Speak to my heart, tell what you know

The pain of my longing, it seems to grow

Speak oh my star, tell me if he will come

Warm August night, full of desire

Search for my love while I hold this fire

Wanting an angel to smile walking by my way

Oh, sometimes it seems so hard to explain it

But you, my star bright friend

Please tell me if he will stay

-Hayley Westenra

Potter,

I'm having a hard time figuring out what to do with the basilisk fang. You'd think with all the snake-themed merchandise I have in my room that it would be easy, but it's not. I don't want to do something as insignificant as putting it on my bookshelf, but at the same time I don't want to hang it up somewhere where I'll never touch it. I'm thinking of having it made into a knife. That would be neat, don't you?

How is your week going by the way? I've been entertaining myself by making the house elves learn how to fly brooms so I can watch them play Quidditch. They don't take to it very easily, seeing as every time I correct them they end up throwing themselves off their brooms by means of self-flagellation. I've had to conjure a net around the entire pitch, but it's been interesting enough for the time being.

-D.M.

Malfoy,

I think a knife sounds cool. I'm not sure what you'd ever use it for though—a letter-opener perhaps? And I can't believe I'm saying this but be sure to hide it from the Aurors. I doubt they'd approve of you having a lethally poisonous tooth-knife.

My week has been alright. I've actually stopped by Hogwarts a couple more times to help out McGonagall. She really was serious about making sure we take our NEWTs. I'm helping her recruit lecturers for everyone who was a seventh year last year. They'll be teaching cram lessons every weekend so we can be up to date for next year's tests. Not exactly the way I want to spend my weekends for the next year, but I can tell it makes McGonagall happy that she'll be giving us the education we were "deprived" of. You'll go to the classes next year, won't you? It might give the other Slytherins more courage to go, if you're there.

-H.P.

P.S. I wish I could play Quidditch with you. Where are we going this weekend?

Potter,

I actually ordered a couple of NEWT books this week. I wish I could've taken them last year—I think I would've done well. Certainly better than Granger! Anyway, of course I'll be there. If I wasn't, then who would torment you and botch your potions? Being the bane of your existence is a heavy mantel to bear, Potter, and there's no one I trust enough to do the job justice.

Send the old bat my acceptance if you see her again before Saturday. And let her know that I've sent out some letters to the younger Slytherins, and that I'll keep her updated on the replies. I would send her an owl about it myself, but my house-elves Tully and Sammus have gotten into the beater box again, and I'm afraid that must be tended to before they find my mother's china.

-D.M.

P.S. I'm not sure yet.

Malfoy,

I think I've rewritten this letter at least ten times over already. You know that I'm not very good with words, but I just wanted you to know that you're not the bane of my existence. I mean, maybe you were once, but I want you to know that you're not anymore. I'm not so proud that I can't admit that I misjudged you. I really didn't know you at all before—not that I know you now, but you're certainly different than I expected. You're funny, and you talk way too much, and you're braver than I ever gave you credit for.

I guess what I'm saying is that I'd like it if we were friends. I know that we agreed not to be, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe we could make it okay.

-H.P.

Potter,

You're an idiot.

-D.M.

Malfoy,

So you like to remind me. :)

-H.P.

"You look like shit, Potter." Harry could hear the sneer hidden in Malfoy's voice as he neared the park.

Harry allowed a small smile to curl at the corners of his mouth. "And you're early. Again."

Malfoy shrugged nonchalantly, his hands tucked neatly in his robes. "I was bored."

"At four in the morning?"

"I feel as if my sleeping schedule is being judged."

"It is. You're an insomniac." Harry sighed sleepily and dropped his gaze. Were his socks mis-matched? "Did you bring coffee?"

After a withering leer, Malfoy pulled a thermos out of his robes and handed it to Harry. "I thought you didn't like coffee," he jeered.

Harry held the thermos with both hands, enjoying the warmth that radiated out into his fingertips. He took a long drink, the hot liquid jolting his senses as it coated his tongue. He swallowed and smiled. "Yours is alright."

"Well hurry up and down it. Unless you think you can drink while you fly."

"What's the rush?" Harry asked, taking another long drink.

Malfoy scowled at him. "I suppose there is none if you don't mind me leaving without you."

