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Chapter Text

When Draco Malfoy shows up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, drenched in rain from head to toe and shivering violently, what do you do?

Harry never dreamed that he’d have to find the answer to that question, but there he was, at three in the morning on a Tuesday, observing the man standing before him as he tried to figure out what exactly was going on.

Harry hadn’t been sleeping when he heard the pounding on his door. Rather, he’d been wide awake and pouring himself a fresh cup of tea. The sudden noise had startled him, almost causing him to drop scalding hot liquid down his front, but caught himself just in time, carefully setting the cup down instead. Then he'd drawn his wand and cautiously approached the front door.

He wasn't sure what he’d been expecting.

Perhaps a team of ex-Death Eaters come to finish him off in a desperate show of loyalty to their master who’d been defeated a year ago. Or maybe it was someone who needed his help. Hell, he even considered the possibility of it being Ron, having had a drink or two after work and stumbled to Harry’s house instead of his own - it had happened once, it could happen again.

He had imagined a number of different scenarios, but his old nemesis standing there, soaked to the bone, certainly was not one of them. Harry was so startled that he considered the possibility of Draco Malfoy being one of those ex-Death Eaters trying to kill him.

It quickly became apparent, however, that this was not the purpose of Malfoy’s visit at all. He didn’t even have his wand in his hand, and he looked so vulnerable that Harry suddenly felt very silly holding up his own in such a defensive manner. He allowed his arm to drop back to his side, still unsure what to make of the situation.

The two of them stood there, neither saying a word, for a long time. Harry waited for Malfoy to say something to explain himself, but he showed no signs of speaking. When the silence persisted, Harry started to grow impatient.

“What are you doing here?” He asked eventually.

Malfoy blinked and looked up to meet Harry’s eyes properly. Harry noted that Malfoy's eyes were light gray, just as Harry remembered, but that was where the resemblance to his memory of him ended. Instead of sharp and intelligent, glittering with malice, Malfoy’s eyes were cloudy and confused, unfocused.

Malfoy blinked again, hard, and shook his head as though trying to bring himself to his senses. When Harry caught a glimpse of his eyes again, the pupils were blown wide and although he was looking straight at Harry, he didn’t seem to see him.

“Malfoy?” Harry called his name, hoping this would rouse him. He was beginning to grow concerned.

The sound of rain hammering down on the pavement suddenly felt deafeningly loud. Harry couldn’t collect his thoughts. Maybe Malfoy couldn’t hear him over all the noise.

“Malfoy.” Harry repeated himself louder this time. “Are you alright?”

Finally, Malfoy’s lips parted and moved. The rain was too loud. Harry couldn’t hear a word he said.

“What?” Harry took a step closer, leaning forward to try to hear properly. “I can’t hear you.”

Abruptly, without any warning, Malfoy slumped forward, and Harry instinctively reached out to catch him. It seemed as though Malfoy had passed out completely, his forehead pressing against the crook of Harry’s neck as his knees buckled and his body went limp.

Harry struggled to keep the both of them upright, and was just about to drag Malfoy inside when finally, Malfoy said something that Harry understood clearly.

“Help me.”

***

Manoeuvring an unconscious man who was leaning his entire body weight on him was far from easy. After his mumbled plea for help, Malfoy had lost consciousness all together, leaving Harry to pull him inside and shut the front door with his foot behind them.

Harry knew full well that it was absurd to attempt to drag Malfoy through a narrow hallway to put him in the guest bedroom, so he opted for the living room. He cringed slightly as he placed Malfoy, dripping wet, onto his relatively new sofa that he liked very much, but decided now wasn’t the time to fuss over his belongings being ruined - there were more pressing matters. While carrying Malfoy from the door to the sofa, Harry had become startlingly aware of how concerningly hot Malfoy's skin felt.

Harry reached out a hand, pushed away the silvery blonde locks of hair sticking to Malfoy’s forehead, and placed it there to check his temperature. Sure enough, Malfoy was burning up.

Unsure of what to do but certain that he shouldn’t leave Malfoy in wet clothes for the night, Harry muttered a quick drying charm. Once that was done, he stared down at the familiar figure that felt more like a stranger now as he contemplated what to do next.

In the warm light of his living room instead of the darkness at his doorstep in the middle of a storm, Harry began to notice things things he hadn’t before. He was sure Malfoy had lost weight; his cheeks were hollow and his exposed slender wrists were delicate enough that Harry thought they would snap at the slightest pressure. He wore robes that must have been of good quality and quite expensive, but they were dirty and appeared well worn even prior to becoming drenched in rain. His hair, the same shocking shade of white blonde as Harry remembered, was longer than how he used to wear it at Hogwarts. The sneer that Harry had always assumed was permanently etched into his face was no longer there, but a crease in his forehead materialised as he slept, his breathing labored and shallow.

Harry promptly decided that the decent thing to do was to offer him some sort of potion with healing properties and left to find a good sleeping potion in his medicine cabinet. If nothing else, he got the feeling Malfoy would benefit from a good night of undisturbed potion-induced sleep.

Having retrieved one of the small vials, Harry made his way back to the living room and attempted to rouse Malfoy to get him to take the potion, but to no avail. He was knocked out cold, and slept like the dead. Harry placed the vial on the coffee table instead, hoping that if Malfoy were to wake up while Harry wasn’t there, he would see the potion and have the sense to take it. He then accio’d extra blankets he kept in his bedroom and tossed them on top of Malfoy, just so his obvious cold wouldn’t worsen.

Once he was satisfied that he’d done everything he could, Harry stuck his wand back into his pocket and went back to the kitchen where the cup of tea he’d left on the table had long gone cold.
Harry debated heating it up again, but he’d only made it because he couldn’t sleep before Malfoy’s arrival. He wasn’t sure if it was due to the surprise of Malfoy turning up unexpectedly or the physical strain it had taken to move Malfoy onto the sofa, but he felt waves of drowsiness crashing down on him in waves - the tea was no longer necessary. 

Harry poured the cold liquid down the drain, left the cup in the sink, and retired to his bedroom.

And for the first time in a while, Harry fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

***

The next morning, Harry woke to the sound of running water.

For a split second, he forgot that he had a guest. Automatically assuming that someone had broken into his home, he fumbled to put his glasses on and grabbed his wand, ready to jump out of bed and spring into action.

It took a moment to remind himself what had happened the previous night.

Harry sat back down on his bed and put his wand down on his bedside table. What was he supposed to do now? He still didn’t know why Malfoy had come to him for help, of all people, and his mind was whirling with theories.

Was he running away from something? From someone? Harry supposed that was somewhat plausible, but Malfoy was extremely well off and could more than easily hire bodyguards for protection. Nothing Harry could come up with warranted Malfoy turning up on his doorstep, of all places.

Harry rose to his feet and left his room. He didn’t bother to make his bed. He rarely found the energy to leave bed at all most days, and he certainly he wasn’t in the habit of tidying up after himself when he did manage to venture out of his room.

Upon stepping outside, Harry noticed that the bathroom door was firmly shut and Harry could hear what could only be the sound of Malfoy taking a shower. Harry rolled his eyes - of course Malfoy would just help himself to Harry’s bathroom without asking at all. It was very typical of him, and Harry was secretly relieved to find that this, at least, he could wrap his head around. This was easy, and predictable. He needed that sense of familiarity in the midst of all the confusion.

Harry padded into living room, where the blanket that Harry had supplied Malfoy with had been folded neatly and placed at the end of the sofa. All traces of the mess that had been made the night before were gone, and when Harry glanced at the coffee table, he noticed that the vial of potion he'd given Malfoy was now empty.

He briefly contemplated whether he should offer Malfoy a fresh set of clothes, but then decided against it. He’d already done more than enough in his book. Harry felt uncomfortable going too far out of his way to help him without having more information. After all, they were not friends. In fact, Harry had not seen or heard of Malfoy ever since the war ended. For him to show up out of the blue requesting his help was unfair and more importantly, out of character.

Whatever the reason for Malfoy approaching Harry first in such a vulnerable state, it had to have been big for him to overlook years of less than pleasant history between the two of them.

Come to think of it, there was something nagging the back of his mind, something that Harry thought he ought to remember. Harry was almost upon it but not quite, and he busied himself trying to jog his memory as he went to the kitchen to put the kettle on, dropping two slices of bread in the toaster. Harry had never been very keen about breakfast, but recently his appetite had deteriorated to the point where he could barely stomach any food until the sun was high in the sky. The tea and toast was absentmindedly prepared for Malfoy, who definitely looked as if he could use a proper meal.

Then Harry went about making himself a cup of strong coffee to try to clear the fog that perpetually hung in his head.

He’d been so absorbed in the task that he didn’t notice that Malfoy had finished taking his shower and was now standing in the doorway of his kitchen. Harry turned around, mug in hand, and almost spilled the contents all over himself for the second time in the last twenty-four hours. 

“You have to stop doing that.” Harry muttered, raising the cup to his lips and taking a long sip. He closed his eyes and released a heavy sigh as the scalding hot bitterness slipped down his throat. He needed this.

Malfoy said nothing, which was new. Normally, Harry would have expected some sort of retort. Harry cleared his throat and gestured for Malfoy to sit at the kitchen table.

“So, are you a tea person or a coffee person?” Harry asked, making a half-hearted attempt at conversation as Malfoy slowly sat down.

“Tea.” Malfoy replied shortly. Harry rolled his eyes at his curt tone but turned around, rummaged around in his cupboard to find another mug, and then set about making some tea.

He was just about to bring it over when the bread popped up from the toaster with a loud ding, and Harry reached over to put the slices on a plate. He brought both the plate and cup back to the table and set them down in front of Malfoy.

“Need anything?” Harry offered. “Jam? Butter? Milk?”

“No, it’s fine.” Malfoy answered. Harry shrugged and took another gulp of coffee, not caring that the hot liquid burned his tongue. He pulled out a chair opposite Malfoy and slid into it.

Harry took advantage of Malfoy staring down at his tea, fingers wrapped tightly around the cup, to study him properly. The sleep potion appeared to have done its job - although Malfoy still looked much too slender to be healthy and his skin was pale enough for him to look mildly sickly, the dark shadows under his eyes had faded a little and he definitely seemed more alert than he had been when he first turned up.

Malfoy’s hair was still damp from his shower and he smelled faintly like Harry’s soap, which gave Harry a strange feeling that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Harry didn’t typically have company, and even when he did, no one ever really used his bathroom supplies. He supposed it was the unfamiliarity of it all.

“Which toothbrush did you use?” Harry blurted out. This wasn’t the question he was supposed to be asking, but the second it popped into mind, Harry had to ask.

“What?” Malfoy blinked slowly. He’d been staring down into his cup of tea for quite some time now, which oddly reminded Harry of Divination and bad omens. Professor Trelawney. Black dogs. Sirius, smiling. Prophecies. Sirius again, disappearing behind the black veil. Voldemort.

Harry forced himself to halt his chain of thought. He couldn’t spiral this way, not today. He quickly repeated the question to distract himself, and Malfoy arched an eyebrow. For the first time, he bore some resemblance to the boy Harry had known in school.

“I used the unopened one in the cabinet. Obviously.”

“Oh.”

Harry hadn't even known he kept spare toothbrushes in his bathroom cabinet. Maybe Hermione had stocked him up on some on her last visit. Perhaps it was Ginny, before she moved out. He wasn’t sure. It was unimportant.

Not noticing Harry's frown, Malfoy took a deep breath and took a big gulp of tea. Finally, he looked like he was ready to talk.

“Thank you for … everything, yesterday.” Malfoy frowned. Harry wondered if this was his default now, the small frown that turned the corner of his lips ever so slightly downward and created a delicate crease between his brows. It was unsettling to see it there instead of the arrogance that once used to define him.

“As you know, I wasn’t well,” Malfoy paused. “The potion helped a lot.”

“That’s great, but can we get to the point? What do you need my help for?”

Malfoy hesitated and looked straight into Harry’s eyes. Even after a good night’s sleep, Malfoy’s eyes were tired and clouded. Whatever Malfoy was about to say, Harry knew instinctively that it was important and that it was going to be interesting. Harry found himself leaning forward, intrigued.

“I need your help because my father has been erasing my memories.”

Chapter Text

Whatever Harry had been expecting, this was about the furthest thing from it. He was at a loss for words. So instead of speaking, he picked up his mug and drank the rest of his coffee. He had a feeling he was going to need that extra boost of caffeine to make sense of everything.

Harry glanced at Malfoy, who was staring back at him intently. His long, slender fingers were drumming on the table, the only indication that he was nervous. Other than that, he was the picture of tranquility, his face a blank slate wiped clean of emotion. Harry wondered how he did that. People had always been able to read Harry like a book.

“Your father,” Harry repeated slowly. “Why would he do that?”

Malfoy sighed as though he’d been expecting the question but still didn’t quite know how to answer. He shifted in his seat, glancing around the room. Eventually, his gaze landed down at the plate of toast that was in front of him.

“Actually, I changed my mind. Do you happen to have any butter?”

“Malfoy-”

“I know, I know,” Malfoy nodded. “I’m going to answer that question and any others you have. But I need some time to get my thoughts in order, and I think having food in the meantime would certainly help.”

“Fine.” Harry narrowed his eyes. “If you’re trying to trick me, I swear-”

For the first time since Harry opened his front door to find Malfoy standing in front of him, Malfoy cracked a smile. It was small and tired, defeated even, but it was a smile nonetheless. Harry was almost glad to see that he hadn't lost the ability to do so.

“Don’t overestimate me, Potter. I assure you, I’m not attempting to deceive you.”

Harry believed him. Above all, he didn’t think anyone was capable of feigning the way Malfoy structured his sentences carefully and purposefully as though it required utmost effort.

So instead of pressing him on the matter, he retrieved some butter and handed it to Malfoy, who began neatly spreading it on a slice of toast.

Harry felt awkward, just lingering and watching him eat, so he made his way to the bathroom to shower. He assumed Malfoy would be done by the time he came back.

As Harry towelled his hair dry and selected a new pair of joggers and a fresh t-shirt to change into, he allowed himself to really dwell on what little information Malfoy had revealed.

Malfoy’s memory being tampered with explained a lot of things. Suddenly the distant, foggy look in his eyes, the way he appeared so physically exhausted, and how he needed time to gather his thoughts all made sense in the context of memory manipulation. Harry just didn’t understand why Lucius Malfoy would obliviate his own son, and why Draco Malfoy seemed to have gotten it into his head that his best course of action was to seek out Harry for help.

Of course, he wouldn’t get answers until he went back to the kitchen and heard the rest of the story. Burning with curiosity, he made his way to the kitchen.

Malfoy had eaten one slice of toast. The other remained untouched on the plate. He was staring into space, his hands clasped neatly on the table, his posture perfect as always. He started when he heard Harry’s footsteps approaching.

“Alright.” He said once Harry seated himself. “I’m ready to talk.”

“Go on.” Harry prompted.

“You have to understand that it’s difficult to string together a cohesive and accurate picture of what happened. I can feel gaps in my mind where things should be but aren’t, and yet I never notice that those gaps exist until I search for something that’s supposedly not there.” Malfoy closed his eyes for a moment.

“I was sure something was amiss when my mother accidentally mentioned something that my father had already erased. It wasn’t an important memory, I don’t think, just a minor argument between my father and I back when I was still attending Hogwarts, but it wasn’t there when it should have been, and for the first time I had proof that I wasn’t simply going mad.

“Now I knew that someone was messing with my head, but I wasn’t sure who. I had a feeling it could be my parents, but I didn’t want to believe that. I tried exploring other possibilities, but nothing came up. Eventually, I had to follow the only lead I had. I confronted my mother, who ended up telling me the truth. My father had been erasing my memories for three months at that point.” Malfoy swallowed. “He’d begun to do so because I refused to omit information at trial.”

Harry glanced at the calendar that he kept pinned to his fridge. There were dates circled in red with little notes written down, and he suddenly recalled what he’d been searching for in the back of his mind, that tidbit of important information that Harry thought he should have remembered but didn’t until that very moment. Malfoy’s trial was to be held in roughly two months. It had been rescheduled - it was supposed to have taken place almost three months ago. He’d kept track of it.

“Obviously there’s the issue of truth serum but …” Malfoy hesitated as though debating whether or not he should reveal something. His eyes flickered before snagging on to Harry’s narrowed ones. He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, seeming to understand that Harry would catch him in a lie. “But I’m a rather skilled Occlumens which makes it possible to resist, to some extent.”

Harry tried not to let his surprise show, but again, he’d never been very talented at hiding his emotions. Thankfully, Draco was now glaring at a crack on the wooden table instead of gauging Harry's reaction.

Harry supposed that with all his time spent in close quarters with Voldemort during the war, Malfoy had to have mastered Occlumency in order to avoid going mad. He winced as he remembered his own rather pitiful attempts to learn the complex skill, but he quickly pushed those thoughts out of his mind.

The important thing here was that this new bit of information made Harry see Malfoy somewhat differently. Harry had known, of course, that Malfoy was a talented wizard, although he never would have admitted it out loud. But somewhere in the big scheme of things, Harry had stopped thinking of Malfoy as a dangerous and powerful Death Eater, but regarded him instead as the petulant spoiled brat that he’d attended school with. He was infuriating, yes, but mostly harmless.

Perhaps that was why he’d had next to no inhibition allowing Malfoy to step into his apartment, to sleep on the couch and shower in the morning, to drink tea at his kitchen table and offering him butter to spread on toast. Harry steeled himself, and reminded himself that no matter what Draco Malfoy said, he was not to be underestimated and Harry was not to fall for any kind of lowly trick.

Then Harry forced himself to concentrate on what Malfoy was saying as he continued on with his story.

“He thought I’d go along with it for sure. Apparently a terrible argument ensued when I refused. He was outraged that I would risk all of us being sent to Azkaban. Eventually, he got it into his head that I couldn’t tell truths that he didn’t want revealed if he simply plucked them from my mind. It was supposed to only be specific memories surrounding Death Eater business. I’m not sure what happened after that, but what I do know is that he didn’t just get rid of the Death Eater memories. I can’t remember things from childhood, or from my years at Hogwarts, even though they had nothing to do with our involvement with Voldemort. I have to cling to the memories that I have left, and even that doesn’t ensure that they’ll stay. Those that are taken from me are impossible to retrieve.”

“Alright.” Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “But why did you come to me?”

“I left home two weeks ago with the intention of fixing the damage done. Nothing worked, and I was reluctant to ask around for help because anyone remotely good despises me and anyone who might be willing to help me are people that I cannot trust. The side effects of the spell grew worse over time. I could barely think straight, and I was paranoid that I may be forgetting important things with every second that passed. Then, yesterday, I got caught in the rain and I think the combination of the fever and the mind manipulation finally drove me insane, because the only person I could think of that could help me was you.” Malfoy took a breath, determinedly avoiding eye contact with Harry who was staring at him with open surprise. Malfoy spoke again, so quickly that Harry almost missed the words.

“Just for the record, my thoughts on that haven’t changed now that my mind is clearer. There seems to be little to no chance that you’re working with my father and you are a, well, a competent wizard.”

“Gee, thanks.” Harry muttered sarcastically. He could tell it pained Malfoy to say that. And that was how he understood with more clarity than before that Harry was very much Malfoy’s last resort. He’d put his pride aside, and that in itself gave Harry a reason to consider trying to help.

Harry dragged a hand through his unruly hair, still uncertain if he was making an entirely wise decision. He could already hear his friends’ voices in his head.

‘You’re crazy for even considering it, mate. It's Malfoy. Tell him to fuck off!’ Ron insisted.

‘You ought to think this through more, Harry.’ Hermione said carefully.

But they weren't here. Malfoy was. He was sitting there in Harry's cramped kitchen with an empty cup of tea clenched in his hand, waiting for Harry to give him an answer. He glowered down at the table, and his free hand that wasn’t currently squeezing the life out of Harry’s china couldn't seem to sit still, drumming his fingers on the surface. His cheeks were faintly flushed, no doubt a sign of a lingering fever, and he wore the same rumpled robes from last night. Harry noticed that despite all this, Malfoy’s hair still looked immaculate. He fought the sudden absurd urge to snort in amusement, then he made his decision.

“Okay,” Harry sighed. “Alright, fine. Maybe I can help you.”

Malfoy’s hand relaxed around the teacup so that his knuckles were no longer strained and white. Somehow, this small action convinced Harry that he’d made the right choice.

“Look, I’m not sure if there’s a whole lot I can do alone. Hermione has experience in bringing people’s obliviated memories back, so if you're not interested in getting professional help, I’d say she’s our next best bet.”

Malfoy hesitated. Harry could tell that he was reluctant to share his predicament with Hermione. He understood that, to some extent. If the roles had been reversed and it had been Harry who sought Malfoy out for help, only for him to say that they were going to need the help of, say, Pansy Parkinson, he probably would have outright refused.

But Hermione was the best witch they knew, and that was an undeniable fact. Experience was also difficult to ignore. If Harry and Malfoy were to begin looking for a solution alone, they would have to begin by stabbing in the dark. With Hermione's help, they could save themselves a whole lot of trouble, and it wasn’t like they had all the time in the world. Presumably Malfoy would want things to be sorted out before the trial.

“Alright,” Malfoy caved. “I suppose that means Weasley’s going to know about this, too?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Oh, like I have a choice.” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Fine, but it stops there. No telling your girlfriend, for example.”

