A/N: At this point, I'm not gonna bore you with excuses for the delay xD offline world is pretty tough atm, but I'm getting excited the closer I get to finishing this fic :3

History of Magic's reputation as being the most boring subject in all of wizarding history held true for its exams as well. Unlike the professors of more applicable subjects, Professor Binns and the Ministry's officials didn't appear to consider a practical or oral exam necessary, and so all the single examiner present had to do was to supervise a few dozen tired students filling out a ten-foot questionnaire for their written finals. Which she did without a shred of interest, apathetically reading Diviner's Digest in the back of the room, and not minding the class otherwise.

Harry fell asleep at some point.

When he woke up, he was fairly certain that he had mixed up Roganor the Invincible and Ranoag the Wise, had completely messed up the timeline of the Fifteenth Wizengamot's first assembly, and had probably forgotten half a dozen demands of the Wandmakers' Strike of 1782, and drooled over his parchment, although he was confident to have correctly identified the key positions of the 1901 Alliance Against Goblin Apartheid. So far, so irrelevant—he couldn't imagine St Mungo's cared about any history that wasn't medical, anyway. Done and over it.

Dragging himself down to lunch, he spotted Hermione burying herself in books next to Ron, and instead chose to sit down at the end of the table closest to Slytherin—for no particular reason, of course. He did his best to not obviously seek out Draco's eyes from across the room, and successfully stared down the toast for a grand total of five minutes without averting his gaze before a concerned Seamus scooted over and asked if Harry was sick, and if he could maybe move the cheese platter out of vomiting range, just in case.

Before too long, the bell rang to signal it was time to vacate the Great Hall, and Ministry workers took over to transform it once again into a giant classroom while the students filed out, having half an hour left before their Defence Against the Dark Arts exam. Sooner than Harry would have liked, they were summoned back, assigned an examiner each, and told to begin.

After running through the usual theoreticals they had been taught the past year, the students moved on to the practical part. The section on Cursebreaking 101 required all of Harry's concentration, but during Advanced Deflection Charms, he took a second to glance over to Draco, who just happened to glance back at the same time, their eyes meeting in what Harry could only describe as being taunted by a cliché. A hex whizzing by his ear forced him to focus on the exam again, and the next time he looked, Draco was immersed in his own work, his examiner giving him a hard time maintaining 360° shield coverage.

The sun sunk halfway down the sky while dozens of students hexed and jinxed, conjured shields and patroni, detected traps and deconstructed curses. Finally, as the shadows had grown to late-afternoon proportions, the bell heralded the end, and wands were put down, paperwork filled out, and the doors opened.

When Harry left the Great Hall, Draco was already waiting outside, doing his best to look bored and casual, but Harry thought he could see tension and nervousness underneath the mask. Either way, he looked horribly out of place in his attempt to blend in with the students hurrying by.

Harry found it quite endearing.

'How'd it go?' Draco pushed himself off the wall to fall in step with Harry.

'As expected. A couple tough ones, but I'm not worrying. You?'

Draco shrugged. 'Well enough. No O or E, but…' A small grin appeared on his face. 'According to the examiner, my routine speaks of great experience, something she no doubt attributes to my, ah, wartime service.' He sobered up. 'I suppose all that swotting with you paid off, so… thanks, I guess.'

Even though he tried to keep his composure on the outside, internally, Harry was beaming. Even trying to push aside his recently discovered, conflicting feelings for—no, about Draco, both his presumed passing and seeing the fruits of their work was reason to celebrate.

'It's gonna be weird', he mused as they headed outside. 'Leaving. I feel like I spent all my life here, or at least the parts that mattered.'

Draco snorted. 'Speak for yourself. I can't wait to never set foot here again.'

They passed a group of students setting up an impromptu picnic in the grass, all of which fell silent at the sight of… well, whether it was Harry, Draco, or the two of them, Harry couldn't tell.

The old Draco's reasons for leaving Hogwarts behind would have been clear as day. No more half-bloods and muggle-borns, all-pureblood friends, a well-paying job at the Ministry, entry into the well-off circles of Lucius's friends… but the new one? Other than fleeing the stigma at school, Harry could only guess what Draco would saw in his future—guess or ask.