Harry drank faster, swallowing the coffee in large, hot gulps. "You can't leave me behind on my best day ever!" he mocked.

"Just take the broom you damn ponce." Malfoy threw him a broom and, without so much as a hinting gesture, mounted and took off into the fading night.

In a mad scramble, Harry threw down the thermos, hoisted his leg over his broom and kicked off into the air. "Malfoy!" Harry yelled, slicking against the handle and rocketing up into the night sky. A strong wind whipped at his robes and hair, nearly knocking his glasses off as he forced the broom against it. By the time he saw Malfoy again, they were well above Diagon Alley, where the air was cold and thin, ripping through his jumper to bite at his skin. "Malfoy!" Harry tried again. "For Merlin's sake, slow down!"

But Malfoy ignored him, darting through the stars in a whir of silver and black. Harry didn't know how long they flew for—only that every time he tried to catch Malfoy, he would pull even farther ahead. By the time they started back towards the ground, Harry's teeth were chattering, and his nose was numb from the cold. He dove back down to the earth, the world rushing past him in a blur of pale greys and blues.

Harry practically slammed into the grass, and if he had been a less competent flier he would have found himself rocketed out of his seat. Harry hissed in pain, swinging his leg over his broom and hopping to the ground. His legs felt shaky beneath him, but he managed to keep them steady enough to stand.

Malfoy dismounted as well, his boots thudding soundly on the dewy grass.

"Malfoy," Harry barely suppressed a snarl. "What the hell is your problem?"

Malfoy's gaze swept across the field they had just landed in, his expression hard and unreadable. "I wanted to get here before I thought better of it."

Harry laid his broom on the ground and walked over to where Malfoy stood, anger still bubbling in his veins. "Why would you think better of it?"

"I just would," Malfoy returned, his grey eyes sharp.

"So why—"

"I've never shown this place to anyone else before, Potter, so stop being such a prat and give me a damn second," he spat, giving Harry a cold, pointed glare. "This isn't an easy place for me to be."

Harry met his stare, and felt his temper wither in his veins. Sighing, Malfoy turned away from him and began to walk, leaving Harry with no choice but to follow. Harry gazed out across the large field of grass they had landed in, wondering. There was nothing in sight for miles—not a building, or a tree, or even a bit of brush broke the flat line of the horizon. It certainly didn't look like much, but then again, the shack on the sea hadn't looked like much either.

"I didn't really know where I wanted to go with you until that last letter you sent me—not that I thought about it much." Malfoy threw him a sneer over his shoulder. "As a former Slytherin and Death Eater, I have much more important things to think about, like what to wear in the morning, or new torturing techniques, or what h'orderves to serve at the annual Evil Doers Against Breast Cancer Christmas Party—"

"Malfoy," Harry scolded, giving the other boy a withering look.

"But I guess, if you really want to be my friend," Malfoy continued, ignoring Harry's berate, "then there are a few things you should know about me first. And what happened here is as good as any place to start."

Harry looked out across the field once more, unarguably intrigued. A gentle breeze blew over the grass, making the evening dew sparkle in the bright rays of moonlight. For some reason it was hard to imagine Malfoy here.

Malfoy too gazed at the field, his expression growing wistful. "I came here to play quite often when I was young." He spoke softly, in the hushed, private tones of a secret. "The grass was littered with violets back then, and my mother always loved the way I smelled when I came back. I think she thought I went to the garden on our grounds—that's the story I told her and father whenever they asked, at least. They would have greatly disapproved of me running off to the middle of nowhere by myself. It's not a respectful thing for a young Malfoy to do, you understand," Malfoy threw Harry a crooked, half-smile. "Dobby—I do hope you remember the house-elf you maliciously stole from me so long ago—set me up a portkey. I would come here almost every Sunday afternoon, while my parents entertained."

"By yourself?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Malfoy answered simply.

"Why?"

Malfoy's grey eyes flickered thoughtfully. "I don't know. Just to…be alone. I never liked being around people much when I was young—they bored me. And if they weren't boring, they were stupid. I would've considered you the epitome of both."

Harry frowned, resisting the urge to stick his tongue out. "Glad to know your opinion of me has changed so drastically."