“My girlfriend?”

“Weasley.”

“Oh, you mean Ginny.” Harry scrunched his eyebrows together. “We broke up, so no need to worry about that.”

“You did?” Malfoy sounded surprised.

“Yeah, a few months ago.”

“Was it in the papers?” Malfoy asked quietly.

“Not that I wanted my love life to be the business of the rest of the wizarding world, but they got a hold of the rumours somehow.” Harry shook his head and got to his feet.

“I don’t remember seeing it in the Daily Prophet.”

“I mean, it was emblazoned all across the front page, courtesy of Rita Skeeter, so it would have been pretty hard to miss.” Harry was confused as to why Malfoy looked so upset.

“I guess I forgot.” Malfoy sighed. He abruptly pushed his chair back and rounded the table with his cup in his hand.

Oh.

“You think you saw the news but it’s part of your memory loss?”

“I think it’s possible,” Malfoy was visibly frustrated. “That’s just the thing. I don’t know something’s missing until I go looking for it, and it's like a punch to the face when I realise. It also doesn’t make sense how all these stupid mundane memories are disappearing.”

“It could be another side-effect.” Harry reasoned. “I’ll call Hermione and ask her to come over soon.”

“Fine,” Malfoy replied curtly. He placed his empty cup in the sink, and turned back to Harry. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

“You’re leaving?”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows.

“Did you assume I’d stay?”

Harry flushed as he considered it. He had been expecting Malfoy to crash at his apartment while he helped him out, but he wasn’t sure why. Of course Malfoy would want to return to wherever he was staying - he would despise the idea of having to live under the same roof as Harry.

“I thought you might forget our arrangement if you didn’t.” Harry ended up offering the first explanation that came to mind. He knew that wasn’t the real reason, but even he didn’t know what that was at that moment and he didn't have the time to ponder it and figure it out.

“I’m not an idiot,” Malfoy hissed, thoroughly offended. “Of course I would keep tabs of what’s been going on.”

“Suit yourself.” Harry shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I just thought it might be safer.”

On paper, it didn’t make sense for them to live together. They hadn’t gotten along in the slightest in school, and Harry had barely given him another thought after the war ended. But there was just something haunting about the way Malfoy had looked the previous night, his hair plastered to his face and his skin burning hot, that gave Harry a twisting feeling in his stomach. It simply wasn't right, for Malfoy, forever the haughty rich kid, to look that way. It wasn't right for anyone to look that way. Harry tried to convince himself that that was all it was - common human decency. 

He’d made the first step by agreeing to aid Malfoy in recovering his memories. And if he was going to make that commitment, he may as well go all the way, right?

“Potter,” The annoyance in Malfoy’s face disappeared, replaced instead by a smirk that was all too familiar. “Are you trying to convince me to stay here?”

Harry stared right back. He much preferred Malfoy this way, teasing and annoying rather than defeated and sick as he’d been before.

“Obviously.” He replied.

Clearly Malfoy hadn’t been expecting that, as surprise flashed across his face for a split second. He quickly composed himself and retorted smoothly.

“If that’s the case, I guess there’s no harm in staying.”

It was Harry’s turn to conceal his shock. He hadn’t expected him to say yes.

“Right. So it’s settled. You’ll stay here until we sort things out.” Harry pushed his glasses up his nose. “I guess I should show you the guest bedroom. Unless, of course, you prefer the sofa?”

Malfoy shot him a withering look. It was all the answer Harry needed.

“Guest bedroom it is. Follow me.”

***

Harry got on the phone with Hermione the minute Malfoy disappeared into the guest bedroom and shut the door behind him.

“Oh, hello, Harry. How are you? It’s been a minute since we chatted.” Hermione’s voice was bright yet accusing over the phone. Harry felt a pang of guilt for not calling more often, but quickly reassured himself that it was alright. She had Ron - they had each other. They may have been worried for Harry’s wellbeing, but Harry was sure they were doing just fine.

“Ron, get over here! Harry’s on the phone.” Hermione shouted. There was a distant thump and then Ron’s footsteps clattering closer.

“Harry, you bastard, you do realise it’s been a week?” Ron bellowed.

“Ron, we’ve been over this, there’s no need to shout.” Hermione reprimanded.

“I still don’t get how this thing works.” Ron muttered. Harry smiled. It was always good to sink into the easy predictable comfort of Ron and Hermione. 

“Anyway, to what do we owe this honour?” Hermione asked.

“I know this sounds bad, but I need a favour.”

Hermione gasped dramatically.

“Harry James Potter, how dare you.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “I’m not making any promises, but tell me what this is about.”

So Harry explained the bizarre events of the day, beginning from how Malfoy showed up out of the blue all the way to Malfoy’s current situation with memory loss.

There was a short silence when Harry finished his account.

“Malfoy? Really? Tell me you’re joking.” Ron burst into fits of incredulous laughter. Harry thought he heard Hermione smack his arm sharply.

“Ron, you’re being insensitive.” She scolded.

Harry laughed shortly.

“I can’t believe it either, but it’s all true.”

“Okay.” Hermione said slowly. “So you need help in restoring his memories, I presume.”

“Do you think you can?” Harry asked tentatively. The whole business was a bit of a sore subject. Harry knew that Hermione had been successful in returning her parents’ memories after the war ended, but that was all the information he’d received. Hermione didn’t like to talk about it, and Harry didn’t like to bring up anything related to the war, so just like that, the topic died out into something they rarely ever mentioned.

“It’s very delicate business. It takes up a lot of time and energy, and I’m not sure Malfoy would be willing to allow me to access some of those memories.” Hermione spoke carefully.

“He agreed to ask you for help. I’m sure he knows what that ensues.” Harry assured her.

“If you say so. Why wouldn’t he go to St. Mungo’s, though? There are specialists there who could probably treat him more safely and quickly than you or I could.”

“I think he’s worried that he might get mobbed because, well, you know.”

“That makes sense, I suppose.” Hermione answered thoughtfully. “I’m free next Thursday night, so we can start then.”

“Great.” Harry nodded, forgetting that they couldn’t see him. “I’ll tell him.”

“Harry, are you sure it’s a good idea to live with Malfoy?” Hermione asked. “I mean, it’s no secret that the two of you never got along, and that was when you weren’t constantly in each other’s breathing space.”

“I’m not living with him.” Harry said indignantly. He faltered, realising how stupid that sounded. “I’m simply offering him a place to stay.”

“Yeah. In your apartment. I hate to break it to you, mate, but you’re living with him.” Harry could hear the smirk in Ron’s voice. It made him defensive.

“It’s for convenience and safety. We’ll be fine.”

“Whatever you say, Harry. Whatever you say…”

Harry hung up the phone to the sound of Ron’s faint laughter in the background.

***

Before Ron and Hermione pointed it out, Harry hadn’t really realised what he’d signed up for.

He’d already spent a night with Malfoy in his apartment, obviously, but that was when Malfoy had been unconscious before ever stepping foot inside. Then they’d had a brief conversation over breakfast and that was about all the interaction between the two of them.

Therefore it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise that living with Malfoy wasn’t going to be easy. Somehow, Harry still didn’t see it coming.

“What do you mean, takeout?” Malfoy wrinkled his nose. “Don’t you cook around here?”

“I can make toast and cereal, but that’s about it.” Harry shot back. “And who are you to judge, you can’t cook either.”

“No, but that’s because I’ve never had to. You’ve been living alone for what, a year now? And you still order takeout every day?”

Not every day.

Harry bit his tongue. Now was not the time to discuss his abhorrent eating habits, not when Harry got the irritating feeling that Malfoy would judge him on that, too.

It was true that Harry never cooked during his time living alone. He either ordered takeout, as he’d so innocently suggested that day, had some form of instant noodles, or didn’t bother with food at all, sustaining himself on dark bitter coffee and the occasional cracker.

The last option was what he opted for a lot more often than he cared to admit.

“Look, if you don’t want takeout, here.” Harry threw open one of his kitchen cabinets and reached for a packet of ramen noodles. He then lobbed it at Malfoy, who caught it neatly much to Harry’s irritation. He’d been hoping it would bounce off his dumb chest and fall to the floor. “You cook.”

“You call this cooking?” Malfoy squinted at the package in disdain. “Adding water to a pot and sprinkling in soup?”

“It’s what we have. It’s either that, takeout, or starve. See if I give a shit.” Harry stormed out of the kitchen, his appetite having evaporated. He patted his pockets, searching for a pack of cigarettes and swore under his breath when he remembered that he’d promised himself he’d quit and no longer had any on him anymore.

He was so preoccupied by his annoyance that he didn’t notice that Malfoy had disapparated with a pop, the packet of ramen he’d thrown at him placed on the table instead. He was only made aware of the fact that Malfoy had left at all when Malfoy reappeared in Harry’s living room, where Harry had been thumbing through a book on the sofa.

“I don’t know what crawled up your arse and died, but I got food.” Malfoy held up a paper bag. “Care to join me?”

“No thanks. I’m not hungry.”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows.

“You haven’t had anything all day except that cup of coffee. You’re eating with me. Get up.”

Harry didn’t know what to make of this. Not only had Malfoy noticed what Harry had been consuming throughout the day, it looked like he cared enough to make sure Harry ate. He found himself instantly suspicious of what his ulterior motives could be.

Malfoy caught onto his suspicions.

“It’s not that deep, Potter, I’m just trying to make sure you don't starve yourself to death before you can help me with my problem.” He tilted his head in the direction of the kitchen. “I’m going to take this inside, you’re going to come with me, and we’re going to have dinner. Okay?”

Harry wanted to make a cutting remark about Malfoy not being able to tell him what to do, but realised just before he did so that it would be childish. Clearly, Malfoy was making an effort to move past their differences, at least for the duration of his stay. Harry didn’t want to be the one stuck in the petty rivalry of their schoolyard days. He bit his tongue and got up from his seat reluctantly, following Malfoy into the kitchen.

Malfoy had clearly visited a diner in Diagon Alley. Harry tried to imagine the look on his face Malfoy would make if he knew that what Harry originally meant when he suggested they order food was some type of Muggle food. There was no doubt he would have stuck up his nose and refused to eat at all.

Harry made a mental note to make him try it sometime soon, if just to see the outrage on his face. It would be funny, he thought.

The pair ate in silence. Despite everything Malfoy had said about the importance of having a proper meal, he didn't seem to have much of an appetite, either. They ended up leaving quite a lot of the food he'd bought but Malfoy seemed satisfied and didn’t mention the matter again.

Once they were done, Harry produced some plastic containers and stored the leftover food inside. He waved his wand, sending the containers into the fridge neatly.

“Well, goodnight, then.” Harry said awkwardly. It was only eight o’clock, but what were they going to do, hang out together? No chance.

Malfoy appeared to agree with him. He nodded, replying with a curt ‘goodnight’ of his own, and promptly disappeared into the guest bedroom. To his credit, the door remained firmly closed save for the occasional trip to the bathroom.

Harry stayed in the living room, where he finished reading his book and then flicked mindlessly through some channels on the television.

Harry’s nights were typically unbearably long. He found it difficult to sleep, and after an incident concerning one too many sleeping potions, he’d been forced to promise Ron and Hermione not to take them as often. As a result, he was faced with a dilemma where he desperately wanted to sleep, but the nightmares that terrorised him were horrible enough that he was too afraid to.

It was rare, therefore, that he was able to snatch more than three or four hours of restless sleep a day.

As it turned out, this day was one of the better ones. As Harry watched some comedy program, not finding any of the jokes funny, he found his eyelids start to grow heavy. He made no effort to resist and instead succumbed to the urge, drifting into heavy sleep seconds before the clock struck midnight.

***

He should have known it was too good to be true.

Harry jerked awake to Malfoy shaking his shoulder vigorously. Someone was yelling. It took a second to realise it was him.

“Potter, wake up.” Malfoy hissed.

Harry stared up at him.

Malfoy’s hair was messier than usual, and he was still wearing those damn robes. Harry decided to focus on that rather than go back to whatever the hell that dream was that left him drenched in his own sweat. He didn't want to talk about it, and he especially didn't want Malfoy to make a big deal out of this. Harry sat up abruptly, causing Malfoy to jerk backwards in surprise.

“Do you want a change of clothes?” Harry asked.

“What?” Malfoy frowned in confusion.

“Wait here.” Harry swung his legs out of the sofa and got up, wincing as his joints cracked and his muscles ached from tensing up so hard.

“Potter, don’t be ridiculous-”

“I’m fine.” Harry interrupted firmly. “I’m going to get you some clothes to sleep in.”

He could feel Malfoy’s stare on his back as he walked purposefully away.

Back in the safety of his room, Harry let out a shaky sigh, trying to compose himself. He hadn’t had a nightmare that bad in a while. It disoriented him, made him feel unsafe in his own home, and brought back so many unpleasant memories that he wished he could just forget everything. Harry took some deep breaths in a feeble attempt to steady his thundering heart. He’d needed an excuse to get away for a moment so he could deal with this in private, but Malfoy would be expecting him to be back soon.

Harry rummaged through his wardrobe and picked out a pair of pyjama bottoms and an old t-shirt. Sucking in one last deep breath, he ventured back into the living room where Malfoy was sitting on one end of the sofa, waiting for him.

“I’ll go out and buy my own clothes tomorrow.” Malfoy said as he accepted the clothes.

“Good idea.” Harry shrugged. He climbed back onto the sofa, sitting at the opposite end of where Malfoy was seated.

Neither of them moved.

In the calming silence of the early morning, the two of them sitting close enough to acknowledge each other’s company but not so close that it was uncomfortable, Harry found words spilling out of his mouth that he never would have said out loud in any other circumstance. He also somewhat blamed his brain being fried from the nightmares.

“Sometimes I wish I could just forget.” Harry said quietly. Malfoy didn’t reply. He took it as a cue to continue. “Maybe forgetting the worst things that happened isn’t such a bad thing, don’t you think?”

Malfoy stayed silent for so long that Harry thought he must have fallen asleep.

“No.” Malfoy said eventually, making Harry start. “Take it from someone who did.”

“Really?” Harry was incredulous and he didn’t bother to hide it. “You never wanted to, I dunno, just rewire your brain so you don’t have to remember all those shitty things?”

“I hated remembering, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to forget.” Malfoy replied. Harry contemplated those words as they hung in the air. It didn’t make any sense at all, and yet Harry thought he understood what Malfoy meant.

“Besides, I really don’t think it’s fair of me to go on with my life without remembering everything I did. That would be running away, and to be honest with you, Potter, I’m done being a coward.”

With that, Malfoy got to his feet and retired into the guest bedroom, closing the door firmly shut behind himself.

Harry stared after him, mulling over their short conversation. Eventually he managed to fall asleep again, and if bad dreams plagued him again, he didn't quite remember them the next morning.

Chapter Text

On the first morning of Malfoy’s official stay, Harry woke quite abruptly to a loud yelp coming from the bathroom. He immediately leaped to his feet, wand in one hand and the other scrabbling to put on his glasses. 

“Malfoy?” He called out, rushing down the hall. He burst into the bathroom, not bothering to knock, just as Malfoy shouted for him not to come inside. 

It was too late, however, as Harry had already thrown the door open. He was met by Malfoy, dripping wet and scowling. It was a sight to see, and Harry stood there for a prolonged moment, taking everything in.

The stark lighting of the bathroom threw everything into sharp detail. Malfoy’s blonde hair was plastered in an undignified manner all over his face, and the t-shirt Harry had lent him, which in retrospect had a hole in the shoulder, was soaking wet. There was something so comical about the usually pristine Draco Malfoy standing in Harry’s bathroom, dripping wet because of the occasionally malfunctioning shower that Harry had accidentally forgotten to mention, dressed casually in one of Harry’s ratty old t-shirts and chequered pyjama bottoms, that he burst out laughing. 

“Oh, shut up.” Malfoy huffed, crossing his arms, but Harry was doubled over, practically crying with laughter. 

“I’ll have you know, you need to get your shower fixed.” Malfoy said haughtily. “I just turned it on and it started spraying water everywhere like a madman.”

“Oh, I know, it does that sometimes.” Harry cackled, gasping for breath. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard. 

“You mean you knew? And you didn’t think to get it mended or, oh, I don’t know, mention that little fact?” Malfoy spat, twin spots of pink appearing on his cheeks.

“A little water never hurt anyone, Malfoy.” Harry grinned, finally sobering up a little.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh yeah?”

Before Harry could take in what was happening, Malfoy reached over and flicked the tap on again. The shower, clearly not done with its antics, spurted water everywhere, on the sink, the toilet, some more on Malfoy, and of course, all over Harry. 

He jumped backwards, the freezing cold water eliciting a startled gasp.

“Malfoy, turn that off!” Harry shouted, struggling to see through his glasses that were now stained with droplets of water. 

“A little water never hurt anyone, Potter.” Even though Harry couldn’t see properly, he could hear the smug smile in Malfoy’s voice.

“Alright, fine, I’m sorry for not telling you.” Harry spluttered. He took his glasses off and began polishing them on the hem of his shirt. “Now turn it off .”

Malfoy reached over and obliged, a wicked smirk still on his face. 

With the utter chaos of the shower gone, the situation that the pair found themselves in, both drenched and staring at each other, brought forth another burst of laughter from Harry and even managed to coax a proper grin from Malfoy. 

“I want to see you fix it right now.” Malfoy crossed his arms, rearranging his face back into a stoic expression.

Rolling his eyes, Harry pointed his wand at the showerhead and muttered a quick incantation. 

“There, was that so hard? Now get out of here, I’m going to take a shower.”

Harry swallowed back a retort and simply left the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Remembering that he was still soaking, Harry used a hot air charm to dry himself off and wandered into the kitchen to make himself some coffee. It was only then that he caught a glimpse of the clock which read that it was only eight in the morning. Harry did a double take.

On mornings like this after a nightmare, Harry rarely left the bed until well past noon. He considered going back to bed, but the debacle with Malfoy that morning had forced him more or less wide awake. He reached the conclusion that it was counterproductive to crawl back into bed and wallow in his misery, so he went about making coffee instead. After a moment’s hesitation, he put the kettle on, recalling Malfoy’s preference to tea over coffee from the previous day. 

Harry was halfway through his morning coffee, face buried in the latest issue of the Daily Prophet , when Malfoy walked into the kitchen. He had changed out of Harry’s clothes and into his robes. 

“I put the kettle on.” Harry said. Malfoy glanced over and nodded curtly. 

Harry watched out of the corner of his eye as Malfoy made his tea. He noted that Malfoy took his tea with a dash of milk but no sugar. Harry preferred a teaspoon of sugar in his, having always had a sweet tooth.

“Anything interesting happen?” Malfoy asked as he slid into the seat across from Harry. Harry looked at Malfoy over the edge of the paper. 

“Depends, would you be interested in a lady’s cat that got stuck in a tree?”

“Can’t say I would.”

“In that case, no.” 

Malfoy nodded and made no attempt to resume the conversation. It was Harry who spoke again as he finished his coffee.

“Just so you know, Hermione’s coming next Thursday to help restore your memories.”

Malfoy opened his mouth.

“Yes, Ron’s coming too, and no, you don’t have a say in the matter.”

Malfoy shut his mouth again and scowled but didn’t protest. 

Harry found he liked this new, easier-to-get-along-with Malfoy. He was well aware of the fact that Malfoy was only being agreeable because of their arrangement, but he still couldn’t help but think it was nice to be able to talk to Malfoy without any unnecessary snide remarks from either party.

He thought back to the incident that morning, and how it was the first time he’d laughed properly in weeks. 

Yes, maybe having Malfoy around wasn’t a bad idea after all.

***

By some miracle, Harry and Malfoy managed to get along quite well until the following Thursday arrived. There were a few minor disagreements, yes, and yet another argument ensued about what they were to have for dinner practically every night, but nothing had been so bad that Harry felt the urge to throw Malfoy out onto the streets, which he counted as a win.

Malfoy mostly kept to himself, which made things easier. The day of the shower episode, Malfoy finished his tea and promptly left for the entire day to buy clothes for himself. He returned well into the middle of the night, Apparating with a pop into the living room and startling Harry, who’d been watching a new mystery crime thriller on TV.

With only a brisk nod to acknowledge Harry’s existence, Malfoy turned and went to the guest room, his arms loaded with multiple bags from shopping all day. It was after this day that Harry began to get an idea of what Malfoy wore as casual-wear.

Harry had to admit, Malfoy was annoyingly stylish and put together for someone who was going through a crisis. He wore well-fitting shirts and trousers, usually some combination of black, white, and grey but occasionally wore something bottle green that Harry secretly decided was his favourite. 

The pair quickly settled into a steady routine. 

Malfoy always woke first, and Harry always opened his eyes to the sound of Malfoy taking his morning shower. Harry then stumbled out into the kitchen to make coffee and tea, and he would sit down at the table with his nose in the paper. Malfoy would appear some minutes later and they would sit together while enjoying a warm drink. Sometimes they talked about this and that, but mostly they didn’t exchange a word. 

After ‘breakfast’, they really didn’t bother each other too much. Harry mostly stayed in the living room mindlessly watching TV, while Malfoy occasionally disappeared for hours at a time to do whatever he was doing. 

They always made it back in time to have dinner together.

