It's becoming hard to look at him.

"Where's Draco?" Hermione looked up expectantly from her textbook, long, bushy hair braided in a plait over her shoulder. The library hummed, a quiet tick coming from somewhere on the other side of the room. Harry had two books open, both Arithmancy at different levels and both entirely lost on him.

"He's doing some remedial work with Flitwick," Harry said, relieved that it was mostly true.

"Again?"

Harry nodded, "He's pretty behind."

A tawny grey owl flew past the window, casting a brief shadow over their table, "That doesn't sound like him."

"Yeah, I think it's a weird year for everyone." Harry curled the edge of a page between his fingertips and shot her a half smile.

"I suppose I'm just surprised you're not with him," Hermione said, a bit too casually. Harry could see what she was trying to do, poking here and there until Harry slipped and said something that would tell her exactly what she wanted to know. Sometimes, Harry wished she would just ask, even if he didn't plan to answer her questions.

"You know we're not dating, right?" Far from it in any sense, but for some reason, his friends needed continuous reminders of this fact.

Hermione deflated, tugging at her braid thoughtfully. It hung almost to her waist, the length of her hair much more noticeable when the curls were pulled tight. "Oh, I know," she said, "you two just seem so close these days."

Harry snorted and shook his head, turning his attention back to the complicated tables of runes and what looked like algebra to his simple mind.

It had been Harry's idea to spend less time with Draco, and it took very little convincing on McGonagall's part to make it happen (she seemed to be trying to make it up to Harry for lying about Draco's condition, and Harry was so grateful for the help that he didn't care to question it.) So, for the last week, Harry escorted Draco straight from classes to a professor's office, where he spent the afternoon, and Harry collected him for dinner and went about their nightly routine. The change wasn't drastic, but it gave Harry a few hours each day to spend however he pleased, whether with his friends, flying, or just being alone in his dorm (which was just as much of a treat as any other activity he could conceive.)

He had no idea what Draco did with his time, but Harry was making a point not to ask. They weren't friends, and Harry couldn't constantly be responsible for him.

"Have you decided which N.E.W.T.s you'll take?" Hermione asked, her eyes still focused on her text. It was another probing question, one that she had asked several times already. She wanted to know if Harry had decided what he was going to do after graduation, but he hadn't, so his answer was the same as always.

"I'm not sure. Probably not arithmancy, though." He grinned, waiting for the chuckle she usually gave him before she dropped the subject altogether. But she didn't this time, her face somber.

"Would you ever want to be a professor? You could definitely pass the N.E.W.T.s for that."

Harry felt himself shrug, a plastic smile trapped on his face. "Yeah, maybe." He didn't want to teach, not at Hogwarts and certainly not anywhere else. But he couldn't seem to find the words to admit this out loud. The thought of coming back, year after year, walking the same hallways where his friends had been murdered was suffocating. But he knew he couldn't stomach it anywhere else either. Children had so much potential, and Harry felt contagious as if his brokenness might rub off on them if they got too close.

"Have you decided on your exams?" He asked, tearing the corner off the page. He had mangled it far too much to leave it attached. "All of them, I assume?"

Hermione tsked, "I figure I might as well. The only one I don't see having any practical use on my transcript is Defense, but I think I'll just take it anyway since I'm already in the class."

Harry nodded. Hermione wanted to enter soliciting and use it as a jumping-off point for an elected ministry position a few years down the road. It made perfect sense for her, and it would let her use the notoriety she'd gained from the war for something worthwhile. He could picture her clearly, sitting at a large oak desk with three assistants, all eager to fetch her coffee or deliver letters to and from other important people. All while she drafted anti-discrimination bills and fought prejudice in court. He'd always known she would be an unstoppable force, and her future felt so inevitable compared to his own, which was hazy at best.

"Is she talking about N.E.W.T.'s again?" Ron plopped himself in the seat next to Harry. "You've gotta give a rest, 'Mione. We've got loads of time!"

"How was quidditch?" Harry asked, noting the prominent gash of dried mud covering him from his shoulder blade to his elbow. Harry was surprised Pince let him in like that.

"Ron, that's foul," Hermione wrinkled her nose. "You could have showered."

Ron ignored her, "It was brilliant! Did you know Neville's a half-decent beater when he gets worked up a bit? Nearly took off my head a few times!"