'I don't know', Draco confessed. 'I've been thinking of selling the Manor, maybe. Mother has family on the continent that would take me in. Disappear and forget all of this ever happened.'

He grimaced, both of them knowing full well that forgetting wasn't in the cards for either of them.

'It's either that or Plan A: humble smile, charitable donations, and public apologies until everyone is tided over and a Malfoy name means something again.'

Just like Lucius had done the first time, Harry remembered, recalling how Hagrid had clued him in on the Malfoy history after their first encounter. It was a long shot, but not impossible. The world had changed, and a lot of the old guard who had held on to their chairs and badges throughout the last war by looking away in time, dusting off their cloaks afterwards, and declared themselves members of the good side, had no hands in the game anymore. With a Shacklebolt Ministry and many of their contemporaries either on their way into offices or inheriting family names and enterprises from fallen parents, a Malfoy would have a tough time in the world… but Harry wasn't naive enough to assume that there wouldn't be people in the right positions willing to accept Death Eater money to launder Death Eater reputations. It could work.

'The thing is, I don't know if I want that', Draco interrupted his brooding. 'I—whatever. Let's talk about something else.'

The subject didn't come up again the rest of the day, but when they parted ways before dinner, Draco still seemed far away and lost in thought. And when Harry lay awake later that night, dreading falling asleep, he couldn't help but dwell on the choice his friend was facing.

'What do you suppose that looks like? Flitwick?'

'…'

'That one over there is Slughorn for sure. Look, there's his hat and all.'

'…'

'And that one, is that McGonnagall? The little wisp on top could be her nose!'

'It's a cumulus cloud, Potter.'

'Spoilsport.'

'If you weren't so distracting, I might actually finish this.'

'If you'd take your nose out of that magazine, you might actually enjoy yourself for once.'

Draco snorted and Harry was glad that he was too busy with whatever he was reading to see Harry's face flush. 'Distracting', Draco had called him. Of course, that certainly wasn't what he had meant, not in the way Harry would like him to mean it, but either way, the light-hearted jab had gone straight to his heart. And face.

'Impressive tomato', Draco remarked.

Well shite.

'Don't tell me you don't see the Shrieking Shack in that one', Harry countered to overplay his embarrassment.

'I'm not going to participate in this childish nonsense.'

Harry pushed himself up into a sitting position. 'Alright, what's with you? It's a day off and you can't even relax a little?'

Draco sighed and closed his magazine. 'What do you want me to do? Break into song and dance?'

'You've been all stiff since breakfast', Harry argued back. 'The exams are over, we have nothing to do until July, but you look more miserable than the fifths being OWL'ed right now. And you've been on my case all day for having the slightest bit of fun. So… what's the deal?'

'Nothing' was Draco's tight-lipped response. 'But if you must know, your behaviour is unbecoming of your position.

'My—what?!'

'Whether you want to or not, you have the attention of every adult, child, and goblin in the country, and you… roll around in the glass and count clouds as if you haven't a care in the world!'

'Well, I don't have any! Merlin, Draco, learn to rel—'

A belated thought let Harry stop mid-sentence.

'"Unbecoming"? Is that you or do I hear your old man coming through?'

'Harry…'

'You're not his show-off project anymore, and I'm not yours, alright? Whatever nonsense he drilled into your head about publ—'

Draco tossed his magazine aside and jumped to his feet. 'One more word and I will not be held—just drop it. I'm serious.'

Holding out his hands in surrender, Harry laid back down. 'Fine.'

Draco sat back down under the tree and picked up his magazine again. Closing his eyes, Harry tuned out the world around him and allowed his mind to wander. This year's summer was the warmest he could remember at Hogwarts, and with the sun on his skin, it was easy to drift away… his thoughts turned to the future, to after school. A day job, a house to live in, a regular life… all things that had been years away until now, when they were suddenly so close.