Harry had been getting Malfoy to try various foods - Malfoy had been reluctant to put any Muggle food in his mouth at all, but Harry insisted that they either have what he picked out or nothing at all. Draco begrudgingly agreed, and so now Harry was in the process of slowly introducing him to new foods that previously Malfoy would have never even glanced at. 

This was often the only time of day when they actually enjoyed each other’s company. Harry would laugh as Malfoy would either make faces or widen his eyes in surprise and demand more of whatever he ordered. By the time the following Wednesday rolled around, Malfoy even rooted around and found a bottle of wine that Harry had forgotten he owned. 

“Mind if I open this, Potter?” Malfoy waved the bottle in the air. Harry looked up from the cartons of Chinese food they had surrounding them - they’d opted to eat in the living room with everything spread out. 

“We have that thing with Hermione tomorrow.” Harry pointed out.

“Oh come on, don't tell me you're such a lightweight that you can't handle a spot of wine.” Malfoy taunted, and the smirk on his lips and the vicious glint in his eye reminded Harry a little too much of Malfoy during their Hogwarts days. Perhaps it had something to do with the way Malfoy was wearing his hair that particular day, slicked back like he used to. Suddenly Harry was fifteen again, wondering if it was truly worth it to take the bait Malfoy so graciously laid out for him.

As it had done so many times before, his pride won over reason.

“You wish, Malfoy.” Harry jutted his chin in the direction of the kitchen. “Glasses are in the top cabinet and there should be an opener in there somewhere as well.”

“Merlin, I never thought I’d see the day. Harry Potter, not being a complete and utter killjoy.” Malfoy gasped dramatically, ducking into the kitchen swiftly when Harry threw a cushion at his head.

Soon enough, Malfoy reappeared with two full glasses of wine and resumed his seat a safe distance away from Harry. He absentmindedly picked up a pair of chopsticks and immediately put them down again. He’d tried and failed miserably to use them properly and his ears had gone bright red as Harry howled with laughter - he was not about to undergo the humiliation again.

It should have been weird, the fact that Harry was sitting there with Malfoy, someone he’d thoroughly disliked all throughout his school years, on his living room floor having dinner together over wine. But it wasn’t awkward at all. Maybe Harry had already gotten used to having Malfoy around, or maybe it was the wine that was bringing mild, pleasant heat to his cheeks, but Malfoy’s company was nice.

In fact, Harry thought absentmindedly as they gradually emptied the entire bottle of wine, it was a shame that they had wasted so many years on petty rivalry. They had similar senses of humour - dry, sarcastic, and just dark enough to make people who weren’t used to them shift uncomfortably in their seats. Hell, they even had similar taste in food and apparently, wine.

If only Malfoy hadn’t been such a dick in school.

“Excuse me?”

To his credit, Malfoy sounded more amused than angry. The wine had clearly relaxed him a little, enabled him to find humour in the words that Harry had unknowingly mumbled out loud. 

“Well, it’s true.” Harry insisted. It was far too late to back down now, he might as well just come out and say it. “You were a dick.”

“Hm,” Malfoy pondered, eyes flickering to meet Harry’s. “Unfortunately I don’t remember enough to know how I really was. Care to enlighten me, Potter?”

Harry wasn’t sure if Malfoy was joking or being serious. Usually, Malfoy’s memory loss was a subject they avoided altogether. Stupid, really, considering they were supposed to be solving the problem. 

“D’you remember Buckbeak? Third year?” Harry brought up the first thing that came to mind when it came to Malfoy and his dickhead behaviour in the past.

This time, Harry was sure the confusion in Malfoy’s eyes was genuine. 

“Oh.” Harry muttered. “Sorry.” 

He began searching his memory for something else, but Malfoy stopped him in his train of thought.

“No, tell me.” He said. “Sounds interesting.”

So Harry explained the incident. 

“Do you really not remember?” Harry asked. The reality of Malfoy’s obliviated memories hadn’t really sunk in until that moment because they rarely mentioned the subject. Now that Malfoy was frowning as he tried to place a memory that was no longer there for him but existed clear as day to Harry, it felt so much more real.

Suddenly, he felt quite sick.

“Let’s clean up and go to bed.” Harry glanced at the clock. “It’s getting late.”

Malfoy nodded, collecting the wine glasses, and disappeared into the kitchen. He didn’t address Harry’s sudden shift in mood. 

They cleaned up quickly, and as soon as they were done, they each went back to their own rooms after exchanging short, business-like goodnights.

Harry didn’t understand why he felt so queasy about the matter. His head hurt just to think about it.

He’d known from the beginning what Malfoy was dealing with. Even though it was shocking and Harry felt sympathetic toward him, it hadn’t really affected him too much. So why was the notion that Malfoy lost memories of the two of them together, however unpleasant they were in the moment, so horrible?

Harry didn’t want to think about it anymore. So he turned around in bed, flipped his pillow to the cool side, and closed his eyes, determined to get some sleep. 

***

The next morning was more subdued than usual, as was the majority of the day that followed. 

Harry had just been lying in bed in his room, flipping absentmindedly through a foreign Quidditch magazine, when there was a sharp rap on the door and he knew it was Ron and Hermione.

Relieved to have someone else, someone familiar over at his apartment to fill the silence, he hurried to open the front door. Malfoy poked his head out of the guest room and once he registered what was happening, seemed to grow a shade paler. That was all the indication he gave of being nervous at all, as he squared his shoulders and joined Harry at the front door.

“Harry!” Hermione beamed and threw her arms around Harry as soon as he opened the door. 

“Relax, ‘Mione, you’re going to choke him.” Ron joked, stepping inside. “How are you doing, Harry?”

Hermione pulled away and Ron clapped his shoulder.

“I’m great.” Harry glanced to his side. “Er, you both know-”

“Malfoy.” Ron said, at the same time Hermione extended a hand and said, 

“Draco.”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows but shook Hermione’s hand.

“Granger. Weasley.”

Hermione shrugged when Harry and Ron stared at her. They had hardly ever heard Hermione refer to Malfoy by his first name.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, we’re not in school anymore.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “If you want to act like children, go ahead, but I'd prefer to be an adult.”

“Do you two want anything to drink?” Harry looked back and forth between the two of them. It was great to see them again. Harry had missed them a lot.

“Oh, yes, tea would be nice.” Hermione nodded.

“A beer for me, thanks, mate.” Ron grinned brightly.

“Ron.” Hermione scolded. “Be serious.”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” Ron said loudly as Hermione’s bushy head of hair disappeared into the kitchen, dragging a bemused Malfoy along with her. “I was being serious.” He muttered to Harry, who snorted loudly then attempted to muffle it by burying his face in his arm.

Ron and Harry joined the other two in the kitchen to find Hermione sitting opposite Malfoy and firing off a number of questions which Malfoy answered briskly. They continued doing so while Harry and Ron talked to catch up and brewed some tea.

Once a steaming cup of tea was at Hermione’s elbow, she made everyone else sit down (Ron beside her and Harry next to Malfoy) and spoke very seriously, her brown eyes earnest.

“I’ve done this before and I’m confident I can do it again, but this is an extremely delicate job and we won’t be able to recover all of your memories in one day. Is that alright?”

Malfoy nodded, and Hermione solemnly produced her wand. 

Malfoy closed his eyes. Harry held his breath as he watched, his stomach churning.

Hermione began muttering a long string of words and a silver beam appeared on the tip of her wand. It travelled slowly over to Malfoy’s forehead, but before Harry could fully register what was going on, Hermione gasped sharply and Malfoy shouted out in pain. He clawed at his head, making a low, animalistic groan that came across to Harry like a punch in the gut. Panicked, Harry jumped up from his seat, trying to assess the damage.

“What happened?” He looked wildly between Hermione and Malfoy. A beat late, Harry realised that Hermione looked thoroughly shaken as Ron comforted her. She recovered quickly, waving Ron off and assuring him that she was alright, and yet she couldn’t take her eyes off Malfoy.

Harry bent over Malfoy tentatively, placing a hand on his shoulder. He half-expected Malfoy to jerk away, but he let Harry leave his hand there, his shoulders shaking and his eyes squeezed shut. It took some time, but he was soon able to sit up straight again, although there were tears in the corners of his eyes and his hands were trembling violently.

“What the fuck was that?” Malfoy snarled, turning on Hermione. Ron grew red in the face.

“Oi, watch it, Malfoy.” He warned, putting an arm around Hermione. She smiled gratefully at her husband and then turned back to Harry and Malfoy, face turning serious again.

“I had no idea that would happen. It surprised me, too.” She took a deep breath. “I’m afraid what you’re dealing with isn’t obliviate. It’s something else, something I’ve never seen before. Normal memory charms should also work with the spell that I used, but from the way it repelled and backfired so violently, I think Dark Magic has to be involved.”

Her words hung heavily in the air.

Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Lucius Malfoy erasing his own son's memories was one thing, but using Dark Magic to mess with his son’s mind, knowing full well the possible repercussions if something went even slightly wrong? That was low, even for him.

“I know you said it wasn’t an option, but I really think you should visit St. Mungo’s, since they have experts who may have seen this type of thing before. Of course I’ll do my own research and try to help in any way I can, but … this looks bad.”

Harry stared at Malfoy, who hadn’t spoken a word since Hermione’s explanation. He couldn’t stand it, feeling helpless. 

“Is there nothing we can do?” Harry asked.

Hermione hesitated.

“I’m not saying this will bring the memories back, because it won’t, but maybe trying to piece some memories together could be productive. It would help us know exactly which memories have been erased and if they’re memories that you’re part of, you could also help fill in the blanks a little. I know it’s not much, but it’s something.”

Hermione glanced around the room. 

“I suppose we’ll have to reschedule dinner.” She said quietly. “We’ll be going, but call us, okay? We miss you.”

Harry was still too stunned to really process anything, but Hermione’s last words flooded his heart with warmth.

“Of course.” Harry got up and walked his friends to the door.

“Be gentle, okay, Harry?” Hermione said. “Messing with a person’s memory … it’s messing with their identity, the experiences that make them who they are.” Her eyes grew distant. “It’s horrible for all parties involved.”

Harry knew that she was thinking of her parents. 

He stepped forward and kissed her cheek and hugged Ron.

“I’ll be in touch, I promise.”

With one last wave, they were gone. 

***

For almost a week after the revelation, Malfoy was surly and closed-off. He stopped joining Harry for his morning cup of tea and he didn’t show his face for dinner, either. 

Funnily enough, Harry also lost all sense of rhythm in his life. He still rose to the sound of Malfoy taking his shower, but he stopped reading the paper and instead spent long hours in his own room, drifting in and out of fitful sleep. By the time he bothered to get up at all, the sun hung low in the sky and Draco had long disappeared off somewhere. Harry knew he wouldn’t return until late at night. 

The exact time varied, but the one thing Harry was certain of was that he wouldn’t fall asleep until he heard the sound of Malfoy moving around in the guest room again. While he waited, he spent listless hours lying on the sofa, watching television and chewing absentmindedly on a packet of crackers with a strong cup of coffee. Harry barely touched the phone, not having the heart to follow through on his promise to call his friends or to pick it up to order food. His appetite vanished along with the absence of Malfoy's company. 

If it got to be past midnight and Malfoy still showed no signs of return, Harry got up from the sofa with a sigh and got ready for bed. Then he would lie there, on his back, wide awake, until the sun rose in the sky once more and he repeated it all again.

***

Draco, quite frankly, had no idea that Harry stopped functioning around the same time he stopped seeing him. The news Hermione delivered sent him reeling, and for an agonising day, he denied it. He decided that it was Potter and his friends playing a stupid, disgusting joke on him, perhaps to get back at him for everything he’d done in the past - that’s right, it was a cruel trick. He should have known that Harry would never want to genuinely help him, after all, they had been on opposing sides of a war, for fuck’s sake.

After some time passed, however, Draco came to accept that this was not the case. Hermione had no reason to lie, her surprise had been genuine, and Ron would enjoy playing a good trick on him, but he wasn’t cruel. Draco knew that. And even though Draco had shown up out of nowhere on his doorstep after a year of no contact following seven years of mutual dislike, Harry had shown him undeniable kindness. 

Agreeing to help him at all was more than Draco could have ever hoped for.

But Harry had gone above and beyond, allowing Draco to stay at his home after seemingly noticing that Draco really had nowhere to go; he had no Muggle money and he didn’t want to stay anywhere near the wizarding world because he so often got harassed when people recognised him as an ex-Death Eater. Most establishments straight-up refused him service. 

That day when Harry had opened his door to him, Draco had been basically homeless. For the first couple of days after he left home, it had been fine, really. He'd spent his days sitting on random benches in parks or bus stops, or ducking inside a bookstore and staying there all day until it was about to close and the owner gave him dirty looks. He'd eaten meals in shady pubs in the depths of Knockturn Alley, pulling the hood of his cloak low over his face so as not to be noticed, and huddled up in a ball at some storefront to sleep. 

It was a cruel and harsh difference from everything he was used to, but he was terrified to go back home. He was afraid to lose more of himself than he already had.

Things had been going quite smoothly until it started to rain. And it didn’t stop. That was when, half-delirious from the worst fever he’d ever experienced in his life, he sought out Harry Potter.

And against everything Draco expected to happen, for Harry to turn him away, to shout at him, to ask him where he got the nerve, or at the very least to shut the door in his face, Harry let him in. He listened. He helped. He made him tea every morning without asking. He read the Daily Prophet and told him interesting stories that Draco found funny. He ordered them dinner every night and ate with him, talking casually with him as though he was just another person he’d gone to school with and not someone who’d been on the wrong side of a war that ended only a year ago.

Harry had been so good to him, and Draco didn’t believe that he would do anything to hurt him. 

Still, he needed some time to process everything. He still got up early in the morning, but he stopped going to the kitchen where he knew Harry would be waiting with a cup of tea. Instead, he went back to the room Harry lent him, got dressed, and Disapparated. Then he made his way to Flourish and Blotts with a glamour securely in place, picked out a book or two on memory charms, and spent the whole day researching. He was determined to put an end to this, and if so many people who probably weren’t even fond of him could put in the effort, so could he.

By the time he left, it was well into the night, and he enjoyed walking back to Harry’s apartment. It still made him nervous to be so exposed, but the cool air of the summer night was pleasant enough that he never gave it up.

Then he went to bed, careful to be quiet so as not to wake Harry, and the next day, he did it all again.

***

Ironically, Draco made his way back into Harry’s life because of quite an unfortunate event. 

Harry had fallen asleep on the sofa, the television still on. He hadn’t even removed his glasses, and he slept uncomfortably with his neck propped up on a cushion.

When Draco returned to the apartment, having Apparated from just outside the door to his guest room, he was surprised to hear the sound of the television still playing. Not having caught a single glimpse of Harry in the past few weeks because he always left before Harry woke up and returned after he fell asleep, Draco walked out into the living room.

He was surprised to find Harry asleep with his mouth hanging open, a cup of coffee sitting dangerously close to the edge of the coffee table and his glasses crooked. For a moment, Draco was tempted to just duck back into his room and pretend he’d never seen anything. But then he reminded himself of all the ways Harry had gone out of his way to help him, and he found he couldn’t.

Draco swiftly turned off the television, removed Harry’s glasses, and left to put the cup in the sink. Just before retiring to his own room, Draco paused and waved his wand so that a blanket tucked itself around Harry. Satisfied, Draco turned out the lights and went to bed.

He didn’t think he got two hours of sleep before he jerked awake to the sound of shouts coming from the living room. Still half-asleep, Draco instinctively grabbed his wand, jumping out of bed in one swift motion. He was briefly reminded of another time, in his own home, sleeping with his wand under his pillow just in case something bad happened. He shook himself; now was not the time.

When Draco went to investigate the sound, however, he quickly discovered that it was not an intruder with malicious intents attacking Harry. No, it was simply Harry having a nightmare. Draco relaxed, his wand arm dropping limply to his side, and walked over to Harry, who was thrashing in his blanket and shouting incomprehensible words. 

Draco reached out to shake his shoulder.

“No,” Harry choked. “Stop.”

Draco had to check to make sure Harry was still asleep. In doing so, he got a better look at Harry’s face. It was all crumpled in pain, or anguish, or fear - Draco couldn’t really tell which. His forehead was covered with a light sheen of sweat, and tears were dripping out of the corner of his eyes. His teeth were clenched so tight Draco worried he would do damage to his jaw.

More firmly this time, Draco shook Harry’s shoulder. 

As Harry gasped awake, he sat bolt upright and, flailing from invisible attackers, swung a vicious punch right into Draco’s face, which had been hovering low over Harry. 

“For Merlin’s sake, Potter.” Draco groaned, clutching his nose which had started spurting blood. Harry looked around wildly, eyes unfocused. When they finally landed on Draco, who stood a few feet away, with blood dripping onto his otherwise pristine night clothes, Harry’s confusion dissipated.

“Did I do that?” Harry gasped.

“No, I clocked myself in the nose.” Draco hadn’t meant for the sarcastic comment to slip out of his mouth so bitingly. He felt a twinge of regret as Harry looked even more worried. Draco quickly tapped his nose with his wand, wincing as it mended the bone.

“I’m fine. It’s not your fault.” Draco said gruffly. He’d never been good at reassuring people.

Meanwhile, apparently having nightmares made Harry think of the most random things - Draco recalled the first night he’d stayed in Harry’s apartment, the conversation in the dark.

“I haven’t seen you in a week.”

Harry’s tone was accusatory.

“I’ve been busy.” Draco replied honestly.

There was a short pause as Harry collected his thoughts. He didn’t do a very good job at it, Draco thought, as the next thing to come out of his mouth was completely unrelated to what they’d been talking about.

“Can we try that thing Hermione suggested?”

“St, Mungo’s? I already told you, I’m not-”

“No, not that.” Harry cut him off impatiently. “Trying to piece your memory together. Obviously I won’t be much help when it comes to your childhood or anything more recent, but we went to school together. And even if we weren’t friends, I think I kept pretty good tabs on you throughout the years.” Harry barked a short laugh. Draco wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but decided to ignore it for then.

“I just … I can’t stand just sitting around all day doing nothing.” Harry looked down at his hands that were clasped neatly in his lap.

Draco was about to tell Harry that he’d been actively looking for a way to solve his issue, but a closer look at Harry stopped him short. He looked exhausted, and Draco was suddenly stunningly aware of how Harry had lost weight in the last week. It was the first time Draco even suspected that his absence had thrown Harry’s routine out of balance. He’d always assumed that Harry carried on as he’d done before, making coffee in the morning while reading the paper, chuckling to himself at the absurd stories, doing whatever he did throughout the day, and ordering food for dinner. The only reason he hadn't attempted to carry on their small routine had been because Draco assumed that Harry was only doing it to placate him, and Draco didn't want to be an imposition any further. But perhaps that hadn't been the case.

It was mostly due to this observation that Draco agreed. 

They didn’t talk about the nightmare that left tear tracks on Harry’s cheeks.

They didn’t talk about Harry’s weight loss or the bags under his eyes.

They didn’t even talk about the fact that Draco’s father used Dark Magic on him to forcibly remove his memories.

Instead, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight shining into the room through the gaps in the curtains, they agreed to begin the following day, and that was that.

Chapter Text

They went back to their usual routine the next day as though the past week hadn’t happened at all. The coffee, the tea, the paper, the comfortable silence - all of it was back to normal. 

It was after breakfast that the changes started to take place. But these changes weren't the kind that made Harry feel as though he were floating through the air, untethered from reality and drifting through life with no real purpose. No, these were going to be changes for the better. Harry was startled to find that he actually believed that.

“When do you want to start?” Harry asked as they got up and walked to the living room. They sat side by side on the sofa.

Malfoy glanced around the room.

“Maybe we should try this somewhere else.”

“What? Why?”

Malfoy gestured to the awkward space left between them. 

“This isn’t exactly ideal.” 

“Fine, do you have somewhere in mind?”

Malfoy hesitated.

“There’s this one place we could go.”

***

Harry didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but a small, quaint bookstore that also doubled as a coffee shop certainly wasn’t it. That part wouldn't have been so surprising, if it hadn't been for the fact that it was a Muggle establishment. Although Harry had subconsciously decided that Malfoy had become somewhat of a better person since the war ended, this was still quite a big leap from the past. 

If Malfoy noticed the way Harry was staring at him incredulously, he pretended not to, pushing open the door and striding inside confidently. Harry trailed behind him, taking everything in.

It wasn’t very spacious, but not in a way that made Harry claustrophobic. The walls were lined with bookshelves that were cluttered with books but judging by the hand-decorated wooden signs, they were well organised. The shelves were so tall that they touched the ceiling, and seemed to go on for much further than the actual size of the store would have allowed. Harry felt like it was the sort of place one lost track of time in, the shelves a maze that went on forever. All of a sudden, Harry was reminded of the Triwizard Tournament and the maze where the last task had taken place, and his breath caught in his throat. It was silly; this place didn't resemble that dreaded scene at all, but Harry's brain made associations in strange ways. Harry forced himself to tear his eyes away from the rows of bookshelves, searching for Malfoy who had disappeared into the stacks.