"Who said that it changed?"

"Piss off!"

With a small smile Malfoy retreated back into his shell of seriousness. "Anyway, all I meant was that this was my place. I didn't want anybody else here." Wearily, he ran a hand through his hair, his eyes hazed with a distant memory. "I think that I thought that I was owed this place—after all that I did for my parents growing up. Sit up straight, stand here, say this, do that: I was their puppet. I thought that I was…entitled to something of my own."

Malfoy stopped suddenly, becoming very still. Blinking, Harry looked back at him and saw that he was several shades paler than normal. His grey eyes were locked on the ground, gleaming with a barely concealed emotion. Harry followed his gaze to find a withered bouquet of violets lying on the grass just in front of them, tied together with a single black ribbon. Harry stared down at the dried flowers, brown and horribly rotted against the lively green of the field.

"But one week my father followed me here," Malfoy said slowly, darkness creeping into his voice. "He was angrier than I'd ever seen him, and I don't know if I'll ever understand why. Maybe he thought that this place was why I was so soft." The words made Harry shudder for some reason. He looked back at Malfoy and felt his breath catch. There was something broken in his expression. "He took me back home and broke my portkey, and forbade me to ever come back, and that was it for a while. Things went back to normal, and we never spoke about it again. But I should've known it wouldn't be that easy. I should've known…

"A couple of months later, he brought me back. I still remember—it was a warm Sunday night, and it was darker than usual…there was no moon." Malfoy took a long shaky breath, "I remember…I remember the smell…" and then he exhaled forcefully, "the smell of burning flowers."

Dread, cold and hard, began coiling itself around Harry's throat.

"There was a group of people waiting for us, cloaked in black and standing in a loose ring around a woman, bundled in torn rags. They danced around her as fire swept across the field, throwing curses I had never even heard of, and the louder she screamed, the louder they laughed. I remember wanting to run, but my father dragged me towards them, and greeted them like old friends. I'm sure I'd met them before, but when they shook my hand, their palms wet with the woman's blood, I'd never felt more like a stranger in my whole life."

Malfoy began to shiver, harsh, violent tremors making his limbs tremble unnaturally. Harry wanted to reach out—to offer comfort in some way—but he didn't. He wouldn't. No matter how much he wanted to, he wouldn't…because Malfoy would find no comfort in it. The Slytherin would take the gesture as an insult—he would think Harry was calling him weak.

"And then my father gave me a dagger and told me that if I wanted to remain his son, I had to kill her."

Malfoy's eyes hardened, but they never left the bouquet. "He told me that her blood had been soiled. He told me that she had committed adultery against a fellow pure-blooded wizard with a muggle, who had left her with child. And he told me other things she'd done—things I'd been taught to hate. He told me that she did not deserve to die with the quick mercy of the killing curse. And in that moment Potter, I hated her. I hated her so much it made my blood boil. As I looked at her, I remember the betrayal I felt, that one of my own kind would so freely expose us to the muggle world. And all of it balled up so tightly inside of me I thought…Merlin, I thought might burst. I had the dagger raised…but—"

"You couldn't do it." Harry breathed. Malfoy's eyes rose to meet his, and they held a storm such as Harry had never seen before. Both boys were short of breath now, so caught up in the intensity, it seemed to happen right before them.

"No, Potter." Malfoy replied, his tone cold and harsh. "My father took my hand in his, and together we drove that dagger into her heart."

Harry felt his entire body go rigid, and he found he had to force air into his lungs. "Malfoy—"

"She didn't scream, not even as her blood spilled over my hand. The men cackled and howled like wolves, but she…she was silent. And I watched the light leave her eyes as she fell to the ground dead." Malfoy remained as stone, as if no emotion could penetrate his hardened shell. "That was over four years ago now, but no matter what I do, violets won't grow here anymore."

The two were silent for a long time, each taking in the reality of what was just spoken. They didn't look at each other anymore. They couldn't. Harry felt the familiar sting of tears welling in his eyes. "Why did you tell me that?"

Malfoy rounded on him, caught up in the fury of the moment. "Because I want you to understand the kind of person you're saying that you want to be friends with! I wasn't just an innocent bystander in this war like Dumbledore thought I was! I did things—things that I'm certainly not proud of, but I did them all the same! And I don't want you under the delusion that there aren't still reasons that you should hate me!"

