I can't believe it, you of all things

It's been a while; memories deem some kind of anthem

Lingering, images settle internally

Ribbons and detours meant nothing to me

Swaying our sentiments, pulling our strings

Tempting me softly, but killing our dream

You said it's over, but maybe

It's the same old thing

-Silversun Pickups

Harry awoke the next morning feeling oddly, yet pleasantly, warm. He shuffled, trying to lull himself back to sleep when he noticed that the warmth was radiating out of whatever he clutched in his arms. His fingers traced sleepily over the object, recognizing the smooth texture as skin.

Harry's eyes jolted open. He inhaled sharply, and regretted it immediately. The smell of mint and spice enveloped him, threatening to render his mind incapable of all sensible thought. Shakily, he rose into a sitting position, eyes captured by the sleeping blonde that lay next to him, and his heart vibrating like the fervent pattering of wings.

When had they fallen asleep last night? And—by Merlin—what was he doing in bed with Malfoy?

He racked his brain, trying to remember. They had been talking, with about as much normalcy as had ever existed between them. Of course Malfoy's side of the conversation had consisted mostly of sarcastic remarks and over-inflated vocabulary, but at least neither of them had felt the need to draw their wand. Somewhere along the way they had laid down to get more comfortable, and the next thing Harry knew—

With a content sigh, Malfoy shifted in closer, his arm brushing across the length of Harry's thigh as he brought it up to curl it under his head. Stifling the sudden shock that jetted down his spine, Harry inched backwards towards the wall, eyes wide and breath short.

Then something caught his stare.

During the night, Malfoy's shirt had become rucked up over the line of his ribs. Alabaster skin glistened in the sunlight, broken apart by patches of burns and jagged scars. The memory of the night before came upon him, unbidden. He had Snape and my father do it, and made my mother watch. Harry shuddered. He couldn't help but wonder if last night's dream wasn't the worst of the nightmares that plagued Malfoy's mind.

"You know," Malfoy whispered groggily, "I don't really like it when people stare at me. Especially when I'm trying to sleep."

Harry felt a blush creep onto his face as he realized he had, once again, been staring. "I wasn't staring." he winced as he heard his voice crack.

Malfoy raised a pale brow, still refusing to open his eyes. "You really are the worst liar."

Harry wrinkled his nose, looking around and trying to figure out a way to get off of the bed without crawling over top of Malfoy. At the moment, shoving Malfoy out of bed seemed like the best option. "If that was meant as an insult, it fell a bit short."

"Because anything Slytherins are good at couldn't possibly be something worthwhile?" Malfoy pouted, turning on his side and burying his face into the down pillow.

"Slytherin traits aren't exactly something I strive towards. As a matter of fact, I don't think they're something any normal person strives towards."

"Except Slytherins."

"Naturally."

A small smirk curled at the edges of Malfoy lips, and he finally forced both of his eyes open. They were a dazzling silver in the morning light, like shards of glass glittering in the sun. Harry's world went very still, frozen in the bright midmorning glow as the air around them seemed to take on a fragile tension. He looked at Malfoy, inexplicably drawn into his mercurial gaze. A series of emotions flickered across the grey pools, and left Harry wondering what exactly went on beneath the surface. Last night, he thought that perhaps he might have seen a glimpse of it, but he didn't trust himself enough to be sure.

We've grown up, Potter. It's not that simple anymore.

Harry's eyes drifted to the Dark Mark on Malfoy's arm, and for some reason he found himself remembering that Snape had one to match.

"You're doing it again."

Harry frowned at him. "Doing what?"

"Staring."

Harry huffed, turning his gaze down to the white sheets and picking at one of the lose threads he found.

Groaning, Malfoy arched his spine and stretched, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "So where's the coffee?"

"The coffee? I—er—don't think any of the Weasleys drink coffee."

"Uncivilized heathens," Malfoy pouted.

"I'm not quite sure that follows."

Humming, Malfoy twisted in the sheets, looking warm and oddly content. They sat there for a moment, taking in each other's presence. It felt strange to be so close without any punches being thrown.

"Potter," Malfoy's voice was still rough and hazy with sleep. "Did I…kiss you last night?"

Harry's brows shot up, his face heating once more. He couldn't help but look back at Malfoy, and was unsurprised to find a taunting grin waiting for him. "How about we not mention that ever again."

"So I did then," Malfoy said.

"Ever. Thanks."

Malfoy stretched out his limbs and pushed himself up onto his elbows. Wisps of white-blonde hair fell across his forehead before they were pushed back by a long-fingered hand. "That bad, was it?"

"You're not deaf, are you?"