To the right, there was a small area that constituted the coffee shop consisted of around five round tables where people could sit and drink and read, but on closer inspection, the entire store was littered with bean bag chairs and random cushions where anyone was welcome to take a seat. The windows were decorated with strings of fairy lights, despite it being months before Christmas. In fact, it looked like the kind of place that never took down those tiny golden blinking lights throughout all four seasons. Harry would have found that silly anywhere else; here, it made perfect sense. 

The counter was located near the door, bridging the bookstore and coffee shop, which seemed to both take orders and ring people up.

Behind it, there was currently a young woman with curly dark red hair tucked under a cap with her head bent low over a book. Malfoy reappeared from the rows of shelves, a slim book tucked under his arm, and walked over before Harry could register what was going on. Once he reached the counter, he outstretched an arm and knocked briskly on the counter in front of her.

Harry was mortified.

“Malfoy,” He hissed, hurrying over with the intent apologise to the young woman for Malfoy's rude behaviour. Sure enough, the young woman glanced up, clearly annoyed, but much to Harry’s bewilderment, her face broke into a grin as soon as she saw who was standing in front of her. 

“Draco!” She smiled. Up close, she had a round, pale face and her nose was smattered with freckles. Her eyes were startlingly blue, the sort that people complimented as soon as they saw them. When she smiled, a dimple popped into view on each cheek.

“Emily.” Draco Malfoy was smiling. Not the small, tired smile Harry had seen occasionally, and not the smirk he used to wear when he shot insult after insult at Harry. No, this was a wide, genuine smile, the kind that Harry hadn’t ever been on the receiving end of. That wasn't to say he'd never seen it before, because he had caught a glimpse of it it, once or twice back in Hogwarts, when Harry had happened to glance over to a rowdy group of Slytherins at exactly the right moment. Malfoy was always in the centre of it all, and Harry’s gaze would linger on him for a prolonged second as Malfoy flashed a bright grin in his friends' direction. 

That was the smile he was wearing, the kind that was open and warm and made his entire face light up. Harry found he couldn’t stand to look at Malfoy smiling at Emily that way, although he couldn't understand why. All he knew was that there was an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach that wouldn't go away. Harry averted his gaze, staring at the menu written in chalk on a blackboard propped against the counter instead.

“Oh my God, you brought a friend! I was beginning to think you didn’t have any.” Emily finally noticed Harry.

Harry waited for Malfoy to correct her. They weren’t friends. 

“I have plenty of friends, thank you very much.” Malfoy said haughtily, but he was still smiling. “Emily, this is Po- Harry. Harry, Emily.”

Emily turned to face Harry and stuck out a hand across the counter. Harry shook her hand, waiting reflexively for her eyes to flicker up toward the scar hidden under the fringe of his hair. She did no such thing, of course. Her hand was warm and her handshake firm. 

“Hi.” Harry cleared his throat.

“Hello! It’s so lovely to meet a friend of Draco’s. I know I make it sound like I’m joking, but seriously, I was starting to think I’m the only friend he has! He spends quite a ridiculous amount of time here, and-”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Malfoy cut Emily off as she began rambling. Emily stuck her tongue out him but she was grinning all the same. “I’ll have-”

“Hot chocolate, I know. For heaven’s sake, Draco, it’s the middle of August. How are you not boiling hot?”

Malfoy flushed. 

“I was going to say an iced americano, actually.” 

“Oh, sure you were.” Emily rolled her eyes and winked at Harry. Harry blinked, but then smiled. He decided he liked her. It was impossible not to. Harry wasn’t the biggest fan of meeting new people, but Emily was soft, warm, and comfortable. Harry thought those were some of the best qualities a person could have.

“I’ll just take the hot chocolate.” Malfoy grumbled. He glared at Harry as if to say, say something about it, I dare you.

Harry shrugged innocently. He hadn’t even thought to tease him about Malfoy's surprising choice of drink, but now he had to.

“Make that two, please.” Harry grinned. “Unless there’s anything you recommend in particular?”

“Oh, no, the hot chocolate here is heavenly. That’s exactly what I recommended to Draco when he first walked in here, so I suppose his addiction is sort of my fault, really.” Emily gestured a lot with her hands. With nothing pinning it down, the book that had been left open on the counter flipped shut. “Oh, shit.” 

“You were on page 114.” Malfoy said smoothly. 

“Thanks.” Emily shook her head at herself. “I really need to invest in a bookmark.”

“You say that every time and yet I never see you actually getting one.”

“Well, you’d think you’d have gotten one for me by now, but no such luck! Chivalry is dead.” Emily said dramatically.

“I don’t think that’s what chivalry means, Emily.”

“Oh, whatever. Just go, I’ll bring your drinks over when they’re ready. Oh, and are you buying that?” Emily nodded toward the book that Malfoy now held in his hands. He glanced down at it as though he'd forgotten he'd brought it over, and slid it across the counter.

“No, sorry. I was just looking at it and forgot to put it back - maybe I'll get it next time. We’ll be in the corner.” Malfoy tilted his head in the direction of the cafe section of the store. Emily rolled her eyes but took the book without protest and tucked it away behind the counter, waving them away.

Harry followed Malfoy to a table rather secluded from the rest of the store and slid into the seat across from him without comment. Malfoy cleared his throat, pulled in his chair a little. Then he got a look at Harry’s face.

“Go ahead and say what you want to, Potter. Let’s get it over with.” He scowled.

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” Harry grinned, the previous sinking feeling in his stomach quite forgotten, overcome by the need to poke fun at Malfoy. “It’s just, I never knew you were a fan of redheads, or Muggles, let alone both.”

“Okay, I deserved that.” Malfoy crossed his arms. “Are you done?”

“Yeah, for now.” Harry grinned wickedly. “This is only the first time of many that you’ll be hearing about this.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. 

“So,” Harry said, putting aside his intentions to annoy Malfoy in order to satisfy his curiosity instead. “Is this where you’ve been going every day?”

“No, I spent most of my days in Knockturn Alley. But I come here often, for an hour or so, to buy a book and have a warm drink,” Malfoy paused thoughtfully. “Muggles have very good imaginations.”

Harry burst out laughing.

“What kind of books have you been reading?”

“I’ve read a few Jane Austen novels, which I quite liked.”

Harry nearly choked on his own spit at the mention of one of Hermione’s favourite authors.

“Which is your favourite?” He managed.

“Pride and Prejudice. I think Darcy had the manners of a walrus and Elizabeth had no business pointing out everything wrong with him when she clearly had issues of her own.”

Harry snorted loudly, much to Malfoy's irritation, but he didn’t pay him much mind.

“Oh Merlin, wait until Hermione hears about this.” Harry muttered to himself excitedly. 

“What?” Malfoy frowned. 

“Nothing, nothing.” Harry quickly thought of a way to change the subject. “So how long have you been coming here? You and Emily looked pretty close.”

“Almost nine months.” 

“Really? That long?”

“Yes, well, after everything that happened, it was difficult to go anywhere without people treating me like I was either a ticking time bomb or dirt on their shoe. I needed to get away from it all, and I ended up here.” Malfoy smiled wryly, lifting his eyes to meet Harry’s. “Turns out, redheads and Muggles aren’t so bad.”

Harry felt a sudden stab in his heart, something that felt like warmth. He ignored it. 

“Could have told you that seven years ago.” Harry’s voice came out hoarsely. He cleared his throat hastily - he didn't think Malfoy would appreciate it if Harry got emotional for reasons even Harry himself didn't know yet. Just in time, Emily bustled over with two hot chocolates. 

“Here comes your favourite drink, Malfoy.” Harry said loudly, grinning widely as Emily set down the mugs in front of them and disappeared back behind the counter.

“Just shut up and try it.” Malfoy's eyes glinted. He watched as Harry took his first sip of something that could only be described as magic in his mouth. It wasn't like he hadn't tried hot chocolate before - of course he had, throughout the years, but this was rich and creamy and just the right amount of sweet. It was perfect.

“What do they put in these things?” Harry’s eyes were round and earnest, and he was so preoccupied with marvelling over the taste that he hadn't noticed Malfoy’s eyes alternating between Harry’s eyes and lips. 

“Potter,” Malfoy smirked as he tapped the area around lips. Harry understood immediately, blushing scarlet all the way to his neck and ears. He hastily wiped whatever excess hot chocolate that stained his mouth away with the back of his hand. 

“Alright, so let’s get started.” Still flustered, Harry felt the need to steer the conversation away from his embarrassment. 

“Ah, just the thing I’ve been looking forward to.” Malfoy drawled mockingly. Harry wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face.

“Oh, shut up, Malfoy.” Harry muttered. He was still feeling quite embarrassed, so the words didn't come out with as much bite as he would have wanted them to. 

“Been a while since I heard that .”  Malfoy's eyes were still dancing with mirth. This was not how it was supposed to go. Merely seconds ago, the roles had been reversed. 

Harry decided his best course of action was to ignore Malfoy and push on with his agenda.

“I think First Year’s as good a place to start as any. What do you think?”

“Sounds fine to me.” Malfoy finally took pity on him, conceding to the conversation instead of lingering on Harry's embarrassment.

Harry thought back, perusing his memories for a good place to start. Having found it, he grinned widely.

“Remember the first time we met?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“How could I forget? I wanted to be friends but you humiliated me and broke my heart.”

“Only because you were a brat to Ron.”

“I’m still hurt.”

“Shut up.”

“No, really. My heart aches whenever I remember the time Harry Potter rejected my handshake in front of everyone. It has haunted me my entire life and I wake up having nightmares of that very moment.”

“Well, don’t be such a dick next time and maybe I’ll accept.”

Draco raised his eyebrows, amused.

He extended a hand.

“Hello, Harry Potter, my name is Draco Malfoy. Shall we be friends?”

Harry stared at Malfoy's pale hand and then looked back up at Malfoy's face. Mere seconds ago, they had both been messing around, momentarily lost in childhood rivalries and old grudges. The conversation had been light-hearted, and Malfoy had clearly just been joking when he'd decided to reach out his hand in an imitation of their first encounter. But now, there was something heavier in the air, and Malfoy suddenly looked nervous, almost like he expected Harry to laugh in his face and reject him for a second time.

Harry's initial instinctual reaction had been to do just that - to laugh the moment off, and to pretend he hadn't seen Malfoy's hand hovering in midair. But then the thought occurred to him that Harry didn't want to hurt Malfoy's feelings. He could sense that this was a pivotal moment for both of them, and Harry didn't want to fuck it up. So Harry reached across the table and shook Malfoy's hand, and was immediately convinced he'd made the right decision when Malfoy stared at him in bewilderment and, a moment later, relief.

“Alright, Draco Malfoy. Let’s be friends.” Harry answered, and just like that, they were now friends.

***

Things were going better than Harry could ever have hoped. As they slowly drained their hot chocolates, they talked about anything and everything they remembered from First Year. Talking about a time when they were eleven years old was easy. There were no traces of war, no big losses yet. It was a time when everything was new, from friendships to classes to Hogwarts itself. First Year, at least in their minds, was defined by Quidditch matches, feasts in the Great Hall, and insulting each other in Potions. 

It was everything great about Hogwarts, and the best part was, Draco appeared to remember everything. Of course, Harry couldn’t fill in all the blanks, but once he recounted a couple of stories with Ron and Hermione, such as the time they fought that troll, their visits to Hagrid, Fluffy the three-headed dog, and Ron’s talent at wizard chess, Draco opened up with some tales of his own that Harry had never known about.

“I don’t think I ever really made new friends after I got to Hogwarts. I already knew a lot of the kids in Slytherin, because our families knew each other. Pansy was definitely my closest friend.”  A fond look took over his face. “She was a spoiled brat and wickedly mean, but we’d known each other since we were toddlers, and at the time we were fully convinced that someday in the future, we were going to rule the world.”

“I only vaguely knew of Blaise. We’d seen one another once or twice during family gatherings, but that was about it. We didn’t like each other all too much at first when we had to share a room in Hogwarts. I’ve always preferred things to be neat and tidy, but Blaise was the exact opposite. He threw off his robes and left them hanging over his bed and trunk, and he was constantly leaving his socks everywhere. I remember losing it one morning when I accidentally tripped on his underwear that he left on the floor.” Draco grinned, lost in memory. Harry tried to picture it, a much younger version of Draco nearly falling flat on his face and his last shred of patience snapping. 

“We weren’t supposed to use magic, and even if we could, we didn’t know anything that could do each other damage, anyway. We were eleven, for Merlin’s sake.” Draco’s eyes grew distant. “Apparently he’d been sick of me nagging him all the time. When I kicked up a fuss, he fought back. Choice words were spoken. Mothers were insulted.” Draco recalled dryly. 

“It ended in a fist fight and Greg had to pull us apart - it wasn’t difficult. He was huge, even then, while Blaise and I were scrawny. After that, Blaise was more mindful of his belongings cluttering up the room and I just gave up mentioning it to him. It happened out of nowhere, really, us becoming friends.” Draco glanced up at Harry. “Not nearly as dramatic as your troll story.”

Perhaps not, but Harry was curious to know more.

“Are you still close?”

Draco bit down hard on his lower lip.

“They’re both in France. Left the first chance they got. They wrote letters, lots of them, but it was difficult to keep up correspondence when I was still stuck here while they were able to escape it all, together in a completely different country. I stopped replying so often, but that hasn’t stopped them from writing. They’re stubborn like that.”

Listening to Draco talk about his past and what he'd been up to while Harry was having his own adventures with Ron and Hermione was jarring. It was difficult to see Draco from back then in a different way from how Harry perceived him.

Now Harry was learning that Draco was the mean-spirited snob he’d been to Harry and his friends, yes, but he’d also been the eleven-year-old boy who snorted pumpkin juice out of his nose at a vulgar joke that Blaise told at breakfast and snuck out with his friends after hours just for the thrill of it. He was the kid who spent hours soaring through the sky with Pansy and Blaise, chasing each other down and talking about how amazing it would be if they could make the team next year. 

Even though Harry saw Draco very differently now compared to their days in Hogwarts, it had never really occurred to him that there was a whole group of people who saw him in so many more ways than the bully up to no good that he’d been to Harry. 

“Potter, are you listening?”

Harry was brought abruptly back to the present.

“Harry.” He corrected instinctively. Draco furrowed his eyebrows. 

“What?”

“We’re friends now, aren’t we?” Harry’s heart was hammering against his rib cage. “My friends call me Harry.”

Slowly but surely, a smile spread across Draco’s face.

“Alright, then, Harry . What do you say we move on to Second Year?”

***

“Did you know Dobby came to my house during the holidays?”

“Ah, our house-elf who you set free by giving him a sock. Should’ve known you two knew each other before that.”

Harry felt a flash of indignance.

“You treated him horribly.”

“My parents treated him horribly. More specifically, my father was the one who kicked him around. Mother wasn’t really interested as long as he did his job.” Draco corrected. “As for me, Malfoy Manor is big, and my mother and father were always around but they never played with me. Guess who did?”

“Dobby?” Harry had always assumed that Draco took part in the mistreatment of Dobby. Apparently, this wasn’t the case.

“Yes, well, Dobby and the other house elves.”

“I had no idea.”

“Hmm. I didn’t really think of them as friends, of course. They were more like my favourite toys that walked and talked. They kept me company when no one else was present and they slipped me sweet treats because my mother generally didn’t like me having them when I was younger - she thought they were bad for my teeth.” Draco grimaced. “When my father found out I’d been playing with the house elves, he was furious. Went on and on about me tarnishing the dignity of the Malfoy house by indulging in such activities with them. Mind you, I was eight at the time. He made me watch him iron all of their fingers. We steered clear of each other after that, but I never mistreated them.”

Harry wasn’t sure how to process all this information. He imagined Dobby, who had been a good friend of his, chatting away with an eight-year-old Draco, stealing a sly muffin from the kitchens to offer the child. He remembered Dobby’s goodness, how he’d always meant well but sometimes went about showing his affection in ways that often resulted in disastrous consequences.

“So what is this I hear about Dobby visiting you?” Draco asked, manoeuvring the conversation back to where it began.

“Well, he showed up one night at my aunt and uncle’s house and told me I shouldn’t go to Hogwarts because terrible things were going to happen. I told him no, but he did everything he could to try to get me to stay away.” 

“For example?” Draco prompted.

“Well, he rigged Platform Nine and Three Quarters so Ron and I couldn’t get on the train. We ended up driving a flying car to Hogwarts, I’m sure you remember. Then there was the Quidditch match where he bewitched the bludgers so they would knock me off my broom.”

“That’s the one where Lockhart turned your arm to rubber.” Draco said it seriously enough, but Harry knew he was suppressing a laugh.

“Lockhart, that fucking pill.” Harry groaned. 

“Remember Dueling Club?” 

“Yes, I think I remember the thing that made everyone think I was the heir of Slytherin, Draco.” Harry deadpanned.

“I definitely had you beat in that fight, by the way.”

“Are you kidding? Snape had to step in to save your sorry arse.” 

“Only to get rid of the snake so you would stop seducing it.”

“I was not seducing it.” Of all the ways Harry had heard people refer to him speaking Parseltongue, he had to admit seducing snakes was not one of them.

“Anyway, I could have dealt with it just fine.” Draco insisted.

“Yeah, but technically, I won.” Harry pointed out.

“For the record, if we were to duel again, I would win.”

“Yes, well, I suppose it's healthy to dream big.”

Draco simply glared at Harry and Harry knew he won this round. He grinned triumphantly. He let Draco simmer in silence for a few more beats before bringing up a new topic of conversation.

“Second year was also the year we brewed polyjuice potion.”

“You did what ?”

“Yeah, and we used it to sneak into the Slytherin common room disguised as Crabbe and Goyle.”

Draco gaped at him. Harry revelled in the satisfaction of catching Draco off guard.

“You’re lying.”

“Ask Ron.” Harry shrugged. “Or Hermione. She did all the work, really.”

“That is …” Draco shook his head. “You’re crazy. That was the year there was a Basilisk threatening the safety of everyone at Hogwarts, and you were running around making polyjuice potion?

“That was why we made the polyjuice potion. We thought you might know something, which admittedly we were wrong about, but we ultimately ended up figuring it out.”

“Yeah, yeah, you killed the Basilisk, destroyed a horcrux, and saved Ginny Weasley in the process.” 

“Right.” Harry nodded.

He was suddenly brought back to the first time he really came to know Ginny. At the time, she’d had a crush on him, although he hadn’t reciprocated those feelings. Even then, however, she’d had almost every quality that Harry grew to love later on in life. Her fierceness that matched her bright red hair, her bravery, her determination, her strength. He smiled to himself as he reminisced about those old times. Things had been so simple back then.

“How did things end with W- with Ginny?” Draco asked, seeming to sense that Harry was thinking about her.

“After the war, we gradually grew apart. It wasn’t a dramatic breakup, but we were both so wrapped up in our own grief that we forgot to care for our relationship until one day we woke up and realised we were both completely different people. War does that. It changes people.” Harry held Draco’s gaze. “Sometimes for the better.”

“Seems pretty pathetic that a war was what it took for someone to change for the better.” Draco said stiffly. They weren’t talking about Ginny anymore.

“Not if they were kids before it began and only just became adults when it ended.”

Draco didn’t reply to that. 

“You didn’t have a choice.” Harry said gently. His eyes flickered down to the sliver of the dark ink that stained Draco’s arm, just visible under his long-sleeved shirt that had started to ride up a little. “We were kids.”

“For both of us being kids, you made much better choices.”

“I had people steering me in all the right directions.”

Draco looked away. He didn’t speak for so long that Harry thought the conversation must be over.

“Did you ever grow sick of it all? Being the Chosen One?” Draco asked, catching Harry off guard.

Harry cringed.

“Please don’t call me that.”

“I’m assuming that means yes.”

“Of course I grew sick of it. By the time I was fifteen, I’d avoided being murdered by the same madman four times. All I ever wanted, since I was four years old living in that stupid cupboard under the stairs was to be a normal kid, but I don’t think I ever really got that.”

“You lived where?”

“Oh. The cupboard under the stairs was where I lived while I stayed with my aunt and uncle. They gave me a better room after I got into Hogwarts.”

Draco was appalled. 

“Merlin.” He whispered. “That’s-”

“Hardly the worst of what’s happened.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It had been a while since he’d had to reveal his mistreatment at the Dursleys to someone, as Ron and Hermione had already found out about it years ago and it was something that didn't exactly come up in casual conversation. But even then, they hadn’t reacted quite as openly as Draco did.

Perhaps it was because Draco, with all the baggage of his own family, had a good childhood. Sure, his father was strict and his mother aloof, but they’d always made sure Draco had the very best of almost everything he needed or wanted. Those early days of childhood were something to cling to, to look back fondly to convince himself that things couldn’t be all bad in the world because otherwise he couldn’t have been so happy as a child. Coming to terms that Harry never had that genuinely shocked Draco. 

“I didn’t know.”

“How could you?” Harry’s fingers tightened around his mug. It was ironic really, how he could talk about coming face to face with a Basilisk when he was twelve with relative ease but bringing up his neglect and abuse as a child brought a lump in his throat.

“Was there … anything else?”

“They didn’t really give me food until I learned to cook. I was responsible for breakfast every day. If I burned something or made something that wasn’t to their taste, they starved me for the entire day.”

Draco looked mortified.

“Is that why you don’t like to cook?” He asked slowly.