"Not surprised, honestly." Harry laughed, and Ron launched into his theatrical retelling of the pick-up game all the 8th years had staged during their free period.

And just like that, the time passed quickly, arithmancy and thoughts of the future forgotten to the hushed chatterings of his friends.

Dinner was uneventful. The beef stew was a bit salty, and the conversations were loud after the excitement of the afternoon. Ron was not the only one Neville had almost taken out with his beater skills, and the Gryffindors took many liberties retelling the event. Even a few Ravenclaws joined their table to listen in, and it was easy enough for Harry to match the group's chaotic energy.

Draco sat beside him like always, but they didn't speak. He'd been relatively quiet since Harry collected him from Flitwick's office, and he seemed determined to ignore the rest of the table, his fork pushing food around without ever bringing it to his mouth.

"Is everything okay between you two?" Hermione asked as the group filtered out after the tables had magically cleared themselves. They stood a few feet back from the others, stuck until Draco finished his conversation with Pansy.

"As fine as we've ever been," Harry pulled one shoulder into a half-shrug.

Hermione didn't answer, and as if he could sense the topic of their discussion, Draco turned, a scowl on his face. "Pansy's coming back to the dorm tonight."

"Yeah, that's fine with me." She came by most days, so Harry hardly cared.

"Oh, goodie," Draco sneered. "Glad I have your permission."

Hermione shot Harry an odd look, but he wasn't in the mood to address it. Draco's unpredictable hostility had become such a staple of their relationship that he'd forgotten how odd it must seem from an outside perspective.

"C'mon, let's just go." Harry exhaled, and the group of four walked, Hermione at Harry's side with Draco and Pansy leading the way. Draco's robes swished against the stone floor, his sleeves hung loose over bony shoulders. It was easy to forget how much weight he'd lost in the last year. Draco's erratic behavior did a fair job of distracting from physical changes. Harry followed the seam of his sleeve to where delicate, pale hands were just visible, articulating sharply in response to something Pansy said.

He tried to imagine the delicate nail beds sprouting claws, Draco's smooth skin erupting into patches of course, white fur, but he couldn't. Every time he tried (which was surprisingly often), he drew a blank. Remus had been massive and terrifying, and he just couldn't connect that image with the frail boy in front of him.

Draco laughed, his smile sharp and articulated, and Harry looked away from the pair of Slytherins. He hadn't told Draco that he knew yet. The appropriate time to bring it up never seemed to arise, and at this point, it just seemed easier to go along with the secret.

Hermione tugged him to the side, narrowly keeping him from walking into a suit of armor.

"You seem out of it," she said.

"Just tired," He replied like he always did, and Hermione nodded and let it go, though she was too bright not to see the lie.

The 8th-year dormitories had been constructed in an offshoot of the East Wing, the entrance obscured by a maze of stairwells that led to empty classrooms and dead ends. It was a part of the castle Harry had rarely explored in his early years. All the interesting things were near the center or closer to the other Houses, but maybe that's why they built the new dorms here. The space wasn't being used in any other practical way, and a dorm for traumatized teens was as good as anything else.

It did mean, however, that the students had to trek through several meaningless flights of stairs before they could access the entrance, an antiquated tapestry that remained spell shut until you stroked the fabric along a particular corner.

Ron had been the loudest of the dissenters, complaining about the hassle of the walk and asking why a magic castle couldn't magically get rid of a few staircases, but that had only lasted a few days. Now, everyone was resigned to their daily hike.

Harry's head was buzzing by the time they reached the third stairwell of six, his thoughts floaty and unfocused as if he couldn't hold his attention on anything specific for more than a moment. He trudged down the steps, blinking rapidly. Maybe he was more tired than he thought. He'd had another nightmare, but those were so frequent that he'd stop accounting for them.

Something shot past his ear, a bright bolt of yellow magic, and Draco jerked forward. There was a second where Harry might have thought Draco was floating- his back arched delicately over the open air, robes draped behind him- before time rushed in, and he hit the first step with a sickening crack. He tumbled down, his body hitting hard against the stone, until he settled, heaped motionless at the base.

Harry couldn't move.

"YOU BITCH," Pansy yelled, taking off in the opposite direction.