"But—" Harry's words jumbled in his mouth, "you regret it don't you? The bouquet—it must mean—" His jaw tensed uncooperatively. "If you're father hadn't helped you...surely you wouldn't have—"

"What does it matter whether I regret it or not, Potter?" Malfoy asked, his arms flying out helplessly. "It won't change the fact that it happened. It won't bring that woman or her unborn child back."

"Of course it matters, Malfoy!" Harry whipped around to grasp the front of Malfoy's robes, barely containing the urge to throw the first punch. "That's the difference between us and people like Voldemort. Don't you understand that?" He shook the other boy once, hard. "Tell me you're sorry about it!"

Malfoy looked away, his eyes shadowed with a deadened glaze. "I don't know…" Their gazes locked once more, and Harry tightened his grip. "I hated muggles because I was raised to hate them. My father told me that it was in my blood—"

Harry recoiled sharply. "I don't want to hear about your father's pureblood ideals, Malfoy!"

Malfoy sneered, his upper lip curling. "They weren't all for nothing! People believe those things for a reason! Do you know how many of us have died because of muggles? Haven't you read about the massacres? The hangings? The burnings? Those were my bedtime stories! And what I learned from them was that every time someone tried to bridge the gap between our two worlds it brought nothing but death!"

"So you fought death with death?"

"We fought the only way we knew how—because we were scared! We were scared that Dumbledore was going to start the cycle all over again, and so we stupidly put our fate in the hands of a madman!"

Red flashed across Harry's vision. He stepped forward, standing nearly nose to nose with Malfoy. "Dumbledore would never—"

"Dumbledore trusted people way too much, and you know it," Malfoy hissed between clenched teeth. "You saw the kind of people he let into our school every year. Half of them tried to kill you!"

Harry's fist slammed firmly into Malfoy's jaw, and he toppled backwards and fell to the ground. "Don't you dare say another word against him! Dumbledore was a hero!"

Malfoy pushed himself up into a sitting position, wiping the blood from his lip and glared up at Harry. "Dumbledore was powerful. There's a difference. He wasn't a hero to me or any of the other Slytherins. He never cared about saving us." The sun was rising now, blazing over the horizon with untamed ferocity. Harry held Malfoy glare for glare.

"Is that why you tried to kill him?" Harry asked, his words coated in venom.

"I tried to kill him because it was his life or mine. That was the choice the Dark Lord gave me."

Harry was silent for a long moment, forcing his anger back under the net of his control. Somehow he'd always known that Voldemort had done something like that. He remembered seeing Malfoy in the bathroom that evening—how terrified he'd looked.

"I told you before that I didn't…" Malfoy paused and took a steadying breath. "I didn't actually want him dead. I didn't like him but I—I did respect him."

It was probably the nicest thing Harry had ever heard Malfoy say about someone. Harry crossed his arms over his chest and shifted, not sure how to react.

Malfoy wiped his mouth again, the hem of his sleeve now sporting a large splotch of red. "I can't believe you hit me again. You really did a number on my lip."

"I—" It was an effort not to retaliate with something spiteful, but somehow Harry managed to say, "I'm sorry."

Grey eyes widened, a flash of surprise flickering for but a moment before it was yanked back beneath the surface. Slowly, Malfoy got back to his feet, eyeing Harry warily. "You have anger issues, you know that?"

"You're not wrong."

The surprise flashed once again. "I rarely am."

Frowning, Harry bit the inside of his cheek and turned his gaze to the ground. The bouquet of violets met him there, brown and withered against the vibrant green grass. Harry bent down and picked it up, fingering the black silk ribbon that held all of the stalks together. He looked back at Malfoy. "Were they for her?"

Malfoy went rigid, the planes of his face hardening into cold slate. "I'm not asking for her forgiveness, or yours for that matter."

"I didn't say you were."

"I just bring them sometimes, alright?" Malfoy spat. He brought his sleeve across his chin, wiping away a fresh line of blood. "To remind myself how things were back then. To remind myself how much fear we lived with."

Harry nodded solemnly. "We still live with fear now."