Malfoy's laugh vibrated the air and made the bed creak. "I wasn't aware that the prospect of kissing me disgusted you so much."

"It's Voldemort who disgusts me," Harry replied grimly. "I know that you…thought I was him."

Malfoy hummed, somehow able to hold on to the ghost of his smirk. "It's still hard for me to believe that he's dead. I still wake up most mornings in my room thinking that he'll be there when I go downstairs for breakfast."

Harry shuddered. He couldn't imagine having to live with something like that. "Didn't anyone try to help, or…" his voice trailed off.

"Snape did what he could," Malfoy said, shrugging. "But he had his own problems to deal with."

Harry's heart stuttered. He looked at Malfoy, wondering how much he really knew about Snape. Harry had said enough to clear the man's name, but beyond that he'd shared very little. Not even Ron and Hermione knew what he'd seen in Snape's memories. But Malfoy's face was as smooth and blank as an eggshell. If Malfoy did know anything, he didn't seem inclined to volunteer the information, so Harry decided he wouldn't either.

Malfoy raised a pale brow. "So are we still not mentioning it?"

"Malfoy!"

Malfoy raised a hand to sweep away the hair that fringed across his brow. He turned his head to look up at the ceiling, his eyes glazing over with a bland sort of forlornness. "There's no need to feel embarrassed about it. It didn't mean anything."

"I know it didn't mean anything," Harry said, barely aware of his tongue as it tripped over the words.

"Okay."

"Okay."

There was a sudden sharp rapping at the door and the sound was like being doused with a bucket of ice water. Harry's eyes bulged as he practically launched himself off of the bed. He landed hard on the floor, eliciting an amused chuckle from Malfoy. Moments later, Ron entered the room, looking rather pale.

Ron raised a questioning brow at the scene before him. Harry vainly tried to force the flush from his face while Malfoy's laughter grew to fill the room. "Um," Ron began shiftily, "breakfast is ready."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said rigidly, picking himself up off the ground.

Ron replied with a curt nod. "Oh and, Malfoy?" Malfoy managed to subdue his laughter and push himself up. "I think we would all feel better if you left as soon as possible."

Malfoy's smile didn't drop, but Harry saw a flash of anger spark in his eyes. "Hospitable as always I see."

Ron started forward. "Look here, Malfoy—"

Not wanting the confrontation build any further, Harry jumped in his path. "Ron please, don't start—"

"No, Potter!" Malfoy's voice was harsh. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his chin jutting out in its usual arrogant fashion. "Let Weasley say what he wants." His eyes met Ron's with a challenging glare.

Harry glanced back at Malfoy anxiously, silently entreating him to back down.

Malfoy, of course, ignored him.

Ron rose to meet the challenge with a fiery passion. "You think you can just come here, barge into my house after what your kind did to my sister? To my father? Whatever spell you've cast on the rest of my family won't work on me! You're not welcome here!" Harry watched in silent amazement as the color of Ron's face slowly blended with the color of his hair, while Malfoy sat, as cold and silent as stone.

"My kind?" Malfoy repeated.

"I know you're up to something." Ron was growing vehement now. "You're a fucking evil bastard, Malfoy, and nothing you do or say can ever change that, so—"

"Ron," Harry started softly.

"—stay the fuck away from my family—"

"Ron, please, enough."

"—and stay the fuck away from Harry, or by Merlin I swear—"

"Ron!"

"You'll beg me to kill you before I'm done!" With that last angry flare Ron turned and charged out of the room, slamming the door behind him and leaving Harry and Malfoy in a deafening silence.

Harry could feel himself trembling lightly as he turned back towards Malfoy. There was something too unemotional in the way he sat, some detachment that Harry couldn't quite fathom. He was only the shell of himself now, all function and logic.

"Malfoy?" Harry started towards him, but stopped when their eyes met.

There was a blank and cold fury welling in those grey depths. "He's right you know."

Harry's chest tightened. "Malfoy—"

Malfoy held up a stiff hand, his eyes dropping to the floor. His lips then curled into a baleful smile that sent unpleasant chills down Harry's spine. "So much for progress." The sheets fell and rippled around him as he rose to his feet.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean?" Malfoy's tone was biting. "Honestly…I'm such a bloody idiot."

"What?" Harry could feel something between them slipping away, dissipating like smoke in the wind.

Malfoy didn't seem to hear him. "Wasting my breath on mudbloods and weasels."

"Malfoy—"

"And you," Malfoy's eyes sharped. "You would be here with them. Hiding here in this place where all they do is pretend, and act as if none of it ever happened. It's pathetic."