Harry's eyes hadn't left Draco's lifeless form. Every muscle pulled tight as he waited. Draco shifted on the ground, and he jolted into action, taking the stairs three at a time until he was kneeling by his side.

"Hey, don't move," he whispered, his hands hovering just over Draco's shoulders, unsure if he could touch him. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

Draco glared as he turned his head, and Harry retracted his hands into himself like he might be bitten. "What do you think happened, you absolute buffoon." Blood colored his teeth, smearing onto his lips as he spoke like he had bitten into a fresh cherry. "Someone's hexed me," he touched his bottom lip tentatively, pulling back to look at the red stain on his fingertips.

Draco carefully pushed himself into a sitting position and accounted for each limb. He twisted them this way and that, flexing the muscles with an occasional wince that probably meant bruised but not broken. His hands were shaking so terribly that Harry had to hold himself back from grabbing them. Instead, he was still and waited for Draco to finish, fingertips eventually returning to his bloody lip since that was apparently the worst of the damage.

"Draco, are you alright?" Hermione stood above them on the stairs, her book bag slung haphazardly off her shoulder as she caught her breath.

Draco didn't answer.

"I think he's fine. Just a split lip and some bruises." Harry said and moved to the side so she could join him at the base of the stairs.

She drew her wand and came closer, but Draco jolted out of her reach. "Don't touch me," he hissed.

The group was silent, Hermione's wand frozen in the air. Harry coughed, "Let's get you to Madame Pomfrey."

Draco shook his head. "No, the old bat will keep me for days," his eyes flicked to Hermione and then back to Harry, "Just heal me yourself since I can't do it."

Harry nodded and pulled his wand out of his back pocket. Hermione was undoubtedly the better healer of the two, but Harry could hold his own after months spent on the run. He cast a few pain charms and a quick-healing spell before he gently tilted Draco's head back, fingers light on his pale jaw. "Episkey," he muttered, watching the smooth skin of his lip stitch itself back together.

Draco batted his hand away, "Took you fucking long enough." his cheeks were too red, and Harry stared. Had he miscast the spell?

"Why couldn't you have done it yourself?" Hermione stood a few feet back, her arms folded defensively.

"Here, let me help you up," Harry said, holding out his hand for Draco to take. Draco sneered at the offer.

"You said you couldn't do it. Did you drop your wand when you fell?" Hermione asked again.

Harry's shoulders tensed, and he couldn't look away as Draco's lips pulled into a wicked grin. "Oh, I didn't drop it. Harry carries it for me these days."

Hermione glanced skeptically between them, "What? Why?"

Draco's eyes glinted as he waited for Harry to provide an answer. There was something to be understood in that gaze, but he couldn't quite grasp it. There had to be a reason Draco was so intent on being cruel because what did he gain from putting Harry on the spot like this? Did he want Harry to tell everyone his secrets, or was his privacy just worth significantly less than Harry's discomfort?

Harry eventually opened his mouth. "Unstable magic," he said. His voice quivered with the lie, but it was the best he could do. "It should get sorted out soon, though."

Hermione clearly didn't believe him, her shoulders tense as she surveyed the pair, but she didn't press the issue. Harry stood up, collecting Draco's scattered books from where they had fallen on the floor while Draco struggled to his feet.

Pansy called from the top of the stairs, "On your life, Potter, he better be alive!"

The threat rang a bit empty in her panicked voice, and Harry gave her a thumbs up. She sprinted down the stairs, instantly next to Draco, her painted fingernails moving his head side to side, examining him for damage.

"Who was it?" Hermione asked. "Did you catch them?"

Pansy shook her head, "They were too quick, but I think it was a Hufflepuff. Yellow robes."

"We should tell McGonnagal."

"Oh, yes, because that will help," Pansy sneered. "Slytherins have been getting hexed since the start of term, and she's yet to do fuck-all about it. I imagine the only thing that kept them off Draco for so long was the boy wonder over here."

Harry didn't know what to say.

"I'm fine, Pans," Draco muttered, pushing her hands away. His voice was much more gentle than before, "Let's just go back to the dorm. I've had enough of this for today."

