'd expected. "So?"

"I made you an offer, and you walked away. Actually, I say walk, but I think ran is a more appropriate word."

"What's your point?"

Malfoy stiffened, and Harry saw his fingers curl into fists at his sides. "Why did you run?"

"I ran because I can't stand the sight of you," Harry huffed.

"Stop being an arse and answer the damn question. Did you not believe I was sincere?"

Harry's eyes narrowed, studying Malfoy's unreadable expression. "I don't know."

There was a pronounced pause. "You…don't know?"

"Well what the hell do you want me to think, Malfoy?" Harry exclaimed, moving towards the other boy. "Did you expect everything to just change when every time I look at you I see the person who helped kill Dumbledore? When you made my life a living hell every chance you got? Do you remember? Or has it all slipped out of that pretty blonde head of yours?"

They were mere inches from each other now. Malfoy's eyes had become downcast during Harry's outburst, preventing Harry from witnessing any emotion they might have held. All the memories—all the hatred—was rushing back now, and it was all Harry could do not to throw himself at the Slytherin and wrap his fingers around his throat.

When Malfoy did look up, there was the smallest hint of mirth glinting in the light that caught his eyes. "You think I'm pretty?"

Harry froze at the unexpected answer. He closed his eyes, sighed, and turned away. "Look, if you're just going to turn this into a joke then—"

Malfoy scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. "That's what this is to you, isn't it? A joke? You already seem to have made up your mind about the whole thing. Hell, you made up your mind when you were eleven years old, and even now you're too stubborn to change it. You're just like everybody else; always assuming they know how people are. Well, Potter, you don't know me." Malfoy looked away, his chin lifting so that his profile caught the light of the moon. "I thought that maybe you would have been different after the war, that maybe you would have at least made an attempt to see through what happened at school."

Harry whirled back towards Malfoy, his fists balled. "See through it?"

Even in the moonlight, Harry could see that Malfoy's cheeks were now red with anger. "Face it, Potter, you're so wrapped up in your golden, shining idea about what's right and what's wrong that you don't spare a shred of thought to anything else! Well I have a news flash for you—there were other people besides you who were affected by this war! You think that you're the only one who experienced it? You think your life was the only one that was rough?"

"Oh yes, I'm sure all that plotting and ordering your goons around was really hard on you!"

Malfoy ignored him. "Where do you think I was all of last year? While you were out roaming the countryside and doing Merlin knows what, where do you think I was day in and day out?"

"I—" Harry fumbled, finding himself unable to respond the question. He supposed that he had been at Malfoy Manor. But then that would mean…

Malfoy's expression was hard and unflinching. "I see you've worked it out."

Shock landed a swift punch in his gut. Harry took a deep breath and let it back out slowly. "How often was he there?"

"All the time."

"Merlin, Malfoy…" Harry pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead for a moment before pushing his hair back. "I just—I can't deal with this right now." He slid past Malfoy to sit on his bed.

But Malfoy only followed him, looming over him like a tower. Harry pointedly refused to look up at him. "So this is the savior of the wizarding world's response." Malfoy said, his words practically dripping with malice. "He hears something that doesn't perfectly fit into his realm of stereotypical beliefs and so he just ignores it. Brushes it aside because he can't deal with it."

"Or maybe I just don't care," Harry spat.

"He had me tortured you know," Malfoy's voice was colder than snow. "For not killing Dumbledore like I was supposed to. He had Snape and my father do it, and made my mother watch."

"Stop it, Malfoy."

"They strung me up in the great room and while Snape messed around in my head, my father blasted me with curses you've never even heard of. My mother screamed so much she couldn't speak for days."

"Stop!"

"He did other things to me too. Things that would make you sick—"

"—I said stop!" Harry launched himself to his feet, shoving Malfoy back. "Why are you telling me this? What the hell do you want from me?"

Malfoy stared at him, his eyes wild and glistening. "I want you to recognize that you're still trapped in that world!"

"What world?"

"The world where I'm evil and you're good, and Ginny and I could never be friends because I'm a Slytherin and she's a Gryffindor!" Malfoy swallowed thickly. "We've grown up, Potter. It's not that simple anymore."

"Yes it is," Harry said. "Yes it is that simple, because you haven't changed. I know you."

A strange sort of grin bowed Malfoy's lips. "Whatever you think you know, you're wrong. You don't know the first thing about me."

And for the first time, Harry looked at Malfoy and honestly couldn't tell who was right.