Harry knew that Malfoy was trying to distract him—trying to turn everything around so that Harry wouldn't be able to see the confusion in his eyes anymore. "Shut up—"

"They don't need you anymore, you know. There's nothing left for you to protect them from. They probably won't even notice when you leave. I bet—"

Harry flung himself at the other boy, who went down rather easily. Harry pinned Malfoy firmly beneath him, "Stop it! Stop doing this!" Harry spat, his temper flaring like a wild flame. "Stop trying to pick a fight with me!"

"What is it with you and being on top of me?" Malfoy bared his teeth. "Didn't get enough last night?"

Harry nearly choked. "Malfoy!"

"Oh, spare me of your sensitivities! Stop acting so scandalized and get the hell off of me!"

It took a moment for Harry to gather his bearings. "No." Harry tightened his hold, barely realizing that his grip was becoming painfully tight. "Now you said you meant what you said on the train, right?"

Malfoy's pale eyes glared up at him furiously. "Get. Off."

"So that's it then?" Harry searched the livid face below him, tracing the sharp, pointed features. "Ron gets you a bit riled up and you just fold like an accordion?"

"What the hell kind of insane muggle analogy is that?"

"Tell me what you said on the train was a lie," Harry said. "Tell me that and I'll let you up."

Malfoy froze beneath him. "It wasn't a lie."

"Then allow me to go against my better judgement and give you a chance."

Several emotions passed over Malfoy's face, but they were far too quick for Harry to catch. It finally settled on something akin to mistrust. "You only want to give me a chance because of what you saw in my dream, not because you actually believe me."

Again, Harry didn't respond. Somehow both yes and no felt like untruthful answers.

"So then," Malfoy's lips quirked, "what do you propose?"

Unable to keep a small triumphant grin off his face, Harry allowed Malfoy to slip out from under him. Malfoy scooted a few feet away and straightened out his rumpled night clothing. "How about something away from the Burrow?"

"Really narrowing it down, aren't you," Malfoy said, undoing a fold on his sleeve.

"Some time this week, we'll go somewhere. Anywhere. It doesn't matter."

Malfoy looked at him, his grey eyes narrowed. "I'm only free on weekends."

Harry shrugged. "How about Saturday then?"

"Fine. Saturday morning, 4AM."

"4AM?" Harry sputtered. "You're joking!"

Malfoy's face was as smooth and still as marble. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

"The only time you can meet this Saturday is at four in the morning?"

Slowly, Malfoy rose to his feet and made his way over to the bed railing where he had hung his clothing from the previous day. He peeled off his nightshirt and began dressing, keeping his eyes trained on the task at hand. "Early mornings are a good way to avoid crowds. I'm sure I don't have to spell out how unpopular ex Death Eaters are with the general populous at the moment."

Malfoy's response was like a punch in Harry's gut. He swallowed thickly against the lump of guilt that had surged up his throat. "Do you want to choose where we go, or should I?" Harry asked.

"It was your idea. You should choose."

"Alright…" Harry paused, suddenly realizing he hadn't the slightest idea where he wanted to go. Hogwarts was by far the most interesting place he'd ever been, but he was fairly certain that Malfoy would have no interest in visiting the castle so soon. Memories of the battle still hung over them like a shadow, dark and foreboding. There had been so much blood…

"Potter?"

Harry shook himself. "Right, sorry. How about we meet in Diagon Alley first. There's a park near the main square, and we can just Apparate from there."

Malfoy fastened the clasp at his throat, frowning. "I'd prefer to fly, if it's all the same to you. I can provide the brooms since yours," his eyes flicked up and dropped back down again, "burned."

Harry merely nodded, marveled and somewhat befuddled by the transformation Malfoy had undergone. He hadn't realized how different a t-shirt had made Malfoy look until he was back in those stiff, starched robes. He suddenly wondered if he'd just made a deal with the devil.

"So, I'll see you on Saturday then, Potter. Now if you'll excuse me," Malfoy said in his usual sneering tone, "I believe I was asked, ever so delicately I might add, to get the fuck out." He swept briskly out through the door, his robes giving a loud snap as he rounded the corner, and was gone.

Harry sat unmoving, feeling the abrupt emptiness of the room wash over him. He perked slightly as he heard footsteps bounding down the stairs. A bed rumpled Ginny stopped in his doorway and offered him a small, sincere smile. "Has Draco gone already?"

Harry's heart leapt into his throat at the sound of Ginny's voice. "I…um…yeah he just left. You could probably catch him though, if you hurry."

She merely nodded and continued her trek down the stairs, leaving an appalled Harry staring after her.