Harry blinked at the question. The truth was, he’d never really made that conscious connection himself, but when Draco did, it suddenly made a lot of sense. He’d always known how to cook, of course he had, because he’d done it for years before going to Hogwarts. He just hated the thought of it, and he never really understood why until then.

“I suppose so.”

“Merlin, Harry, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.”

He was referring to the remarks he’d made on the first night of his stay. 

“Don’t apologise.” Harry shook his head. “If we started apologising to each other for every single thing we’ve done or said to each other, I don’t think we could ever have another normal conversation.”

The look on Draco’s face implied that he wanted to protest, but Harry was adamant, so instead of doing that, they went back to going through the events of Second Year. Neither of them really strayed from the topic after that. 

***

By the end of recounting details of Second Year, it quickly became apparent that Draco was not missing any significant memories from that year, either. This was good news. Perhaps the spell had done less damage than they thought.

Harry glanced out the window. The sun was beginning to sink, splashing the otherwise grey sky with orange. A beam of sunlight streamed through the window they were sitting beside, engulfing both of them in a warm, soft glow. 

Draco’s hair glistened, blonde as ever, and when he looked down at a spot on the table, Harry noted that his long eyelashes disappeared in the sunlight. As if sensing Harry's gaze, Draco looked up with eyes that had turned silver. He raised his eyebrows so that they disappeared into his hair that he’d worn down that day. Harry decided he liked Draco’s hair like this more than how he usually styled it; it made him look younger and softened his sharp features.

“What?” Draco asked.

“I like your hair.”

Harry, what in Merlin’s underpants are you saying?

Draco stared at Harry like he’d gone crazy as Harry went beet red all over again. Soon enough, Draco got over the surprise and grinned wickedly. He leaned forward on his elbows, advancing so close that Harry could smell him. Draco had clearly been using his soap again. It made his mind go fuzzy.

“Excuse me?” The way he grinned resembled that of a wolf that had its prey backed into a corner.

“Forget it.”

“No, you must tell me what it is exactly about my hair that you like so much.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Didn’t sound like nothing.”

“It looks good when you wear it down, okay? There, are you happy?”

Draco blinked slowly. Harry watched his eyelashes reappear briefly then go invisible again.

“Yeah, I’d say I’m pretty happy, Potter.”

There was that lurching in his stomach again. Harry pushed his chair back abruptly and got to his feet.

“I think we’ve done enough for today. Let’s continue this tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Draco followed suit. “Let’s go home.”

Harry pretended that his heart hadn’t caught in his throat when Draco called Harry’s apartment home. It could have been a slip of words - it probably was, to be honest. But there was something about the way he said it, like it made all the sense in the world that Draco should casually refer to Harry’s place like that. It was almost as if for the first time since he’d moved there, unable to bear the emptiness of Grimmauld Place, that small, two-bedroom apartment in the middle of London truly felt like home.

All because Draco Malfoy referred to it as such.

Chapter Text

They picked up where they left off the following day, at the exact same table in the exact same store. 

Emily had greeted them both enthusiastically at the counter. She wasn’t wearing a cap this time, but instead wore her red hair in two rather messy braids. Harry was glad to see her, especially because he had yet to wrap his head around what happened that morning.

Harry woke, not to the sound of running water as he usually did, but to a loud yelp very similar to what he’d heard during the shower incident. When he opened his bedroom door however, the immediate smell of something burning indicated that he was dealing with a whole new situation. He ran into the kitchen to find Draco standing in front of a blackened frying pan and struggling to open a window that Harry knew from experience would not budge at all.

“What are you doing?” Harry demanded, rushing over to assess the damage. Draco turned to him, exasperated.

“Isn’t it obvious? I tried my hand at cooking and it isn’t quite going as planned.”

“Understatement of the century.” Harry rolled his eyes. “I thought you didn’t even like breakfast.”

Draco crossed his arms.

“I thought you’d appreciate me going out of my way to cook breakfast for us.”

“I would if whatever you made was actually edible.” Harry peered down at the pan, recognizing what looked like charred bacon burned to the crisp. “I’ll clean this up and put the kettle on, you go open the windows in the living room before the bloody fire alarm goes off.”

Draco left without protest.

When they were sitting at the kitchen table later on, both freshly showered and the apartment no longer thick with smoke, Harry noticed something else. Draco was wearing his hair down again, barely styled. It didn’t mean anything. Of course it didn’t. But Harry wasn’t exactly in control of that annoying little voice in the back of his mind that came up with the most absurd theories.

What if he’s wearing it down because you said you liked it?

Don’t be ridiculous, Harry told himself firmly. 

But the thought bugged him all the way until they reached the bookstore.

So to say he was happy to see Emily was a huge understatement.

“Draco! Harry! Wonderful to see that my favourite customers are back.” Emily grinned. Harry smiled back, instantly relaxed in her presence. 

“Hi, Emily, it’s good to see you. We’ll have two hot chocolates.” Harry glanced over at Draco, who nodded in assent.

“Oh no, is the addiction spreading? Am I responsible for another poor soul who shall never be able to taste any other hot chocolate the same again?” Emily asked, knitting her eyebrows in mock worry. 

“I’m afraid so.” Harry sighed. “I have no regrets, though.”

“Coming right up.” Emily looked over at Draco. “Corner table?”

“You know me so well.” He replied dryly.

***

Harry had known from Draco’s inability to remember Buckbeak that his memories from Third Year must have been affected, but after the previous day where Draco had managed to hold onto all of his memories from First and Second Year, Harry had been hopeful that it wouldn’t be so bad.

Those hopes were dashed down quickly. There were noticeable chunks missing, and Harry could tell that Draco was becoming more frustrated by the minute.

“What do you mean, Granger punched me in the face?”

It was almost worth Draco losing his memories to see the absolute incredulity splayed across his face as Harry revealed that little fact. 

“I mean, you were being a git and Hermione decided she’d had enough - and for good reason too.”

“Merlin.” Draco shook his head and took a sip of his drink. “Never thought she had that in her.”

Once the initial shock wore off, Harry noticed that Draco looked rather impressed. It was really quite jarring to see. Harry knew that Draco Malfoy had matured since their Hogwarts days, and that he was very much a different person now, but the fact that Draco was able to be so lighthearted that someone he’d once been so prejudiced against had socked him in the face was one of the clearest indications he’d seen yet. 

“Trust me, she’s capable of much more.” Harry pretended to shudder. “I think I was more scared of her than I was of Voldemort.”

Harry watched Draco carefully, expecting him to stiffen or at the very least flinch, but Draco spluttered instead, hiding a laugh. 

“You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly.” Harry answered solemnly, even placing a hand on his heart. 

Harry found that he liked watching Draco make facial expressions that were actually recogniseable in place of the usual stoic mask that he held so carefully in place. He wanted to make Draco laugh, or crease his brow in confusion, or frown in barely concealed outrage. He wanted to see the cracks in the marble statue Draco pretended to be.

So he searched for the most absurd thing he remembered from Third Year.

“Remember what I told you about Buckbeak?”

Draco lifted his eyebrows - he did that often, Harry noted. 

“The hippogriff that I tried to get murdered because it attacked me.”

“Hermione and I saved it by using a time turner.”

Harry succeeded in his goal. Draco’s eyes widened and he stared at Harry in open disbelief. Harry thought he could spend all day in that coffee shop, coming up with various stories that would unlock a new expression from Draco every time. 

“A time turner ?”

“Yeah, we used it to save Buckbeak and … and Sirius.” Harry faltered. He hadn’t talked about his godfather very much ever since he died. It had always been too painful, and although Hermione thought talking about it would help, he’d always refused to do so, point blank. In fact, Harry had been spending the last year or so pretending that everyone who’d ever died in the war were all off on some far-away island, stranded and unable to return. But they were alive, and happy, and Harry would meet them again someday. He liked to imagine Sirius with Buckbeak, like those days when he’d been on the run for a crime he didn’t commit. Some days, Harry stared listlessly into the embers in the fireplace at Ron and Hermione’s house, and he’d think he saw Sirius’ face in them. Harry would refuse to blink until his eyes watered because he refused to let go of that image.

So for him to bring up Sirius in conversation, with Draco Malfoy of all people, was crazy. If he was ready to talk about it, Ron and Hermione were the first people he should have gone to. But there was something comforting about the fact that Draco hadn’t known Sirius at all, and that he could show him the Sirius that he knew, knowing that Draco had no prior knowledge or perception of him except that he’d been on the run. In fact, Harry even doubted Draco knew in detail what Sirius had been accused of - he’d only found out himself by overhearing his teachers talk about it in the Three Broomsticks, after all.

Draco clearly noticed the shift in Harry’s mood. Harry could feel his eyes on him, but Draco didn’t push, and Harry was grateful. After he took in a deep breath, he was ready to begin.

“Sirius was my godfather.”

So far, so good.

Draco nodded slowly. He didn’t answer, just watched Harry with those grey eyes.

“You knew Peter Pettigrew.”

It wasn’t a question. Harry wasn’t looking at Draco anymore, instead he stared down into his cup.

“And you remember Remus Lupin.” Another deep breath. “Sirius, Remus, and Peter Pettigrew were my dad’s best friends in Hogwarts. But Peter Pettigrew betrayed them, resulting in my parents dying, and framed Sirius for his crimes. That’s why Sirius was in Azkaban. He escaped during our Third Year at Hogwarts because he recognised a picture of Peter Pettigrew in his animagus form, a rat, in the Daily Prophet. I met Sirius during that year and he became the closest thing to a father figure I knew. He was still on the run, even after we helped him escape, so we didn’t see much of each other. But he was my dad’s best friend, and he treated me like a son.” Harry paused. “He was killed that night at the Ministry by Bellatrix Lestrange.”

Even now, Harry found it difficult to say the vile woman’s name out loud. He could still see the wild, insane glint in her eye and the manic joy etched in her face as she brandished her wand with the spell that sent Sirius behind the veil, could hear her cackling as she tortured Hermione and carved mudblood into her arm. He remembered the flash of white hot anger he’d felt even after Molly Weasley finished her off when he learned that she’d attempted to harm Ginny, too. That woman had done so much damage, rivalling that of Voldemort. 

He despised her.

“Severus was my godfather.”

Harry looked up, snapped out of his thoughts. He’d known Snape favoured Draco and that he’d killed Dumbledore for Draco when Draco couldn’t bring himself to do it, but he’d never have guessed that Severus was to Draco what Sirius had been to Harry.

“He wasn’t a nice person, or a particularly good one - unlike your Sirius.” Draco frowned. 

Harry’s heart lurched, then suddenly felt very warm. Your Sirius. 

Draco continued as though he didn’t notice Harry staring at him. 

“He was very selfish. He’d do anything to protect the people he loved, but he would harm any number of people he didn’t care about without batting an eye to do so. He was my mother’s friend, and I used to look up to him almost as much as I looked up to my father. When I learned he was fighting for Dumbledore - for you - the entire time, I didn’t feel betrayed at all. I was relieved.”

“For my mother.” Harry corrected softly. “He loved my mum, and he did everything for her.”

The pair fell silent.

Severus Snape, who betrayed Voldemort and eventually died at his hands in order to protect Harry’s mother, Lily Potter. 

Sirius Black, who loved James Potter, who would rather die than betray him, and who died fighting to protect the spitting image of his best friend whom he also loved dearly. 

Then there was Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, so different and yet connected in so many complex ways they hadn’t quite begun to understand it themselves, sitting across from each other on a sunny Friday afternoon at a Muggle coffee shop with two mugs of hot chocolate between them, talking about anything and everything. 

It was funny, really, the mysterious ways in which life worked. 

***

Fourth Year was better than Third Year, strangely enough, in terms of Draco’s memory loss. In fact, his memory seemed more or less whole during this time. Neither of them could figure out why, but it was nice to move on from heavy topics for a minute and reminisce on one of the most bizarre years they’d spent at Hogwarts. 

“Did you think I put my name in the Goblet?” Harry asked, suddenly curious. He recalled the mixed reactions of his friends, how Hermione had believed him, but more due to her faith in Dumbledore rather than Harry himself, though she would never admit it. He also remembered, albeit with some discomfort, how that had been the cause for Harry and Ron’s first real fight. 

“Well, on one hand, I thought it had to have been you because I was fully convinced you were an attention-seeking idiot.”

“Ouch.”

Draco ignored Harry and continued.

“On the other hand, I thought there was no way you were smart enough to get around the Goblet. So in the end, I just assumed Granger did it for you.”

Harry didn’t know whether he should be offended or surprised that Draco had acknowledged the fact that Hermione was incredibly smart back then. He’d always thought Draco blatantly blocked out the fact that Hermione was top of the year and the brightest witch of her age due to his prejudice against Muggleborns. 

“The Potter Stinks badges were a stroke of brilliance, if I do say so myself.”

Harry had forgotten about those.

“Asshole.” He scowled. 

Draco threw his head back and laughed, and in that moment, Harry forgot all about his annoyance. 

“So,” Harry said once he’d come back to his senses. “Were you hoping I’d get myself killed?”

“No.” Draco replied immediately. “I mean, seriously injured? Maybe. Making an absolute fool of yourself in front of everyone? Absolutely. But I didn’t want you to die, obviously.”

Harry rolled his eyes. 

“So a serious injury would have been fine?”

“If it forced you to miss Quidditch the next year, yes.” Draco deadpanned. 

It was Harry’s turn to laugh. If there was one thing they shared in common, it was their fierce competitiveness and love for Quidditch. 

“I would have wiped the floor with you, injury or not.”

“With that fancy Firebolt of yours, I was definitely at an unfair disadvantage.”

“Says the person who made it on the team by buying the entire team Nimbus 2001’s.”

Draco rolled his eyes, and Harry knew he’d won yet again. Smiling smugly, he asked another question that had been burning at the back of his mind.

“Did you watch all the tasks?”

“Of course I did, I had several bets running so I had to be present for the events.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry raised his eyebrows.

Harry thought he saw Draco flush and look away hastily. Seconds later, the cool, uninterested look was back in place and Harry thought he must have imagined it.

***

Draco didn’t like where the conversation was going. 

Yes, he’d had several bets going, and he’d deliberately made it very obvious that he was rooting for either Durmstrang or Cedric Diggory to win. He’d attended all the tasks under the excuse that he had good money running on them, but he hadn’t realised just how dangerous and life-threatening the tasks were going to be until he laid eyes on the dragon on the first task.

During the first few minutes of the first task where Harry was flailing around, barely missing being crushed or scorched alive, Draco had been nervous enough for his palms to get sweaty.

“What the fuck is he doing, just standing there?” He demanded to Pansy, who’d been sitting next to him.

“How should I know?” Pansy sniffed. “I don’t know what we’re doing here, I have an essay due tomorrow.”

“Because Draco insisted on seeing Potter, obviously.” Blaise smirked.

“Only because I bet that he’d come in dead last!” Draco snapped, unable to tear his eyes away from Harry, who was now brandishing his wand and yelling something. Draco rolled his eyes when nothing happened. 

Come on, Potter, you can do better than that.

Then the broom came flying through the air, and Draco watched with his heart in his mouth as Harry mounted the broom and kicked off.

Harry flying was quite possibly Draco’s favourite sight in the world, though he would never admit to that. He couldn’t deny that Harry was a damn good Quidditch player, and sometimes he looked more comfortable on his broom than on the ground. That was why the second Draco realised Harry had summoned his broom, he was able to relax.

Draco turned to his friends.

“Summoning a broom? Pathetic. Where’s the flair?” He jeered.

“Oh look, he’s got the egg.” Pansy replied nonchalantly.

“What?”

Draco whipped his head around to find that this was, in fact, true. How had he done that so fast? Draco had barely looked away for a minute.

“Better luck next time, Draco.” Blaise grinned like a shark, patting Draco’s shoulder. “Looks like you’re losing your money.”

But Draco couldn’t give a rat’s arse about the money, and Blaise, the sly son of a bitch, knew it.

Draco could still feel the way his palms got clammy when Harry didn’t resurface from the lake, the way his breath caught in his throat at the commotion at the end of the third task. He remembered everything a little too well, and for the first time, he found himself thinking that forgetting some of the details of his unexplainable obsession over Harry Potter in his school years wouldn’t have been so bad. Especially when Harry was right there, close enough for Draco to touch in a way he would never have believed possible during Hogwarts, his annoying green eyes behind those stupid round glasses irritatingly bright.

Draco looked away, and pretended to be very interested in the man walking his dog right outside the window. 

***

Fifth year was difficult to talk about.

So much had happened that year.

Umbridge, Dumbledore’s Army, the Ministry. Sirius. Dumbledore’s office, shattering glass. 

Worst of all, Draco barely remembered anything.

He remembered the large chunks, such as the fact that Umbridge was their new DADA teacher and that she was absolutely vile, but most details were lost to him.

He didn’t remember helping Umbridge uncover Dumbledore’s Army at all, and although his father had been involved in the Ministry incident, which had been the very event that caused Lucius to fall out of favour with Voldemort, Draco had no recollection of it at all.

Now that Draco couldn’t remember most things, conversation flowed haltingly and Draco was growing visibly frustrated. Harry supposed it made sense, how Lucius would have attempted to remove a good deal of things from the time after Voldemort officially returned, but it made him feel sick to think just how much Draco must have had taken from his mind from Sixth Year up until the end of the war. Honestly, Harry doubted there would be any solid memories left in that department at all.

Still, Harry did his best to explain the events of the year, and tried to do whatever he could to fill in the missing blanks. 

He even showed Draco the faint scars on the back of his hand, I must not tell lies.

Draco’s disgust distracted him for a moment, but not for long.

It quickly became apparent that while Hermione’s suggestion of revisiting the past to try to piece things together and pinpoint what exactly was gone worked well enough when there were only a few chunks missing, such as from Third Year, it became counterproductive when almost everything Harry brought up drew a blank for Draco.

Fifth Year was also where Harry really began to find it difficult to talk about what happened lest he begin spiralling and his garbled explanations clearly weren’t doing Draco much help.

Eventually, Harry cautiously brought up the suggestion of visiting St. Mungo’s again.

“You’re an adult now, and your father lost a lot of the power he used to have, so he can’t just push people around anymore. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Harry reasoned. “I really think it would be beneficial to get an official diagnosis and see what the Healers can do.”

Harry expected Draco to shut the idea down instantly, but Draco hesitated and Harry knew he was thinking about it. So Harry pushed a little further. 

“Hermione can still help, but she’s busy with her own stuff and can’t dedicate all her time to this. What if there’s a proper cure and we can fix everything before the trial? Wouldn’t that be best?”

“Alright.” Draco answered eventually. “Fine. I’ll go if we consult with Granger and there’s no other alternative.”

Harry nodded enthusiastically. 

“Of course.”

A very long phone call with Hermione later, one where Harry received a scolding for not calling more often and Harry apologised, they reached the conclusion that there was really not much that could be done, although she promised that she’d keep looking regardless.

And just like that, Draco finally agreed to visit the hospital. 

***

Harry hadn’t been in St. Mungo’s in a while.

He found that the place made him feel incredibly claustrophobic in a way that it hadn’t before. He shook the feeling off and attempted to focus on the task at hand.

The pair crossed to the front desk, where a witch sat. Harry patted his fringe down over his scar, hoping no one would recognise him. 

“Name?” She said, clearly bored.

Draco hesitated, but cleared his throat and drew himself up to full height. 

“Draco Malfoy.” He answered quietly. The witch’s head snapped up. Her eyes were narrowed as she scanned Draco up and down. 

“Draco Malfoy.” She said slowly through her teeth. “What are you here for?”

“Memory damage.” Draco replied curtly. Harry could sense Draco’s walls rising by the second. 

“Memory damage?” The witch peered over the desk. “You don’t look like you have memory damage.”

“Well, I do.” Draco said through gritted teeth. The witch frowned suspiciously. 

“Are you sure? You’re not here for any funny business, are you?”

It was then that Harry understood that Lucius Malfoy getting involved, although definitely a concern, was not the only reason Draco was reluctant to seek professional help. Everyone knew him as a Death Eater, one who hadn’t even undergone trial yet, and as a result they treated him with open hostility.

That was when Harry did something that he never thought in all his years of living he’d ever do. He flicked his fringe out of the way from his face and cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, I’m here with Draco.” 

Harry watched as the witch glanced over at Harry suspiciously, then widened her eyes as she caught sight of the scar, the round glasses, green eyes, and dark hair. 

“Harry Potter.” She whispered. “But what are you doing here with-”

She looked over at Draco with contempt, her lip curling. It was clear what she was thinking.

“Draco is my friend.” Harry said loudly. “And I would appreciate it if you would get him the help he came here for.”

“Oh.” The woman looked back and forth between the two, and apparently decided that her awe and respect for Harry Potter outweighed her dislike of Draco Malfoy. “Of course, sir. Fourth Floor for spell damage, there’ll be a Healer waiting to see you in the room at the end of the hall.”

“Thank you.” Harry said politely, then walked off purposefully toward the elevators. Draco quickly followed after him.

Neither of them mentioned the rather unpleasant exchange.

***

The Healer waiting for them was a no-nonsense man who looked to be in his mid-forties with shadows under his eyes and dark hair streaked with grey slicked back out of his face. His face was set in a frown, lines etched deep on either side of his mouth, and appeared very stern. 

He peered at the pair of them over a pair of small, square glasses when they entered, and made no indication that he recognised either of them as he promptly told Harry that he couldn’t be there while the diagnosis took place and would have to wait on one of the benches out in the hall. 