Harry was running again, the forest reaching out to him in the darkness. He ignored the scrapes on his legs, the thorny branches grabbing at his clothes. There was something chasing him, but he couldn't remember what, and it was far enough back that he couldn't tell if it was a person or a monster. All he knew was the all-consuming fear ricocheting down his spine, forcing him to move forward. There was only forward.

He shuddered awake, his eyes wide as he took in the stone ceiling. Bed frame. Maroon duvet. He was in his room.

He counted his breaths. In. Out. In. Out. Until his heartbeat settled and his fists unclenched. He hated that dream more than the other nightmares. It always left him shaky and excessively sweaty, like he'd actually been running for hours.

Well, he was awake now, and the adrenaline had taken away any desire to sleep. He quietly pulled back his blankets and set his feet on the cold floor, keeping his footsteps soft as he padded over to the bathroom and shut it behind him.

It wasn't until after he'd splashed water in his face and crept back to his bed that he noticed Draco was missing. And after a brief panic, Harry found him.

Draco sat curled on the window ledge, his head leaned against the glass in such a way that each exhale cast a thin fog over his reflection. He wasn't asleep. Something about the tension line in his eyebrows and how he held his knees to his chest made that clear enough.

Harry took a seat on the opposite side, his knee only inches from brushing against Draco's ankle. He had the inexplicable urge to shorten the gap, to hook his leg behind Draco's, and tangle their legs together. It was something Draco would have done with his friends. But Harry knew better, so he stayed still.

"It's late," Harry said. He expected his words to echo in the small space, as was appropriate when one broke the quiet like he was doing. But the silence seemed to cushion around them, softening his intrusion into the muted atmosphere.

Draco's eyelids fluttered open, and the greys of his iris were hit with just enough moonlight for them to appear a soft blue. "So it is."

"You're still awake."

Draco's mouth tugged into a smile, "full of observations tonight, aren't we?"

And then Harry did close the gap, nudging his knee into Draco's shin. "Is everything alright? I can get my wand if you're still in pain."

"I'm fine." A beat of silence, "I just don't sleep very well these days."

Harry fidgeted, trying to find what Draco was staring at through the window. The clouds were so thick that he could hardly make out the tops of the trees peaking through from the forbidden forest. "Is there anything I can do?" He asked finally, giving up on his search.

"Not unless you've got Dreamless Sleep potion stashed somewhere I haven't checked."

The insinuation that Draco had searched the room was concerning, but Harry frowned and decided that would be a problem for tomorrow. "I could ask for some. They might allow it if I'm in charge of dosage."

Draco hardly seemed thrilled by the idea, his eyebrows drawing into a scowl as his attention turned to Harry and stuck like he couldn't comprehend the suggestion. Harry continued, "I mean, it would probably have to be kept in something like the wand box, but I don't see why we couldn't keep some stocked for you." He started to trail off, "Sleep is important. They should know that."

The look in Draco's eyes was so intense that he was momentarily afraid he had misspoken. Still, he didn't know what to apologize for, so he waited, meeting Draco's stare with his own slightly baffled one.

After a moment, Draco inhaled sharply and looked away, "Why are you being so kind to me?"

Harry pressed his forehead into the cool glass. "It's the right thing to do." Draco seemed to sink into himself at that, and Harry knew he had said something wrong. Why was he so hopeless at this? "I suppose I know something about insomnia, and I don't think you deserve that."

"Oh, don't I?" Draco drawled, but there was no fight in it.

"No. Honestly, I don't think you deserve most of what's happened to you."

Draco snorted, and Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "Don't get me wrong, you're a pain in the arse, but you deserve a chance to be happy just as much as anyone else."

"You sound like my therapist."

"Good. You should listen to him."

Draco scoffed, "He's a fool. He tells me I have too much of a negative outlook on life, like all I need to do is smile more, and it will make everything bad go away. It's all nonsense if you ask me. Once you've watched a snake eat your former professor, then you can tell me how positive I should be."

Draco never talked about his appointments with his therapist. Maybe it was easier in the dark as so many things tended to be. Harry considered his words carefully, aware that he might never see Draco with his defenses down again. "I think he just means you should try to be positive about the future. Just because the past was awful doesn't mean good things won't happen again."

Draco shook his head, "Now you're both spouting nonsense."

"I'm serious," Harry let out a soft laugh, "I think we all have to believe the future will get better. Most days, it's hard, but it's the only way to keep going, right?"