There was a long beat of silence, followed by a soft, "Yes."

Magic curled through Harry's fingertips as he brought the bouquet closer to his mouth, and with a soft whispering breath the decay fell from the flowers like snow from a tree. Bright petals shivered as the wind caressed them, stark and alive. Malfoy was staring at him full on now, his grey eyes bright as the morning sun.

"They're beautiful," Harry said, extending the bouquet out to Malfoy.

Their hands brushed as Malfoy reached out and took it, a frown pulling at his lips. "I have impeccable taste in flowers," he replied sullenly.

"I'm not sure that's something you should openly admit."

One of Malfoy's pale brows lifted, amused. "I'm not ashamed."

Harry should his head and grinned. Malfoy really was the biggest idiot he'd ever met, and undoubtedly Malfoy was thinking the exact same thing about him. "Malfoy," Harry began slowly, "this doesn't change anything."

"Potter…"

"I've done things that I'm not proud of as well. Things I did because they had to be done and there was no one else who would do them. I can understand that. I can understand that war isn't pretty or glorious and that we all had to get through it however we could."

Malfoy stared at him, his brows drawn. "The depths of your idiocy never ceases to amaze me."

Harry smiled at him. "Thank you."

"And one day I'm going to teach you what the word insult means."

"Say," Harry murmured, an idea seeping into his mind, "have you by chance gone to buy a new wand yet?"

Malfoy gave him a veiled, sidelong look. "No."

"Would you like to go to Ollivander's? I'll buy you a new one—you know, seeing as I kind of—er—broke your old one."

A beat of silence passed. Malfoy's expression dropped like a stone. "You broke it?"

"No need to sound so offended! Keeping it in one piece wasn't exactly my top priority you know." Harry neglected to mention that he, Ron and Hermione had broken it for very specific, Elder Wand related reasons. Those particular details were unnecessary.

"Well I don't think keeping your glasses in one piece is a top priority for me today, Potter. Why don't you hand them over so I can smash them to bits and watch you run into walls all day?"

"I said I'd by you a new one!"

"And I'll buy you new glasses in a couple of weeks as well! Once all the skin has been scraped off your nose and people have started to believe that you take fashion advice from a troll! Oh wait, people already believe that!"

Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to punch Malfoy in the face again or something else. He definitely wanted to do something. "So I take it you don't want me to buy you a new wand then?"

Malfoy tossed the bouquet of violets back to the grass. They landed with a soft whisper of leaves. "Don't be daft, of course you're buying me a new wand. It's rather rude that you didn't ask sooner. Do you get your etiquette advice from a troll as well?"

Harry's nose wrinkled. "Her name is Carley and she's very smart!"

"Oh yes, I'm sure her IQ is the envy of all the other trolls. That is, of course, assuming that trolls know anything about envy, or IQ, which they don't."

"Shows what you know. Carley put together a full sentence once."

Malfoy's smirk was much closer to a smile than usual. He looked oddly pleased. "I hope you took notes." Turning on his heel, he started back off towards where they'd left the brooms. "You do realize that Diagon Alley is going to be swarming with your fans, right?"

Harry nearly tripped. "Er…what?"

"Carley would be so proud."

Harry hated it when Malfoy was right.

"It's like they could smell you coming," Malfoy hissed in his ear. The Slytherin was pressed close to his side, forced there by the mass of people that had descended on them as soon as they had landed. "Ten galleons say our brooms will be missing when we get back."

"Ollivander's is that way, isn't it?" Harry asked, ignoring Malfoy's goad

"How should I know? Are we even still on a street?"

The crowd around them surged, their voices roaring. "HARRY! HARRY!"

"HARRY LET ME TAKE YOU TO—"

"NO LET ME!"

"WHO'S THAT WITH YOU HARRY?"

Harry's heart leapt into his throat as he felt Malfoy go tense.

"I KNOW WHO THAT IS! THAT'S LUCIUS MALFOY'S SON!"

The discord suddenly dimmed. All around them faces fell and brows creased, and Harry suddenly found he would much rather be stuck in a loud adoring crowd than this one.

Harry felt a hand slide into the crook of his arm and pull him forward. Malfoy dragged him through the dense swarm, which parted for them with the ease and silence of water. Harry tried to block out their whispers as he passed, but they fell upon him like scattered droplets of rain.