Harry did as told and sat there for a whole half hour, his foot tapping on the floor as he watched Healers and patients alike bustle back and forth. He made sure his hair covered his forehead again and ducked his head whenever anyone cast him a curious glance. He really didn’t feel like getting recognised any further than he had to.

When the door finally reopened, Harry jumped to his feet. Draco left the room. He’d always been pale, but at that moment, he looked downright sickly. He held a large vial of a potion in his hand, and as he left, the Healer patted his shoulder sympathetically but he didn’t jerk his hand away. In fact, it looked like he barely noticed the contact. 

Harry wanted to ask what was going on, but Draco pushed past him with barely a glance in his direction.

“Hey, wait!” Harry ran to catch up with him. When Draco still wouldn’t slow down, Harry grabbed his arm instinctively. He didn’t expect Draco to wrench his arm free and throw a glare in Harry’s direction. If Harry hadn’t known better, he would have been offended. But in that split second that Draco actually looked at him, Harry noticed that his eyes were bloodshot. Draco may have changed a lot, but he was clearly unwilling to allow Harry to see him quite so vulnerable. 

So Harry let him go. Draco needed space at that moment, and Harry could be patient for a while longer. 

***

That night, Harry went out for a long overdue dinner with Ron and Hermione. 

The moment Harry walked up to them, Hermione gave him a big hug and anxiously peered at him, searching his face as though she was making sure Harry was okay. She did this every time she saw Harry for the first time in a while - she found it hard to shake what had happened all those months ago.  

The first few months after the war had been very messy. Harry had memorial after memorial to attend, and often it felt like he would buckle from the way despite it being over, the war never really left him. 

It was difficult on everyone.

Ron’s worst fear had come to life. One of his family members had been ripped away from him. He would spend weeks at the Burrow, busy consoling his devastated parents and stricken Percy, all three of whom took the loss incredibly hard. George had it worst. For the longest time, George couldn’t even bring himself to look in the mirror. So while dealing with his own grief, Ron had to take care of his family. 

Hermione had to begin the long process of bringing her parents’ memories back. Although she never specified the details, it was clear that she was also struggling. Her parents had found it difficult to accept that their daughter had manipulated their memories with her magic, regardless of the fact that it was for their protection. They were wary of her, and even after they recovered their memories of her, they were unable to recognise the woman she’d become. They didn’t understand the darkness she’d acquired, didn’t understand the scar on her arm that she refused to show them. Her family was falling apart, despite all her efforts to protect it.

Harry had been concerned that their relationship wouldn’t survive the test of post-war grief and the obstacles that came with it. But unlike him and Ginny, whose relationship slipped through their fingers and smashed into pieces that couldn’t be glued back together, they pulled through.

Honestly, it made Harry feel more alone than ever. He knew it was silly - they would be there for him no matter what. But when they were tending to their own families after everything was over, Harry sat alone in Grimmauld Place with no one to keep him company. He was bombarded by reporters wherever he went, so he hated the thought of leaving the house. He only did so to attend funerals. But at the same time, he couldn’t stand being there alone.

Almost everyone he’d ever considered his family - his birth parents, James and Lily as long as Sirius and Remus, had been taken from him by the war. Hedwig was gone. Dobby was gone. And no one was there to help him pick up the pieces because they all had their hands full trying to piece their own broken lives back together.

Harry couldn’t blame them. Of course he couldn’t. But sometimes, he felt more alone than that fateful night when he’d gone to face his death. 

He found it ironic, how he’d fought so desperately for his life all throughout his teen years but now that the main thing threatening him was gone, he couldn’t find it in himself to live . He had no idea what to do with himself. 

So Harry slowly wasted away in Grimmauld Place.

He couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink, couldn’t sleep.

Once, he got so sick of all the nightmares that riddled his sleep that he drank seven strong sleeping potions. He counted them as he swallowed each one in turn. He wondered if all of them combined would keep him asleep for a week. 

When neither Ron nor Hermione could get a hold of Harry when they tried contacting him, as they’d done so as much as they could despite their own troubles, they quickly grew worried. They’d tried to check up on him as much as possible, but between the grieving process for Fred and Hermione being in Australia trying to convince her parents to move back, they hadn’t been able to check in with their friend as often. 

They’d thought he’d be alright. He’d seemed okay when they last saw him, and Harry had survived so much that they didn’t think for a second to be too worried about him.

Ron went straight to Grimmauld Place when his owl came back with the letter he was supposed to deliver still clamped in his beak. He was met with Harry in bed in Sirius’ old room. His breathing was shallow, a sheen of sweat on his face, and his lips were turning blue. Ron tried shaking him awake. Harry was so cold that Ron was scared he was going to die.

Ron rushed him to St. Mungo’s immediately, where Harry opened his eyes three days later to his furious best friend who looked as though he didn’t know if he wanted to punch him in the face or throw his arms around him. There were tears in his eyes. 

When Harry was finally discharged, he moved out of Grimmauld Place. Ron and Hermione helped him find an apartment in London. Something about being in the middle of a bustling city full of Muggles, none of whom had been hurt by the war, soothed Harry. 

He slowly returned to himself. 

Some days were harder than others.

But he was alive, and he didn’t take stupidly large doses of sleep potion anymore. He called his friends every week, and by the time Draco Malfoy showed up at his door, he was better than before. 

And apparently, having someone else around in the house who helped Harry develop healthier habits had brought a lot of life back in his eyes.

“Harry, you look great!” Hermione beamed. 

“I’m surprised living with Malfoy hasn’t aged you ten years.” Ron joked.

“I know, shocking.” Harry said dryly. “So, where are we going to eat?”

“There’s this great new Chinese restaurant in town so I thought we’d go there.” Hermione suggested. 

“Sounds great.” Harry smiled. 

The three set off, and for once, it really did feel like old times.

***

Draco stared at the vial he’d placed on the kitchen table.

“I’m afraid you’re dealing with a rare curse that’s not very well known at all. In fact, I’ve never seen an actual case, and only know about it from records of similar cases in the past. Basically, the curse is designed to literally eat away at your memories. When cast correctly, it’s possible to get rid of specific memories forever, and they’re irretrievable - no cure known at all.”

Draco regarded the man with dismay.

“You were actually quite lucky. The caster did a pretty bad job at the curse, which means there’s good news and bad news. The good news is that it seems likely that we can bring your memories back. The bad news is that the curse is affecting random memories even as we speak.”

“So can you do anything about it?” Draco snapped. His mind was reeling. In the back of his mind, he’d still found it difficult to accept that his father would perform a botched memory curse on him, but here was all the proof he needed. A Healer was telling him straight to his face that his own father had done just the thing Draco had hoped against all odds he hadn’t.

“Yes, but I’m afraid we’re going to need some time to properly prepare and research before performing any counter spells. Trying to undo the damage done with the charms we typically use to bring back memories could backfire badly, causing you a lot of pain.”

Draco resisted the urge to wince as he recalled the incident with Granger and the white hot pain that had seized his entire head. 

“In the meantime, we’re going to try to stop the curse from doing any more damage than it already has.” The Healer opened a cabinet and produced a vial of purple liquid. “This potion should do the trick. Take a spoonful every night, and we’ll be in contact when we’ve found a safe way to reverse the curse.”

“That’s it? There’s nothing else you can do?” Draco stood up. 

“Not right now. But I assure you, I’ll do everything I can to find a way.” The Healer said calmly, but Draco wasn’t listening. He’d already crossed the room to the door, thrown it open, and was halfway down the hallway.

He vaguely recalled Harry grabbing his arm, attempting to talk to him, but Draco pulled away, wanting to be alone. 

Draco took the long way to Harry’s apartment, opting to walk off his anger and betrayal. 

When he finally got there and stepped inside the dark flat, Draco suddenly felt very alone and regretted shrugging Harry off. He set down the vial in the kitchen and waited, hoping Harry would join him soon.

Once it was clear he wasn’t going to be showing up any time soon, Draco chose to sit at the kitchen table, cross his arms, and glare at the potion as though it had personally offended him. 

That was when Draco heard the sound of a key turn in the lock, and Harry walked in. Draco waited until Harry came into the kitchen. He was wearing the same t-shirt and jeans from earlier, his hair messy and windswept. He dropped a paper bag in front of Draco. The delicious smell of the food he’d grown to like wafted up at him.

“I assumed you hadn’t eaten.” Harry shrugged. His gaze dropped to the potion. “What’s that?” He asked carefully. 

Abruptly, Draco realised that he wanted to share what had happened in the Healer’s office with Harry. He’d thought he wanted to be alone, and he had, but that had lasted for all but twenty minutes. By the time he’d reached Harry’s empty apartment, he was secretly hoping that Harry had apparated there before him, glancing up when Draco walked in with the phone pressed to his ear and mouthing, I ordered food . 

When he was met by the dark, strangely quiet place instead, Draco was secretly disappointed. In the hours that followed without Harry, Draco realised that in Harry’s absence, the comforting sounds of the place he’d come to regard as a sort of home were gone. The faint buzz of the television, or Harry humming the same out-of-tune melody for the millionth time. The clink of the dishes being done, the whistle of the kettle boiling, the rustle of Harry turning the pages of the Daily Prophet or some Quidditch magazine. Without those noises that used to drive Draco crazy, the place didn’t quite feel so warm and comforting anymore.

So when Harry returned and opened up the conversation, Draco gestured impatiently for Harry to sit down in his usual seat and explained everything that happened. He’d wanted to get it off his chest since he stepped foot in the house. 

And for some reason, talking about it helped. 

Draco used to think he hated being pitied. He still did. But he’d come to learn the difference between pity and empathy, and his heart grew warm when Harry listened fervently and looked at him with forest coloured eyes full of concern.

He allowed Harry to convince him that the Healer would find a way to help. He obediently took a spoonful of the potion he’d been prescribed when Harry pestered him on whether or not he’d taken it already, and blinked in surprise when Harry fussed about not taking potions on an empty stomach. 

Then they bickered over the stupid subject of whether or not it was okay to drink potions without eating any food prior as Draco ate the meal Harry had brought home for him. 

When they each retired into their respective rooms for the night and Draco lay in bed, closing his eyes and trying to go to sleep, he could hear the sound of Harry brushing his teeth in the bathroom. 

Then there was the incessant humming that travelled from the bathroom to Harry’s bedroom next door. A rustle of sheets as Harry climbed into bed. Then, half an hour later, steady snoring quiet enough that Draco could miss it if he tossed and turned in bed. 

Draco smiled to himself as he felt sleep tugging at his own eyelids. 

He was home.

Chapter Text

Something shifted after that day they visited St. Mungo’s. Harry perked up considerably after seeing his friends, and Draco was more relaxed now that a tangible solution lay in front of him.  They agreed to postpone discussing the past further because it might not be necessary after all, and both were wary that the only things left for them to talk about were delicate subjects that neither particularly wanted to bring up.

They managed to live under the false pretence that nothing was wrong. 

Harry was surprised to find that Draco attempting to cook was not a one-time thing. In fact, he insisted on trying something every morning. When Harry pointed out that neither of them ate breakfast anyway, Draco switched to smoking up the apartment at night before dinner. 

Whatever he ended up with was more often than not inedible, and they either went out for dinner or ordered in. But on the rare occasion they deemed the food as not potentially poisonous, they sat at the table and made a big deal out of trying the food together.

Draco always waited, his eyes fixated on Harry as Harry took the first bite. Regardless of what it tasted like, Harry grinned and gave Draco a thumbs up under his scrutinising gaze. Only then did Draco begin eating himself. It amazed Harry how Draco, so quick to judge food made by other people and dismiss it as horrible, never seemed to notice that his cooked meals weren’t tasty. 

A little over a week of cooking every single day later, Harry sat in the kitchen, nursing a glass of wine as he watched Draco cook. It was quickly becoming one of his favourite things to do. Draco completely immersed himself in the activity, squinting over a cookbook that Harry dug up and measuring everything precisely. It reminded Harry of how Draco used to brew his potions, the same look of intense concentration on his face as he adjusted the fire and swiftly chopped up ingredients. Really, it should have come as no surprise that those short ten days or so were all Draco needed to master cooking. After all that trial and error, the dinner that Draco prepared for them that day was what could only be described as perfect.

“This is good.” Harry couldn’t hide his amazement as he quickly shovelled his mouth with more food.

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

Harry hesitated, debating whether or not he should tell Draco that his previous attempts hadn’t been very good. He was distracted from his train of thought when Draco burst out laughing.

“You should see your face.” His eyes gleamed. “I know full well that my cooking hasn’t been good until now.”

“What?” Harry was outraged. “You knew and you still let me pretend it was good?”

“You should know by now that you can’t hide how you feel about things to save your life. It was perfectly obvious how you felt, but it was also entertaining watching you attempt to conceal it.”

“Why would you eat everything if you knew it was bad?” Harry was still confused. 

“If I can’t tell what went wrong, how should I fix my mistake next time?” Draco gestured down at his plate. “I ate to figure out what I should have done to get better.”

“You’re crazy.” Harry shook his head. 

“No, I just prefer to do things correctly.” Draco smiled serenely and took a sip of wine. 

“Why the sudden interest in cooking, anyway?” Harry asked the question that had been burning at the back of his mind.

“I was wondering when you would ask that.” Draco dodged the question. Harry wasn’t about to let it slide.

“Well?”

“We can’t eat take-out forever, Potter.” Draco rolled his eyes, his voice slipping into the drawl he often used when he referred to Harry by his surname. “I thought I should take matters into my own hands.”

“I guess so.” Harry paused to take another mouthful. “But don’t deny that you love Chinese from that one place down the block.”

“I don’t know where you got the idea that I like anything of the sort.” Draco said blankly. Harry reached over to punch his shoulder, and in doing so, knocked over the glass of wine and spilled dark red liquid all over Draco.

“Shit.” Harry jumped up from his seat and hurried to grab a box of tissues. “Here, dunno if that’ll help, but-”

Draco took the box and attempted to dab at the stains on his shirt, grumbling about Harry and his clumsiness, but when it became apparent that it wasn’t doing much help, he abandoned the tissues and began to tug it off. Harary was just about to turn away, face heating up, when he got a glimpse of something that drained all the blood from his face.

Despite himself, he reached out to touch Draco’s bare back that was covered with white, faded scars. When Harry’s fingers touched his shoulder blade, Draco flinched, spinning around to face Harry with his shirt still awkwardly half on and half off.

“What are you doing?” Draco spat. 

“The scars.” Harry whispered, barely hearing what Draco was saying. “Are they from…”

He couldn’t bring himself to finish asking the question because he already knew the answer. He hadn’t been expecting Draco to look so confused, and it slowly dawned on him that this must have been yet another thing that had been taken from his memory. 

“What scars?” Draco twisted around in an effort to see his back. 

Suddenly there was a very large lump in Harry’s throat. He didn’t want to explain this to him, because what if this made Draco hate him all over again? At this point, Harry didn’t think he could stand that. 

But Harry didn’t stop Draco as he marched out of the room and into the bathroom where he could get a look at the mirror. Instead, he followed silently, leaning against the doorframe as Draco discarded his shirt completely, dropping it in the sink and peered at the large scars that littered his back. When Draco turned to Harry with questions burning in his eyes, Harry’s eyes darted down to Draco’s chest. It wasn’t as bad there, but there were still noticeable scars. 

Following Harry’s gaze, Draco reached up and touched one of the scars that ran across his collar bones. 

“I thought they were from the war.” Draco took a step closer to Harry. His eyes were dark and stormy. “But they weren’t.” 

It wasn’t a question.

Harry didn’t back away, even though he wanted to. When Draco was close enough for Harry to touch, Harry averted his eyes from the marks on Draco’s body and looked up. 

“What happened?” Draco asked quietly.

“We agreed not to talk about Sixth Year.” Harry’s voice sounded strange to him, like he was talking underwater. It was hard to get the words out. Draco’s eyes narrowed. 

“That was before I found out that something happened in Sixth Year that gave me these.” Draco gestured to his upper body, making Harry’s eyes drop back down to them. He felt sick.

“Something related to you.” Draco said slowly, putting the pieces together. It was times like these Harry wished Draco weren’t quite so sharp, so quick to notice things. 

“Sectumsempra.” Harry forced himself to speak. The incantation seemed to burn against his lips. It felt like a horrible swear word that he should never say out loud. Draco continued to watch him silently. “It was a spell in Snape’s potions book. It said to use it against enemies. I’d been following you all year in Sixth Year because I thought - I knew - you were up to something suspicious. I walked in on you in the bathroom, breaking down, and you were about to crucio me, so I used the first spell that sprang to mind.”

“What did it do?” Draco asked carefully. He’d winced when Harry mentioned crucio, but other than that, he was taking it surprisingly well.

“Cut you all over your body.” Harry swallowed. “Moaning Myrtle screamed for help, and Snape came and healed you. You could have died.”

“I could have crucio’d you.” Draco retorted.

“But you didn’t.”

“Because you defended yourself.”

“With a spell that I had no idea what it would do. It could have been worse than crucio. It could have killed you. I almost killed you.” Harry found himself choking on his words. He couldn’t take his eyes off the scars scattered across Draco’s body, couldn’t shake the image of Draco lying in a pool of his own blood in that damn bathroom. 

“Well, you didn’t. But I have to say, it certainly doesn’t look very pretty, does it?” He gestured toward his scars sarcastically. “Can’t say I’m very happy with you for that ."

Harry knew he was joking, attempting to lighten the mood. In the back of his mind, he was grateful for that. He even made a retort of his own and prepared to say it out loud, but instead all that came out of his mouth was,

“I think you look beautiful.”

Harry paused.

“I mean, I hate that I gave you those scars, and I’m really sorry, but they don’t make you any less beautiful.”

Draco was staring at him. Harry wanted to kick himself. He really had to stop blurting out words without thinking things through first.

Harry waited nervously for Draco to answer.

“First you compliment my hair, and now my body. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were madly in love with me.” Draco grinned slyly. Before Harry could even fully process what was just said and why his heart was suddenly thudding so hard against his chest he thought it was going to burst right out, Draco strode over to the sink and turned the tap on. 

“I should wash it before it stains permanently.” Draco explained smoothly as though he hadn’t made the most earth-shattering comment in an offhand manner and left Harry agape. “I’ll be back shortly.” He said pointedly.

Harry took this as his cue to leave and practically ran back to the kitchen. 

***

Once he was sure Harry was gone, Draco placed one hand on each side of the sink and leaned heavily on it. He watched as the wine that Harry had spilled on his shirt slowly stained the warm water red, and wondered if that was what his blood looked like when Harry performed sectumsempra on him.

Draco had been telling the truth when he said he had no recollection of the event whatsoever. He’d always simply assumed that the scars on his chest and stomach were from Voldemort or perhaps Bellatrix, which was why it had been removed from his memory. He had no idea that there were more on his back, and he never would have dreamed that it was Harry that placed the marks on his skin. 

He’d always hated those scars. They were almost as stark a reminder of his awful past as the Dark Mark that remained on his forearm. He’d deemed himself broken, tainted, unfixable. How could he dream of moving on when his entire body was littered with reminders of all his mistakes?

But then Harry told Draco that he thought he was beautiful, and it felt like Draco’s heart stopped in his chest. 

He made the sarcastic comment in the only way he knew how to respond to a situation like that, and shooed him away from the bathroom as quickly as possible before Harry had the chance to notice his flushed cheeks. 

Then he’d practically collapsed against the sink as he attempted to gather his thoughts. 

When he finally fished his drenched shirt out of the sink and wrung it, he’d reached a more or less solid conclusion about what to do next.

He had to write to Pansy immediately.

***

Dear Pansy,

I realise that it’s been a while since I wrote. I’ve currently left Malfoy Manor, so any letters that you may have written since I left probably haven’t been able to reach me. When you reply, make sure it’s to this address or it’ll end up at my old house where Mother will snoop through the contents in case it gives some indication as to where I am.

I hope you’re doing well, not that I have any reason whatsoever to assume you’re not. You’re probably chatting up beautiful French women as we speak, while I’m the one that’s stuck here living with Potter.

That’s right, you read correctly. I’m staying with Potter. 

I think the last time I wrote to you, I told you that I found out that my father had been erasing my memories. I eventually thought it was best to leave and try to get my memories back. I ended up asking Potter for help. 

I can already see you cackling and dragging Blaise over to get a look at this, so I have to preface by saying I really had no other choice.

Anyway, we’ve discovered that what I’m dealing with isn’t obliviate but some other rare curse. I’m waiting on St. Mungo’s to contact me with information about how to bring my memories back.

Potter has been surprisingly helpful throughout everything. We talked about our earlier years in Hogwarts to try to jog my memory a bit. Of course, it didn’t work, but I suppose it wasn’t all bad to think about the past.

We’ve actually been getting along quite well. He’s still an idiot, as you remember, but he’s alright to talk to and he makes a decent cup of tea. He even compliments me sometimes. The other day, he said he liked my hair! I mean, of course he likes it, I spend far too much money on maintaining it for it not to look nice. But it’s surprising that he noticed at all, isn’t it, what with his own hair looking like a bird’s nest most of the time.

Tell me how you’ve been doing. I’ll try to actually reply quickly this time, though I’m making no promises. 