Draco smiled slightly, "What would the great Harry Potter know about it?"

Harry huffed, letting his knee rest flush against Draco's ankle "Do you really want to know?"

"If there's something to know, then yes."

Harry swallowed, looking at the ceiling. There was no good place to start with things like this. To him, his problems had been present since the beginning, stretching back to the cupboard, interlaced with years of struggles. Starting anywhere was starting halfway through the story. He eventually said, "Right after the war ended, I could barely leave my house. Every time I stepped outside, I'd get swarmed by wizards."

Draco snorted again, "how tragic."

Harry rolled his eyes and continued, "People I didn't know were crushing me. Everyone wanted to touch the Chosen One. Everyone wanted to say they met me." Harry's voice shifted into a bitter tone. "They treated me like the second coming of Christ."

"Who?"

"Nevermind. What matters is that I was trapped in my home, and then Hermione brought up becoming an animagus. I think she was half-joking, but once she said it, I latched onto the idea, desperate for some kind of anonymity."

"You're an animagus?"

Harry nodded, "A dog."

"Oh."

"What's that look for?"

"I just thought you'd be a stag like your father."

"That's fair. I was always closer to my Godfather, though; he was a dog." Harry thunked his head into the glass, "I'm not sure how forms are chosen, so it's probably all a coincidence anyway."

He looked up, and they stared at each other for a long moment.

"Anyway, it worked for a while. I could go to Diagon, and no one bothered me. It was nice." Harry smiled. He'd enjoyed those early days, the trips outside disguised as Ron's pet. It was the first time he'd felt truly happy in a long time.

"But, I started noticing a difference in how my mind worked as a human. Everything was harder to deal with, and I started shifting more and more often. I suppose I was trying to escape myself just as much as the crowds."

Malfoy didn't comment, his brows drawn together.

"It got bad pretty quickly. I was going weeks without being human, weeks without speaking to anyone, and then I got stuck. I couldn't remember how to shift back-or maybe- I don't know."

"Hermione eventually realized something was wrong and took me to St Mungo's, where they sorted me out-helped me come back to myself. Sometimes I still miss it, though." He cleared his throat, "So, I'm hardly an example of emotional fortitude."

Draco stayed silent, looking down at his hands.

Harry nudged him with his foot. "You're turn. Tell me something."

"Like what?"

"Anything." He shrugged, and he meant it. There was so much Harry felt like he didn't know. So many things he had no context for. Draco could start anywhere at all, and Harry would be interested.

Draco frowned, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he thought. It took a long moment, but eventually, he spoke, his voice quiet. "Granger reminds me of my Aunt."

It was not what Harry had expected. "What do you mean?"

So he explained.

He explained how closely Bellatrix had Hovered over him at the end of the war, the lessons of legilimancy that lasted hours into the night. He explained how he would be punished with the cruciatus when he failed and how similar Hermione's curly hair was to Bellatrix's.

"She was a waking nightmare," he whispered, his eyes glazed over, "and there's a moment, whenever I see Granger, that I think it's her, back from the dead." he shook his head, his voice clearing, "of course, I know it's ridiculous. But a part of me still—" He took a shaky breath.

"No, I get it." And he did. The war haunted them all, moments and memories looming just out of eyesight, ready to descend at the slightest recollection. He could see it in his friends and in the younger students, the tenuous balancing act they all participated in to lead a somewhat normal life.

"The war never really goes away." Draco closed his eyes. "I want to believe in a better future, but I don't think I've fully accepted that it's over yet. I keep waiting for it to sink in, but it just hasn't."

The room was still dark, barely lit by the sparse moonlight trickling in, and Harry pretended not to notice the sparkle of a tear slip over Draco's cheek. "It'll get better," Harry whispered, trying not to think of the recurring nightmares that plagued him and every ghost he carried the guilt of. "It has to."

"If you say so."

They stared at the window in silence, the fog moving slowly over the landscape. After several uninterrupted minutes, Harry sniffed, cleared his throat, and stood, "I'll talk to Pomfrey tomorrow about Dreamless sleep. Will you be alright tonight?"

Draco looked up, considering Harry with a soft expression. "Yeah." He stood, brushing off his silk pajamas, "thank you."