He would live at Grimmauld Place, probably. Molly had offered him a room whenever he needed one, before the Ron debacle of course, but now that he was leaving Hogwarts, moving out seemed in order. Even if the house, his house, was awfully large alone. What was left of the Ministry's Curse-Breaking Division had removed Mrs Black's portrait at last, but even so, Harry couldn't help but miss the days when the house was full.

He forbade himself from dreaming ahead, but nevertheless, he couldn't help thoughts of sharing the house. Moving in with Ginny had been the plan, but that wasn't going to happen anymore, and Draco—no, he wasn't going to go there. Think about something else, he lectured himself. No point in imagining the impossible.

'That one kind of looks like a centaur.'

'Huh?'

Draco pointed at a cloud over the castle. 'There's the legs, and if you squint, that's the tail.'

Harry's face broke out into a grin. 'If you squint. A lot.'

He was playfully shoved. 'Oh shut it and let me indulge you.'

Between pointing out odd-shaped clouds, Draco reading, and Harry day-dreaming, noon came and went. By afternoon, they had run out of things to do and Harry was just considering going back inside when Draco perked up, eyes following someone on the opposite lake shore. When Harry looked closer, he could make out Dean and Seamus.

'Looks like someone finally got their act together', Draco remarked next to him. 'Took them long enough.'

'Act?' Harry frowned. 'How do you mean?'

The look Draco gave him could best be described as you-have-to-be-shitting-me-are-you-really-that-dumb, and he had to bear it for ten full seconds before Draco sniggered.

'Salazar, Potter, you're serious? Those two have been making lovey-dovey eyes at each other since, what, fifth grade? If Pansy were still talking to me, she'd owe me five galleons; I always said they wouldn't figure it out for years to come.'

Harry thought he felt his head explode. 'You mean, they're… y'know…'

'Shagging', Draco clarified. 'Sucking face. Poofing around. Do the muggles not know about that kind, or were you just that sheltered in your golden saviour crib?'

For that last bit, Harry elbowed him before sobering up. 'They do. But it's, uh… they don't like it. If you, you know… well, not in polite company. Or public in general, you can really get into trouble. I just assumed…'

'I understand', Draco nodded. 'It's complicated, I suppose. Among purebloods, especially the sacred twenty-eight and those who wish they were, it's not appreciated, but it can be tolerated as long as there's an heir. If an acceptable marriage can be arranged and, ah, consummated, then what the husband does in his free time is between him and his wife. Keep it out of sight and all's fine.'

'Jesus. That's horrible!'

Draco shrugged. 'It's how we do it. Used to, at least.'

His eyes wandered to the oblivious couple again.

'Outside the twenty-eight though? Some are more open, some less. The Finnigans I don't know about, but your Weasley friends? Always been more tolerant. The Longbottoms, too. Nobody's advertising it, but minds are changing, have been since the Dark Lord fell the first time.' He snorted. 'My father used to call it the vanguard of depravity. First sodomy, then mixing blood with muggles, he'd warn.'

There was a certain defiance in his voice, and a surprising lack of venom, Harry thought. He didn't know what he had expected, but for Draco to neutrally speak about the topic and calmly talk of tolerance and openness hadn't been it. Of course, this was only going to get his hopes up, if the way his heart beat as though he were about to be found out was any indication, but still…

Draco's head snapped the other direction. 'Speak of the boggart… look who's there.'

Across the lawn, Ginny's unmistakable red hair stood out. Hermione in tow, she was headed in their general direction, and as luck would have it, she appeared to discover Harry the same moment Draco discovered her, as the pair changed course towards them. Harry didn't need to look to know that Draco was tensing up next to him.

'Harry!', Ginny greeted as she arrived. She glanced past him and added, 'Malfoy.'

'Weasley. Granger.'

Draco's tone was cautious, rather than hostile. Harry decided to take that as a good sign.

Hermione coughed awkwardly. 'Nice weather, isn't it?'

Really, Harry thought, the weather?

'Got to be the warmest summer I've ever seen', he agreed out loud. 'Do you two have any plans?'

'Not really. We swung by the kitchen on the way out and Kreacher snuck us some snacks out, if you can believe it… we figured you might want to hang out, but it looks like you've got plans.'