Best, Draco

P.S. Blaise, I know you’re hovering over Pansy’s shoulder. I don’t want to dedicate an entire letter in response to what you wrote last time. For fuck’s sake, next time spare me the details of your latest conquests unless you want me to puke all over the stupid letter and never write you again. 

***

Dear Draco,

I’m doing perfectly well, except for the fact that my so-called best friend just decided to stop writing me letters for over a MONTH. I’m still mad at you, by the way, but I’m willing to take bribery in the form of chocolates if you would like to speed up the process of my forgiveness. 

But enough about that.

You cannot sneak in the fact that Potter complimented your hair and expect me to slide over it like it’s no big deal.

I NEED MORE DETAILS. Write back immediately with the whole story.

Love, Pansy

P.S. Blaise wants me to say that if Narcissa already opened one of the letters that he sent you before we knew you weren’t living there anymore, he’ll never be able to look her in the eye again. But also that he’ll keep the letters coming.

***

Dear Pansy,

Is that the only thing you got from the entire letter?

Fine, if you want details, I’ll give you details.

The two of us were talking at a coffee shop. Potter was staring at me strangely, and then out of nowhere, he suddenly said he liked my hair. That’s it.

Best, Draco

P.S. Would you do me a favour and burn any letters Blaise attempts to send me?

***

Dear Draco,

He was staring at you??? Before he complimented you?

Draco, darling, my senses are tingling and they’re telling me that Potter might have a crush on you. I wouldn’t usually say this over a simple compliment, but the stare?? The fact that the two of you were enemies in Hogwarts and he suddenly feels the need to compliment you? This is a romance novel just waiting to happen.

Did anything else happen that might signal he likes you?

Love, Pansy.

P.S. Too late. Sorry x

***

When Draco next received a bundle of letters, one with Pansy’s neat print and the other with Blaise’s elegant scrawl, Draco squinted at Blaise’s envelope and seriously debated throwing it out. He tossed it on the desk for later and opened Pansy’s letter instead. 

He’d described the incident in Harry’s bathroom to her, and was waiting rather anxiously for a response.

Harry had noticed Draco writing and receiving letters, but hadn’t really commented. Ever since what happened that night, there was an air of slight awkwardness that they hadn’t been able to shake off yet. It had only been a few days, so Draco decided to just wait it out until it wore off. 

As for Pansy, she was absolutely crazy if she thought Harry might fancy Draco. As much as he knew Pansy had razor sharp instincts when it came to these things, this was just absurd. 

He opened the letter carefully.

Dear Draco,

Potter likes you. 

If you can’t see that, you’re stupider than I thought.

‘You’re beautiful’ is not platonic, at least not between you two.

I know you’re going to try denying it, but it’s the truth and you know it. Deal with it.

Love, Pansy

P.S. Don’t even think about writing back until you’ve accepted it. 

Draco shoved the letter in his underwear drawer as he had done with all his previous letters. Just as he was nudging it shut again, thoughts racing, there was a knock at the door and Harry poked his head in.

“Hey, St. Mungo’s just contacted. They’re ready for you and they want you to come in tomorrow.”

Draco glanced at the calendar he’d kept on the bedside table next to his bed. There was just one week left until the trial, and his memories were still very much in shambles. He needed to focus on what was important, and that was getting his memories back, not whatever was going on with Harry.

“Alright.” Draco nodded. Harry began to back out the door and shut the door behind him when Draco found the courage to speak up again. “I don’t really feel like cooking tonight.”

Harry blinked. Even though they were avoiding addressing the elephant in the room, they’d still been going about their daily routines together, and Draco cooking them dinner had become one of them.

“I’ll order Chinese.” Harry smiled. 

“That sounds perfect.” Draco said. 

It really did. He liked muggle food, no matter how much he’d been set against it in the beginning. 

It was about time Draco admitted it. 

***

St. Mungo’s was much more crowded than the last time they’d been there. Harry and Draco were worried that they’d make an unlikely pair and elicit stares wherever they went, but when they got there, they were far from the most bizarre sight. 

The pair exchanged a look and barely managed to hold back from bursting out laughing when a man walked by struggling with the after-effects of a curse that looked suspiciously like the Bat-Bogey hex that they were all too familiar with. 

Again, they consulted the witch at the counter. Thankfully it was someone different from last time, and the young witch was so flustered and busy with everything else that she scarcely looked at them before telling them to go to the fourth floor and that Healer Max was waiting for them. 

“Hello, Mr. Malfoy, how have you been?”

The man said pleasantly enough when the two walked inside. Draco cringed.

“I thought I asked you not to call me that.”

“Ah, yes. Sorry.”

“I’ve been okay.”

“He took the potion every night like you asked him to.” Harry intervened. The Healer glanced over at Harry and then quickly looked back at Draco. Harry could tell the gears in the Healer’s head were turning, and prepared himself to defend both himself and Draco if he were to say anything out of line. But instead, he moved on as though nothing had happened.

“Good, that means there won’t be any more damage since the last time you visited us.” The Healer then extended a hand in Harry’s direction. “My name is Max, and I’m in charge of Mr. Mal- Draco.”

Harry shook the man’s hand. 

“I’m Harry, Draco’s-” Harry hesitated. He could tell Draco was waiting to hear how Harry introduced himself. “Friend.” 

Max’s thick eyebrows shot up. Harry pretended not to notice. 

“Alright, then.” Max walked over and sat down behind his desk. He gestured for Draco and Harry to sit at the chairs that faced him. Awkwardly, they each slid into place beside each other.

“Is it alright if Harry stays?” Max asked. “If not, we can go ahead and ask him to step out like we did last time.”

Draco turned his head to look at Harry. Harry found himself nervous. Of course he wanted to stay and support Draco, but what if Draco felt uncomfortable having Harry around? His fears dissipated when Draco reached over and placed a hand on Harry’s knee.

“No, I’d like him to stay.” Draco said firmly. Harry felt the spot that Draco was touching burning. He stared at it, stunned at how casual, how right the small contact felt. The words hardly reached his ears as Max explained the process to them. He was only brought back to reality when Draco’s grip suddenly became stronger, squeezing tight as if he needed something to hold onto for courage.

Harry didn’t even have to think about the decision before his hand was snaking out and gently prying Draco’s hand from his knee, interlacing their fingers together instead. When Draco glanced over at him in surprise, Harry smiled and squeezed his hand tight. Draco parted his lips like he wanted to say something, but then abruptly turned back to Max and asked a question about how long the process would take. Harry was just pleased that he didn’t instantly pull away.

“We’ll start with the memories that have been affected by the curse unintentionally. Those are easier to retrieve, and I dare say not as overwhelming for you to relive.” Max produced his wand. “You understand that I’ll have access to those memories and essentially will experience them with you as I heal you?”

Draco nodded. 

“We’re not doing the ones that were erased purposefully, right?” 

“Correct.” Max nodded. “That requires a good deal of delicacy, and you should probably get used to the sensation before we move onto that. After today’s session, we can talk a bit about how to go forward.”

“What do you mean, are there alternative ways?” Harry asked. 

“From what I’ve heard, the nature of the memories that the curse originally targeted are very vulnerable and unpleasant. That means it’s very likely that Draco will instinctively try to shut himself off when I go digging around looking for them. That makes the Healing process both difficult and painful, if not downright impossible. This initial session is to try to build some trust so that doesn’t happen, but if it comes down to it, Draco may prefer to have someone closer to him perform the spell.” Max explained carefully. Draco’s eyes widened.

“Does that mean-”

“We’ll see how it goes and it’ll take a good deal more time to make sure nothing could possibly go wrong, but yes, a close friend or a significant other is what I had in mind.”

Harry and Draco stared at each other. Harry’s heart thudded in his chest. Would Draco be willing to trust him? Could Harry even trust himself? Everyone knew that he was rubbish at delicate magic that required a lot of intricacy; he’d always been much better at magic that involved brute force. But if someone had to go poking around in Draco’s deepest, darkest memories, Harry found himself adamant that he couldn’t stand the thought of letting anyone else do that.

“But we’ll talk about that when it comes to it.” Max said briskly. “Try to relax as much as possible, and it would probably help to close your eyes.”

Harry watched silently as Draco took a deep breath and shut his eyes. He wondered if he should pull his hand away, his palm beginning to grow sweaty, but Draco now had an iron grip on him, and he couldn’t let go even if he wanted to. 

Max raised his wand, but just as he began muttering a long string of spells, the door to the ward burst open and all three of them were instantly on their feet, their wands poised to defend or attack depending on the situation. 

Harry couldn’t contain his surprise at who they found at the door. Lucius had the platinum blonde hair and steely, cold eyes that made it obvious he and Draco were related, but the resemblance ended there. Lucius’s mouth was set in a hard line, and his voice was low and demanding as he spoke. 

“Draco.” His lip curled. “Your mother and I have been worried sick.”

Too late, Harry allowed his gaze to drift to his side so he could see Draco’s reaction. He was white as a sheet, and although he’d dropped his wand arm back to his side upon recognizing his father, his balled fists were shaking. With fear or anger, Harry wasn’t sure.

“What are you doing here?” Draco spat. 

“I am here to take you home.”

“You will do nothing of the sort, Mr. Malfoy. This is my patient, and we were in the middle of something, so if you would please step outside and wait while we wrap up, that would be wonderful.” Max cut hin. He stepped around his desk to stand partially in front of Draco, and Harry felt a surge of gratitude for the tall, well-built man that towered over everyone in the room. Harry also took a defensive step forward, succeeding in bringing Lucius’s gaze over to him.

“My, my, Draco, it appears you’ve finally managed to befriend Harry Potter.” Lucius smiled in a way that made Harry angle his body so that he was closer to Draco. 

“You are to stop this silly schoolboy nonsense at once and come home .” 

Harry was aware that they were attracting attention. There was Lucius Malfoy, known ex-Death Eater, standing in the middle of St. Mungo’s trying to convince his son who was also publicly known as a former Death Eater, to return home. People whispered among themselves as they walked by, some stopped and stared shamelessly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Max trying to call for security without drawing attention to himself.

“You have no right-” Harry began, but Draco’s cold hand closing around forearm stopped him in his tracks. Before Harry could register what was going on, Draco was stepping forward.

“It’s alright, I can handle this.” Harry waited desperately for Draco to look at him, but he did no such thing, light grey eyes fixated on Lucius instead. Max slowly looked between the two and stopped trying to reach security, but he remained standing and cautious. “Father, I am not going home. You can’t force me.”

Lucius’ eyes glinted dangerously. He walked forward, rapidly closing the distance between himself and his son.

“Make the smart decision, Draco. I am doing this for us. Our family. For you, and for your mother .”

Draco stiffened.

“Don’t talk about her.”

“You know nothing, Draco. You say you’re an adult, but you are still a foolish boy, playing at your little games. You leave me no choice but to guide you in the correct directions. Now, come along.”

Draco faltered, and all Harry could do was hope desperately that he would make the right decision.

***

Draco’s eyes swivelled around the room. He glanced at Max, whose face was impassive. He saw the crowd that gathered outside the room, could hear them talking, whispering, and he knew that there would be something in the papers the next day about the Malfoys creating a scene in St. Mungo’s. Finally, his eyes landed on Harry. 

The first choice of his that he made, all by himself, was to leave Malfoy Manor and seek Harry Potter for help. It was the best damn decision he ever made, and the only choice he’d made throughout his life that he had absolutely no regrets about, at least as far as he could remember. 

And now, here he was again, faced with a choice. 

He knew what he had to do. He knew what he wanted to do. And quite frankly, even if he’d wanted to do something else, if it meant he had to conform to his father again, he would have run as fast as he could in the opposite direction, even if it meant running straight into Harry’s arms. Especially if it meant running straight into Harry’s arms.

He realised he really didn’t give a fuck anymore about the Malfoy name. He didn’t think he could even bring himself to care if his father ended up in Azkaban. Maybe it didn’t even matter if Draco himself got sentenced to Azkaban. At least he would live knowing that he’d changed, and made the right choices this time.

So Draco opened his mouth to tell his father to fuck off, just as Lucius lunged forward and grabbed his arm. And just like that, the sickening feeling in his stomach and the sudden darkness that enclosed him informed Draco that Lucius had never intended to give him a choice at all.

Chapter Text

When Draco disappeared from St. Mungo’s along with Lucius Malfoy, Harry gaped at the empty space where Draco had been standing mere seconds ago. Everything had happened so quickly that he barely had time to process things. 

In fact, he only remembered that Max had also been present for the whole progression of events when Max rounded the table and sank heavily into his chair.

“I’ll find him.” Harry said, a surge of urgency running through him as he mentally began making a list of what he had to do. “If I bring him back, and he still wants to be treated, you’re going to help us, right?”

“Of course.” Max smiled. “You’re welcome to come back any time, and I’ll be happy to help.” 

His stern demeanour melted away and Harry saw Max for who he was, a dedicated, kind man who was determined to do his job well and take care of his patients, whomever they may be. 

“Thank you.” Harry said earnestly. He recalled the way Max had tried to defend Draco, and how he’d attempted to call for security when things looked like they may get out of hand. He appreciated everything he’d done for them, right down to his being so considerate about the entire healing process. He hoped that he managed to convey everything he was grateful for in those simple two words, and when his eyes met Max’s, there was a mutual understanding that Harry was relieved to see.

Harry promptly disapparated back to his apartment. Draco had mentioned once that Malfoy Manor now had strong wards preventing people from getting in, most of them having been put in place after several middle-of-the-night attacks from angry witches and wizards who’d had their loved ones torn away from them in the war. Harry hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now, knowing he was barred from barging in there, grabbing Draco, and leaving, after aiming a good hex at Lucius Malfoy for good measure, it all became extremely frustrating.

He’d been about to head to the guest room and collect some of Draco’s belongings that would hopefully convince Narcissa to allow Harry to see Draco under the excuse of returning his things, when the phone began ringing shrilly and Harry almost jumped out of his skin. He was tempted to let it ring and tend to what was important, but he knew that there were very few people that could be on the other end of the line, and he was unwilling to ignore them, even in his current state of mind.

He picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Harry! You took ages, I thought you wouldn’t pick up.” Hermione’s voice greeted him on the other end. 

“Yeah, er, I was busy.”

“How did St. Mungo’s go?”

Harry had forgotten that he’d told his friends about the fact that they’d be visiting St. Mungo’s that day. Hermione, the kind soul that she was, had probably called to check in and ask how things went. 

“Does Malfoy have his memories back?” Ron chimed in from the background. “Does this mean you can hang out with us without talking about him nonstop now, because I really don’t think I need to hear about his legendary pasta dish again.” 

“No.” Harry replied. Just like that, he began pouring out the events of the night, barely taking in breaths as he expressed his indignation and anger that Lucius Malfoy had taken Draco away against his will. 

“Harry.” Hermione said anxiously once he was done. “You’re not going to do anything rash, are you?”

Harry glanced at Draco’s closed bedroom door. 

“Of course not.” He lied. 

Hermione knew better than to believe that.

“Harry, come on. It’s getting dark, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to go over there right now, especially when Lucius Malfoy is likely still there.”

“But who knows what that bastard is doing to Draco right this minute? What if he’s erasing more memories, Hermione? This time for good, so he’ll never get them back?” Voicing his fears made it all seem so much more real. Even at that very moment, he was itching to slam the phone down and spring into action. It was out of pure respect for his friend and her opinion that he didn’t succumb to the urge.

“There’s no use going now. Look, sleep on it, and if tomorrow you still think going over there’s the best plan, then you can go.” Hermione reasoned. 

That was how Harry ended up outside Malfoy Manor at nine in the morning the following day, holding a small box of Draco’s possessions in his arms as he peered around the gates. Seeing no other option, he banged a fist against the metal bars.

Promptly, he caught sight of a house-elf that had been gardening hobbling towards him, head bowed and wearing rags stained with grass.

“I’m here to see Draco.” Harry held up the box so that the house elf could see it. “He left some stuff at my place, I thought he should have them.”

“Oh.” The house elf nervously looked back at the house, then again at Harry. “Master Malfoy isn’t home.”

“Yes, he is.” Harry insisted. There was no way Lucius would have let Draco step foot out of the house so soon after he’d been forced to come home. 

The house-elf squeaked, eyes darting desperately between Harry and the Manor as she tried to come up with a convincing lie. 

“Look, I only want to give him his things, see?” Harry reached in the box and held up a book that Draco had been reading. “I swear it’s nothing else, I just promised him that I’d bring his things over.”

The house-elf brightened as she scuttled closer to the gate.

“If sir gives me the box, I shall deliver it to Master Malfoy.” She looked delighted at her clever solution, but unfortunately, Harry wasn’t having it.

“I would, but there’s private things in here, things that Draco didn’t want anyone else to be in charge of.”

That was when the huge double doors opened, and out stepped Narcissa Malfoy. When she saw who was keeping her house-elf occupied, her face paled and she immediately backed into the house again. She kept the door open a crack, and called through it.

“Nelly, get back inside the house at once.”

The house-elf shot Harry a helpless look and hurried away.

“Wait, Mrs. Malfoy!” Harry yelled. He dropped the box at his feet, not caring about it anymore. He pressed himself against the gates. “Draco doesn’t want this! If you want what’s best for him, you-”

The door slammed shut and Narcissa retreated inside. Harry angrily aimed a kick at the bars that prevented him from entering and immediately regretted it when pain shot up his foot. 

Still fuming, Harry snatched up the box and apparated back to his apartment. 

***

A week went by with no sign of Draco, and all too soon, it was the day of the trial. 

Harry anxiously tugged at the collar of his shirt as he stood at the entrance of the Ministry of Magic. He’d had to ditch his usual t-shirt and jeans for more formal wear and it felt like it was suffocating him. His clothing wasn’t the only thing making him nervous, however, as he watched sombre-faced wizards hurry back and forth past him, occasionally casting curious, awe-struck looks in his direction.

It was also the first time that he’d be seeing Draco in a week, and that was the part that made him the most jittery. 

“Here, Harry.” Hermione touched his shoulder and handed him a cup of strong coffee. Her face was pink from the chill, the weather having taken a sudden dive in temperature in the last few days, and her brown hair was tugged back in a hasty ponytail. She looked almost as nervous as Harry was, although he couldn’t fathom why. 

“You okay?” Harry asked, recognising the irony in his asking the question to her. Hermione nodded rapidly, her eyes darting around the Ministry.

“Yes, yes, of course. It’s just that it’s been a while since we’ve been here.” 

It was their first time actually stepping foot into this area of the Ministry since their hunt for horcruxes, and not one second of that experience had been pleasant. Harry supposed it was understandable that Hermione should feel uneasy. 

Harry drained the coffee in three gulps, not caring that it was too hot. He rather enjoyed the feeling of it scalding the inside of his mouth and throat, focusing on the stinging sensation rather than what was about to happen.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked in turn. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Harry reassured her. “I’ll tell the jury about how Draco and Narcissa both helped me during the war, how it’s essentially thanks to them that I’m still alive, and that’s it. Shouldn’t be so hard.”

“I was talking about seeing Draco again.” Hermione said gently. “You’re sure you’re alright? You’ve been upset since St. Mungo’s, I can tell.”

“I’m mad at his mum and dad, yeah, but I’m not worried about seeing him. After I testify for him and he gets let off, I’ll talk to him.”

“Okay.” Hermione glanced at her watch. “I think you should go in now, the trial’s starting in ten minutes.”

“Already?” Harry groaned as Hermione smoothly took the empty cup from him. 

“Should Ron and I wait for you for dinner?” She asked casually.

“No, it’s okay. The trial might go on for longer than expected, and-”

“And you want to eat with Draco.” Hermione smiled at Harry knowingly. Harry squinted at her, confused as to why she was smirking in her I know something that you don’t manner. “You know he’s welcome to join us. You two have become such good friends, I think it’s about time we all had dinner together sometime.”

“We’re not good friends.” Harry argued defensively, but it felt wrong. “Anyway, I don’t think he’d be too interested in having dinner with all of us together.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows but waved him off without making any further comment. Harry was left to wonder why Hermione had been acting so oddly as he cleared his throat, straightened his shirt, and entered the courtroom.

Upon entering the room and approaching his seat, he was instantly swarmed by a number of witches and wizards desperate to talk to him. He hadn’t expected to have to shake so many hands before he could take his seat. This was a trial, not a meet-and-greet. He was irritated by how none of the members of the jury and council present seemed particularly serious about the matter at hand. All eyes were fixed on him, and he had to smile stiffly until his cheeks hurt as he heard introduction after introduction. Harry was glad when the trial finally began, forcing the pointy-bearded man sitting near him to reluctantly fall silent. 

“The Council calls Lucius Malfoy onto the stand, facing charges of being a Death Eater and actively assisting Voldemort in the recent war.”

Harry stared at the doors that opened, revealing Lucius Malfoy. He looked no less haughty than he’d done at St. Mungo’s, head held high and dressed simply yet elegantly in black robes. His long blonde hair was tied neatly in a ponytail and his strides were wide and purposeful as he approached the stand. 