"Lucius Malfoy…wasn't he a Death Eater?"

"A Death Eater's son. He was one too, no doubt."

"What is Harry Potter doing with him?"

"…a Slytherin I bet."

"Has Harry Potter ever socialized with Slytherins before?"

"Of course not!"

"…a Death Eater's son…"

"…that's dangerous…"

"Have that out of your systems now, do you?" Malfoy yelled icily as they reached Ollivander's door. "Well move along then!"

The voices faded away with the small chiming of a bell and the creaking of old hinges. The two boys entered Ollivander's Wand Shop in silence; Malfoy still gripping Harry's arm with a painful tightness. Surprisingly, Harry didn't mind.

"Oi! Welcome! I'll be right out!" a youthful voice called, causing both boys to jump. A scraggly-headed youth rounded the corner not a moment later, smiling largely through his smoke stained spectacles. "Hello! Hello! Welcome!"

"Er, not to be rude, but where's Ollivander?" Harry asked.

"Oh!" The man chuckled. "Uncle Ollie is retired now. Went to the coast for his health and all that—left the shop to me. The name's Fendyl."

Harry blinked, feeling blindsided by the shock of energy Fendyl was producing. The smell of coffee was practically emanating from his robes.

"Say!" Fendyl grinned brightly, hands going to his hips. "You're Harry Potter aren't you!"

"Dear Lord, I'm surrounded," Malfoy huffed.

Fendyl turned to Malfoy, his golden eyes sparking behind the lenses of his glasses. "And you're Draco Malfoy. Your mouth precedes you."

For some reason which Harry could not begin to fathom, the comment made Malfoy beam. Harry stared at the expression for a long moment, not used to seeing it so fully formed on Malfoy's pointed features.

"So what are you here for so bright and early, gentlemen? A repair? A checkup maybe?"

Malfoy's hand slipped from Harry's arm, and the Gryffindor felt a strange coolness settle in its absence. "I'm in need of a new wand actually. My old one was unceremoniously stolen from me by a group of thugs." Malfoy cast a pointedly sour glare back at Harry, who merely rolled his eyes.

Fendyl's sharp eyes flickered between the two. "I see, I see," he said with a wide smile. "How terribly unfortunate. I think I'll be able to help you out though. Let's see, your last wand was…hawthorn, I believe? Dragon heartstring core with three unicorn hairs?"

Malfoy, looking rather unimpressed, nodded.

"Nice flexible wood, hawthorn is." Fendyl said, one of his hands rising to rub at his chin. "Hm, yes I think I know just the one. Uncle Ollie made it years ago, but I think it's still stashed in the back somewhere." He trotted off through the rows of unending shelves, disappearing into the clouds of dust.

"He's rather…excitable," Harry said, peering after him.

"He probably has syphilis."

Harry blanched. "Malfoy!"

Malfoy with wide, innocent eyes. "What? Aren't people with syphilis supposed to be excitable?"

"Obviously Carly's going to have to give you a lecture about STDs."

"Don't muggle-speak at me, Potter. You'll put me off."

"Ah! Here we are!" Fendyl appeared once more, carrying a long, gold-dusted box. "Thirteen inch hawthorn with a dragon heartstring core just like your old one. Not the most pliable when it comes to building wards, but an excellent choice for more complex charms and transfiguration spells—Uncle Ollie added shavings from Thestral hooves, to give more dexterity. One of his more complex creations I think, but it's been a bit overpowering for most customers. Want to give it a wave?"

Fendyl guided the top off the box, cradling it under his arm. Harry watched Malfoy's eyes brighten as he stared down at the flawlessly tongued wood. Delicately, Malfoy took the wand from the box, grasping it in his hand. The air around them seemed to stir slightly, and Harry felt the familiar magnetic energy of untamed magic burst from the wand. Gold and silver dusted the air, pierced through by thin rays of light.

"Lovely. Absolutely lovely," Fendyl said softly, nodding. "This wand has been waiting for you for quite some time, Mr. Malfoy."

Harry and Malfoy exchanged a covered look. "Go on and get it if you like." Harry said, finding the words peculiar as they spilled over his lips. Malfoy didn't need his permission to buy the wand. What in the world was he thinking?