Harry flushed, but he was saved from answering when Draco politely coughed and stood up.

'Don't let me detain you. I'm just gonna… I still have some correspondence to take care of.'

From the looks of it, this came as unexpected to Ginny and Hermione as it did to Harry, and Harry thought he could see the gears turning in their heads as they processed Draco's voluntary retreat. Ginny sought Hermione's eyes, and after some unspoken deliberation between the two, shook her head.

'Actually, if that's alright with you, we could just join you.'

The proposal hung in the air between them, and this time it was Draco's turn to look bewildered.

'Sure', he eventually answered as he settled back against the trunk. The girls sat down opposite them and Hermione began digging a sheer endless stream of treats out of her bag that made Harry's mouth water.

'So… lemon tart, anyone? Harry? Draco?'

I could get used to this, Harry thought, not for the first time. He nibbled his way through a slice of tart while Ginny and Hermione discussed the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend, and when the conversation turned to Quidditch, two slices later, he even managed to coax one or two comments on the Glasgow Guppies' championship prospects out of Draco.

I could get used to this.

It was a small group of students who lined up for Hogsmeade the next weekend. While the fifth and seventh years were sweating through their OWLs and NEWTs, the eighth year, already done with theirs, eagerly queued to be let out of the castle, Harry among them. He had asked Hermione if she wanted to go with him, but she was spending time with Ron, and he had felt too awkward to ask Ginny, so going alone it was. Unbeknownst to him, Draco was not far behind, eager to escape the Slytherin common room and the castle grounds entirely for a day.

They had walked barely ten steps into the village when they spotted each other and decided they might as well walk together.

After refilling his candy stash at Honeydukes and buying two sodas to go from the Three Broomsticks (Draco declined to sit inside, citing his history with Madam Rosmerta), Harry led them a little down the street before following an impulse and taking a left towards the train station. The Hogwarts express wouldn't arrive for another month, and no other trains served Hogsmeade, so the station was deserted.

'You know', Harry wondered between sips, 'Why a train anyway?'

His question went unanswered as Draco, lost in thought, stared down the tracks.

'The village isn't any better', he eventually began. 'It's just like school: everyone stares, they whisper behind my back, they turn their backs when I pass them…'

He turned to look at Harry, and Harry thought he saw the same pain in his eyes he had seen before, at Malfoy Manor and in the Room of Requirement, Hermione's screams echoing in both their minds, the memory of fyre scorching both their skins.

'They're right, aren't they?' Draco whispered. 'There's got to be nobody around here who hasn't suffered because of me. I let them in, I paved the way, I'm guilty… what am I still doing here?'

'You're trying', was the best Harry could come up with. 'That's gotta count for something, right?'

Draco didn't seem convinced. He avoided Harry's eyes, deciding to stare down the tracks again, and it took all of Harry's willpower to not seek out his eyes and get lost in their grey.

'I never thought I'd say this', he continued instead, 'but the Draco who bullied us two years ago wouldn't touch words like "guilty" with a ten feet wand. I'm not saying you're a saint all of a sudden, but… I dunno, baby steps and all that.'

Draco nodded. 'I suppose.' His eyes, returning to where the rails disappeared in the distance, seemed… wistfully? Harry wasn't sure if he was reading it correctly.

'One month', Draco mumbled. 'What I'd give to leave now.' He straightened himself and finally sought Harry's eyes. 'The Harry I bullied two years ago wouldn't sit down to… comfort me over this either, would he?'

'No. No, I probably wouldn't have.'

A long pause.

'I'm glad you… that we…'

'Yeah. Me too.'

For a while, they just sat, close but not quite touching. A sparrow hopped over the tracks, scooping up a worm from the ground, before flapping away towards its nest. Harry drank up the rest of his soda, vanishing the empty cup afterwards, while Draco seemed to have forgotten his.

The sparrow returned to scavenge for more worms. Harry nudged Draco towards his soda, which he dutifully picked up and drank under Harry's watchful-yet-wistful eyes.

'One month', Draco said again.

'Yeah', Harry agreed. 'One month.'

One month of stability for him, one month to bear for Draco.

One month.