"I will," Malfoy said, taking the box from Fendyl's arms with a new air of possessiveness. "Thug Number One will be footing the bill," he gestured back at Harry. "Go ahead and overcharge him if you like. It would make my day if you did."

Fendyl laughed. "I don't doubt it."

Harry paid Ollivander's nephew a healthy sum and he left the shop with Malfoy. The street was practically empty now, which Harry was immensely thankful for. He took a deep breath and tipped his head back to feel the sun's warmth against his face.

"You're in a good mood for someone who just spent a Weasley's version of a large fortune."

"Well I did get to punch you today. Hard to get much better than that."

"Ah, yes, the simple joys in life."

Harry's laugh hissed through parted teeth. It was true, he was in a good mood. This was the best he'd felt all week, in fact, but he supposed that wasn't saying much. Even so, it felt like a waste to end it for no reason. Harry lowered his head to look at Malfoy. "Want to come back to my place for a while?"

"Your place?" Malfoy's head tilted. "I thought you were staying with the Weasleys."

And just like that, Harry's mood was doused. Guilt and anger wracked him, swaying him like a ship at sea.

A beat of silence passed before Malfoy asked, "It's not a muggle house, is it?"

"What?" Harry blinked, the question taking a moment to settle in. "Oh…no, it's not. It's—ah—Sirius' old place."

"Oh, Grimmauld Place, you mean?"

That was enough to pull Harry fully back to the present. "I—you've been there?"

"Sirius and aunt Bella were cousins you know," Malfoy replied, smirking. "I went a couple of times when I was very young, to visit my great aunt Walburga. Such a lovely woman." He looked vaguely wistful. "Always gave me sweets."

They rounded a corner into the alley they had landed in. "And told you what a good little inbred pureblood you are?"

"Careful," Malfoy warned. "There's a Potter in my family tree, you know." Both of their brooms were still there, and Malfoy had the gaul to look disappointed about it. He pulled ten galleons out of his pocket and shoved them at Harry.

Harry waved the money away. "A Potter? No there's not!"

Malfoy tugged at one of Harry's robe pockets and dropped the coins inside, a soft wind causing his hair to brush against Harry's cheek. It smelled nice. "Much as I loathe to admit it, great granny Dorea married a Potter. Though from my understanding, there wasn't a spec of Gryffindor in him, so I suppose he couldn't have been too bad." Malfoy grinned up at him, his eyes shinning and painfully close. "Not his fault that his relative's progeny went and botched the family name."

Harry stepped back and grabbed his broom. He cleared his throat, not quite trusting his voice to come out steady. "So, you'll follow me then?"

Malfoy grabbed his own broom and mounted. "Like a shadow."

They both took off to the sky, rising up until the buildings were small as jellybeans below. Silence kept them as they flew, which Harry was glad for. His chest felt tight, as if it couldn't keep hold of the emotions that were flowing through him. He kept thinking about the violets, and the look on Malfoy's face when he'd waved his new wand, and there had been something incredibly warm about all of it that had seeped into Harry without him noticing. He'd felt unburdened by it—the anger and the joy alike—by being around someone who didn't need him to be strong or good or…a hero.

It was only when he saw the first glimmer of Grimmauld Place that Harry's mind was jarred back into reality. The wild tuft of bushy, brown hair was the first thing he recognized, and his heart sank.

Hermione Granger was sitting on his doorstep.

Harry and Malfoy exchanged glances as they touched to the ground. Hermione's head shot up when she heard them, and she practically threw herself from the stone steps. The brunette ran towards him, and Harry quickly realized her eyes were smudged and rimmed red from tears.

"Harry!" she cried, gripping him by the arms so tightly her nails nearly broke the skin. "Merlin, where have you been?"

"Hermione," Harry grabbed her. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Hermione shook her head, fresh tears spilling over her cheeks. "It's—it's Ginny. Oh…Harry…"

Something akin to a ball of gillyweed became lodged in Harry's throat. He looked at Malfoy, whose jaw was set in a hard, firm line, back to Hermione, who looked pale as death. "What about Ginny?

"She's in…she's in St. Mungo's."