Harry glared at the man, tuning out of most of what was being said as Lucius Malfoy was eventually found guilty and sentenced to life in Azkaban. Harry was mostly satisfied at watching his serene mask crack as the sentence was delivered, but he felt the smallest twinge of sadness when he thought of Draco hearing his father being found guilty. Of course, Draco knew better than anyone how foul Lucius Malfoy was, but it couldn’t have been easy to watch him be shipped off to Azkaban regardless. Harry couldn’t find it in him to feel any sympathy for Lucius himself though, especially when he pictured the wide-eyed, desperate look Draco had thrown at him just before he’d disappeared along with his father a week ago at St. Mungo’s. 

The trial for Narcissa followed, and Harry noticed that although she too held her composure, back straight and face impassive, she’d lost weight since the last time Harry had seen her. The trial proceeded smoothly, with Harry’s testimony about her lying to Voldemort in order to save Harry’s life serving as reason for her to be cleared of all charges. Narcissa barely looked at Harry as she walked away, but Harry stared at her the entire time. He hoped she’d look at him, just once, so that he could get clarification that she acknowledged that he’d saved her from a fate trapped in Azkaban, and that he’d do the same for her son.

He had to look away, however, as Draco’s name was being called and the doors opened for a third time. Harry’s heart lurched in his chest as he watched Draco walk into the room. He desperately tried to catch Draco’s eye, but Draco’s gaze was fixed forward. If he was affected by his parents’ sentences at all, he showed no indication.

Harry was reminded in Draco’s short walk to the stand of something he’d briefly forgotten during Draco’s stay at his apartment - no matter how much he’d changed, Draco was still a Malfoy through and through.

He was a Malfoy in the way he held himself, posture poised and perfect, footsteps purposeful and confident just as his mother and father's had been before him. He was a Malfoy in the dark, expensive robes he wore that suited him too well, in the way he slicked back his platinum blonde hair so that his unwavering grey eyes were fully exposed to the world. In the way he didn’t duck his head, and the way his face was as still and unreadable as the Great Lake on a particularly clear day, making Harry wonder if tossing a stone in it would make it ripple at all in all its serenity. 

But Harry had seen the ways in which Draco was so much more than a Malfoy. He’d seen him drenched in rain and standing at his door, shivering and asking him for help. He’d seen him with his messy hair and his silvery eyes that appeared to glow in the dark as he shook Harry awake from a nightmare in the middle of the night. He’d seen Draco smile brightly at Emily in a way that no Malfoy would ever smile at a muggle. He’d seen him with his sleeves rolled up and squinting at a cookbook. He’d seen him vulnerable, seen him bend his pride, seen him laugh with his head thrown back, seen the glint in his eye that was no longer malicious as he teased Harry. 

Harry could so clearly see the ways Draco had changed, but Draco wasn’t showing that side of himself to anyone else in the courtroom, and it frustrated Harry so much that he wanted to stand up, walk to the stand, and shake Draco. He wanted to tell him that now wasn’t the time to be the perfect picture of the Malfoy name. 

Harry almost missed it when he was called to testify for Draco. He cleared his throat hastily and stood up.

“Draco Malfoy saved my life when my friends, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and I were captured by Snatchers and brought to Malfoy Manor. Hermione had bewitched my face to look different, although I was still recognizable to anyone who knew me well. When asked to identify me, he said he couldn’t be sure. It’s thanks to him buying me some time that I was able to survive.”

Draco turned his head sharply at Harry as Harry gave his statement. As he sat back down, Harry met Draco’s eyes, expecting to see some sort of relief or indication that he was glad to see Harry, but instead he looked confused, uncertain, and there was a certain blank, foggy quality to his grey eyes that Harry recognised immediately, and his heart sank to his stomach as he realised what must have happened.

“Mr. Malfoy, is this true?”

Draco tore his gaze away from Harry. 

“Not that I recall.”

The courtroom erupted into mutters, the sound of scribbling on parchment all coming to an abrupt halt as everyone looked uncertainly to Harry in confusion.

No, no, no.

“Do you mean what Mr. Potter has testified in your defence is not true?”

“I-” Draco paused, frowning. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

Lucius Malfoy, that fucking idiot.

“Mr. Potter?” Harry felt all eyes in the room swivelling to look at him, but his were fixed on Draco. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed the signs sooner. 

“I’m not lying!” Harry blurted out desperately. Realising how he must look, he breathed in a shaky breath and attempted to organise his thoughts. “Lucius Malfoy has been manipulating Draco Malfoy’s memories in order to make him forget important events in which Draco Malfoy contributed to the war in any way. That’s why he doesn’t remember.”

Draco looked more confused than ever. This sparked another surge of rage in Harry.

Just how much had Lucius Malfoy stolen away from Draco in the short amount of time they’d been apart?

“Mr. Malfoy, has Lucius Malfoy been erasing your memories?”

“I don’t think so.” Draco said slowly, but Harry could read him like a book at this point. Harry knew he was putting the pieces together, identifying the spaces in his memory and coming to the conclusion that what Harry said must be true. 

“Well, of course he wouldn’t remember! Who in their right mind would kindly let the person know that their memories have been manipulated?” Harry demanded. He knew he was getting heated, and that he was now receiving odd looks because of it, but he couldn’t care less. If Draco was found guilty and locked away to rot in Azkaban all because Lucius’ stupid plan backfired, Harry was going to track the man down himself and murder him.

 “That’s quite enough, Mr. Potter.” The wizard in charge said calmly. There was a rustle of papers and the jury murmured among themselves. Harry waited, the process taking agonisingly long until the wizard resumed his position and cleared his throat.

“Due to insufficient evidence, the trial for Draco Malfoy will be postponed until more definitive proof can be found.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. 

It wasn’t a win, but at least it wasn’t over in the worst way possible. 

Harry was dying to talk to Draco, but once the court adjourned, he left so quickly with Narcissa that Harry barely had the time to call his name. Harry visibly deflated as he realised both the Malfoys were gone.

He stood there, ignoring everyone who attempted to speak to him, and then headed outside. He didn’t care if he had to break down those stupid gates. He was going to go to Malfoy Manor and he was going to force Narcissa to listen to him.

***

When Harry apparated to Malfoy Manor, completely prepared to physically kick down the metal bars if he had to, he was taken aback to find the gates open and an anxious Nelly hovering nearby. Her eyes brightened when she spotted Harry. She bowed deeply, her long nose practically touching the ground as Harry looked on in surprise.

“Mistress has been expecting you, sir. Please follow me.” The house-elf tottered inside, seemingly unaware of Harry’s bewilderment. Narcissa had been expecting him? And she was allowing Harry to enter her house willingly? Harry was instantly suspicious. He put his hand in his pocket, fingers wrapping around the comforting feel of his wand as he cautiously followed Nelly inside.

He flinched as the gates shut behind them of their own accord, although as a wizard he really should have been used to such things.

Nelly led Harry through a long, dark hallway and into a dimly lit space that could only be described as a sitting room. Harry uncomfortably recalled the last time he’d been here, but forced that memory from his mind as he tried to focus on the task at hand. Nelly backed away with her head ducked as Harry walked into the room slowly.

Narcissa Malfoy was standing with her back to him, staring out the large windows. Harry realised that she must have been watching him ever since he appeared outside the gates of her house. 

She turned as he approached. Up close, Harry could see clear signs that Narcissa had not been faring so well. The skin over her cheekbones was stretched thin, her dark lipstick too stark against her pale complexion. Her clothes hung a little awkwardly over her body, as if she’d lost a significant amount of weight in a short space of time and hadn’t had the time to buy new clothes to accommodate the shift. Harry thought she almost looked like a ghost, the illusion magnified by the flickering candles that were the only source of light in the otherwise pitch black room. 

When it became clear that she had no intention of speaking first, Harry decided to break the silence.

“What the hell did he do?”

He hadn’t meant for it to come out so aggressively, but he found he really couldn’t help it. He knew that he should have at least feigned politeness, perhaps exchanged pleasantries, but he knew they were far past that. He thought about his strange connection with Draco’s mother, how she’d saved his life in order to protect Draco. Ironic, how their positions seemed to have changed in such a short space of time.

Narcissa didn’t reply, just walked over to one of the armchairs and sank into it. She gestured for Harry to sit in the other, but he refused, crossing his arms and glaring at her. 

“Would you like tea?”

“No, thank you.” Harry said harshly. “I just want to know what your husband did to Draco. The whole truth.”

“I didn’t know you cared so much about him.” She said, avoiding the question once again. Harry was rapidly growing angry, but she didn’t seem threatened in the slightest.

“Of course I do.” Harry replied fiercely, taken aback by the way he didn’t hesitate for a second to supply Narcissa with his answer. But he realised that he really did care deeply for Draco, perhaps even more than he thought he did. Perhaps in a way that was too intense for friendship.

Narcissa simply studied Harry for a moment, cold eyes scrutinising him in a way that would have made him uncomfortable had he not been so overwhelmingly angry.

“Lucius did it to protect Draco.” She said eventually, her voice low and even. Harry hated that she was so calm throughout all of this. He despised the fact that it seemed like he was the only person in the world who cared what Draco wanted. 

“I don’t give a fuck why Lucius did anything.” Harry spat. “Draco didn’t want his dad to mess with his head. That should have been reason enough not to do it.”

“You don’t understand.” Narcissa snapped. “You weren’t there to see him, those first few months after the Dark Lord was defeated. He was inconsolable. He wouldn’t leave his room, wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t sleep. Lucius and I worried that he would simply choose to stop breathing. So we removed any recollection of things that could have caused him pain or guilt. Would you not have eased the pain of the people you loved if you saw them suffer like that, no matter what it took?”

Harry felt like someone had hit him in the head with a baseball bat. Draco’s time after the war sounded startlingly similar to the way he’d been at that same period of time. 

“But Draco said that you did it because of the trial.”

“Yes, but that was only part of it. Lucius thought that it was the best solution, both to make sure that Draco could live freely and that the life he reclaimed would actually be worth living after.”

“But he didn’t want that. And he made that clear to you the moment you suggested it.” Harry wasn’t asking a question. He knew this was true. 

“Yes.” Narcissa did not avert her gaze. “It was the first time in days that we heard him speak.”

“But you did it anyway?” Harry couldn’t believe this.

“It was for his own good.”

Harry wanted to throw something at her. He wanted her to realise the severity of what she’d done, wanted her to break her composure and look like an actual human being, the way she’d been during those short few moments in those final moments of the war when they’d been on the same side.

“So making him forget the one thing that could have let him walk as a free man was for his own good?” Harry tried to force his voice to be level, but he couldn’t help the way it shook. For the first time, Narcissa had the decency to look ashamed. Harry pressed on.

“What about using Dark Magic to make sure that those memories could never be brought back?”

Narcissa flinched.

“Messing up the spell so that Draco not only lost his memories that caused him pain, but also the ones that brought him happiness. Manipulating him so that he lost sense of who he was. Depriving him of autonomy over his own fate and of his responsibility to live through the guilt of what he’s done so that he can emerge a better person and move on with his life. Was all that for his own good, because if it was, I think you need to have a good, long think about what that phrase actually means.” Harry was almost out of breath as he listed things off one by one. 

Narcissa looked stricken. He’d finally achieved what he came here for.

“He lost happy memories, too?” She whispered.

“You didn’t know?” Harry laughed harshly, the sound devoid of any humour. “Your husband botched the spell. It’s eating away at random memories.”

Narcissa sank further into her seat, her perfect posture breaking for the first time.

“ I knew the spell didn’t go as planned because of the struggle, but-”

“The struggle?” Harry abruptly cut her off. He didn’t like where this was going at all. For a split second, Narcissa closed up, her eyes cold and guarded, but when met with Harry’s own hard glare, she sighed and answered honestly.

“Lucius tried to perform the spell while Draco was asleep.” She whispered. “But Draco’s always been a light sleeper, and he woke up as Lucius was finishing the incantations. But I thought it would be alright, Lucius told me it would be alright, that he’d done the job properly.”

Harry swore under his breath. 

“We were at St. Mungo’s with a Healer who was treating him, bringing back his memories. Draco wanted all of it back. He said he’s done being a coward.” Harry gave Narcissa a hard look. “The Healer said we’re welcome to come back any time that he’s ready and continue the healing process, and I’m going to do this for him, whether you like it or not.”

Narcissa sighed and covered her eyes with one pale hand, and Harry knew that he’d convinced her.

“Nelly,” She called. “Bring Draco down. He has a guest.”

***

“Potter.”

If Harry had any hope at all that Lucius hadn’t gotten rid of everything had Harry and Draco had gone through together from Draco’s mind, it shattered upon hearing the cool, disconnected way Draco said his name. 

“Draco.” Harry greeted warmly. He detected surprise in Draco’s face before he quickly wiped his face clean of emotion. 

“Did you-” Harry turned to Narcissa, the question on the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t quite bring himself to finish his sentence, but for better or for worse, Narcissa was quick to catch on to what he was asking.

“Yes.” She sighed. When Harry glared at her, she shot him a look right back. “We had no choice.”

Harry bit back the torrent of swear words running through his mind. So now he had confirmation that Lucius Malfoy had used Dark Magic on his son, yet again, this time to lock away the time spent with Harry. Harry just hoped that Lucius Malfoy hadn’t gotten any better at casting the curse, leaving room for the possibility of bringing those memories back, too.

“What’s going on? What’s he doing here?” Draco looked back and forth between his mother and his former nemesis who’d just testified for him in court. “Is it about the trial?”

Harry didn’t know where to begin. How was he supposed to convince Draco to come with him without him remembering what happened in the last two months? If he tried to explain that they were friends now and that Harry wanted to help him, he was afraid that Draco would laugh in his face.

 He almost couldn’t bear the thought of starting from scratch, of going from whatever they’d become moments before Draco was snatched away from him back to Draco regarding him as nothing more than a stranger, someone he used to not get along with in school. Harry flexed his fingers, remembering what it felt like to slide his fingers between Draco’s slender ones and squeeze tight for comfort, how their hands fit together perfectly like pieces of a puzzle. 

He decided that for Draco, he would gladly go through the whole process again if he had to. He could patiently go through the motions of building trust, then friendship, then eventually something beyond that, because Harry knew by now that what they had couldn’t be defined by friendship. 

“Hi.” He smiled. “It’s good to see you.”

Draco stared at Harry like he’d gone mad.

“You remember what I said at court?” Harry asked. Draco nodded slowly, though he still looked suspicious. Harry pretended it didn’t affect him. “Do you believe it?”

“Yes.” Draco replied eventually. “But I don’t see how any of this has anything to do with you, Potter. It’s really none of your business.”

“Well, I’m about to make it my business.” Harry said firmly. “You probably won’t believe me, but two months ago, you came to my apartment and asked me to help you because you suspected your father had been erasing your memories. We got a diagnosis from St. Mungo’s, and was about to start treating you to bring them back when your father showed up and took you away, then got rid of your memories of the last two months. I was willing to help you then, and I really want to help you now. Do you still want your memories back?”

Harry waited nervously. He was almost scared Draco was going to say no. What if Lucius had stolen so much and stirred Draco’s mind to the point he’d changed as a person and decided he preferred to live in ignorance?

“What kind of a question is that?” Draco asked finally. “Of course I do.”

Harry grinned wider than he’d ever done before. He must have looked insane, but he didn’t care.

“Okay, second question. Do you want to come stay with me, at least while we cure you? Because I still have a bunch of your things at my apartment from when you stayed last time.” Harry thought Draco would say no for sure. But after a brief glance in Narcissa’s direction, Draco nodded curtly.

“What? You’re agreeing?”

“Yes, but I’m starting to regret my decision.” Draco glared at Harry. “Stop gawking at me like that.”

“But why?”

Draco’s gaze flickered to his mother and Harry understood that after everything that happened in this place, Draco probably didn’t want to stay here for fear that history would repeat itself yet again. 

“For convenience.” Draco snapped eventually. Narcissa looked away, and they all knew what he really meant. Whatever was happening between Draco and Narcissa as Draco stared holes into the side of his mother’s head went mostly unnoticed by Harry, who was just happy to talk to Draco again after so long with no contact at all. He’d missed Draco terribly, even though he was reluctant to admit it to himself.

“Perfect.” Harry smiled, and it was. 

Almost.

Chapter Text

Draco had no idea what was going on, and he wasn’t sure if he liked what little he was able to comprehend.

First, Potter had shown up to his trial and claimed that Draco had saved his life. Or something close to it, anyway. Then he’d insisted that Draco’s father had been erasing his memories. When Potter dropped that bombshell, Draco was struck by a sudden sense of clarity and he knew, deep down, that it must be true. The fogginess, the confusion, his inability to recall certain things, the headaches, and the sympathetic ways in which his mother tiptoed around him, it all made sense. But there was no time to dwell on that, as the trial that would decide his fate was unfolding before him and with every second he was wondering if he would get shipped off to Azkaban with his father.

Oh, well. He thought dejectedly. At least Mother’s going to be alright.

Turns out, Harry Potter’s testimony meant a lot, even if Draco was unable to back it up himself. It was pathetic, really, all he had to say was yes, he remembered doing what Potter was talking about, and at this point resisting truth serum wasn’t difficult, but he still didn’t want to do it. He was tired of the lying, the scheming, the loopholes.

Draco had been sure he’d sealed his own fate, when out of nowhere, his trial was postponed again and his mother was whisking him home before he could even begin to question her on what had just happened. His head was spinning, and he felt like he was constantly two paces behind the rest of the world. He seriously contemplated banging his head repeatedly against a wall until his brain worked again. He’d always prided himself on his quick-wittedness, and now that he was unbearably slow and sluggish, it was driving him insane.

Upon reaching the Manor, he’d attempted to press his mother for answers, but instead of giving them to him like she’d always done when he tried hard enough, she sighed and avoided looking him in the eye. She then sent him away, told him that she was expecting someone and that he shouldn’t come downstairs while she was meeting her guest.

Draco had been livid, but the slight tremor in his mother’s hand and the way her voice was thin and strained scared him. If he’d been obliviated, the solution must be simple enough. It may be difficult, but there were ways to get those memories back. Draco wondered for the first time if something else might have been involved, but he felt so sick to his stomach at the very thought that he couldn’t ask.

When he looked out his bedroom window to find Harry bloody Potter storming down the pathway toward his house, Draco didn’t know what to think. Eventually, he assumed he was there on some type of Ministry business. Perhaps they’d decided to find him guilty and lock him away in Azkaban after all. Maybe he deserved to go. He didn’t know. Half of the war and what he’d done during it was a haze. 

Then his mother was calling him downstairs, and Draco came face to face with Potter for the first time in a year. No, that didn’t feel right. But it was the truth. Draco frowned, confused and frustrated. Had they met since? Had his father erased those memories, too? But why?

“Potter.” He greeted as nonchalantly as he could. He detected a flash of hurt and disappointment in Potter’s eyes, and again, there was a sort of ache in his chest that he felt like he was supposed to recognise but didn’t.

Nothing could have prepared Draco for the way Potter smiled warmly, sincerely, and addressed him as ‘Draco’. Where had ‘Malfoy’, paired with either barely concealed annoyance or thinly veiled anger disappeared off to? What had he missed?

His mother and Potter exchanged words he didn’t fully understand. This made no sense. Why was he, Draco, the outsider in this conversation? Were they not talking about his memory loss? Was this not his house?

“What’s going on? What’s he doing here?” Draco asked loudly, wanting them to acknowledge he was still there instead of talking about him as if he weren’t in the room. “Is it about the trial?”

“Hi.” Potter was still smiling. Draco wished he’d stop doing that. It only made his confusion worse. “It’s good to see you.”

Draco was sure everyone but him had lost his mind. 

“You remember what I said at court?” Potter asked. Draco nodded slowly - how could he forget? Draco almost snorted to himself out of the irony of what he’d just thought to himself. Meanwhile, Potter was still talking. “Do you believe it?”

“Yes.” Draco replied, because it was the truth. For one, Potter would never do something as morally questionable as lie in court, and for what? To protect Draco? The idea was laughable. “But I don’t see how any of this has anything to do with you, Potter. It’s really none of your business.”

“Well, I’m about to make it my business.” Harry said firmly.

Draco considered pinching himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

 “You probably won’t believe me, but two months ago, you came to my apartment and asked me to help you because you suspected your father had been erasing your memories. We got a diagnosis from St. Mungo’s, and was about to start treating you to bring them back when your father showed up and took you away, then got rid of your memories of the last two months. I was willing to help you then, and I really want to help you now. Do you still want your memories back?”

That was a lot of information to take in, but Draco was determined not to allow it to overwhelm him. He couldn’t stand the way Potter and his mother were looking at him, nervously and as if they didn’t want to upset him, like he was some sort of skittish horse. 

Alright, so he’d approached Potter for help. That was hard to wrap his head around, but when he tried to put himself in the position he must have been in back then, it made sense. With all of Potter’s self-righteousness and willingness to help anyone in peril, and being unable to trust neither of his parents, on top of Pansy and Blaise being off in France, Potter was probably the only person that sprang to mind. 

The rest was easier to believe. If they’d been trying to get his memories back, and word got to his father that he’d visited St. Mungo’s, Lucius would undoubtedly have rushed there immediately to force him to go back to Malfoy Manor, and would have made sure that no trace of his interactions with Potter were left.

As for whether or not he wanted to continue the process of retrieving his memories, Draco had decided long ago that he now wanted to be the pioneer of his own fate. And to move forward, he first had to accept everything that had happened in his past, no matter how unpleasant it was. 

“What kind of a question is that?” Draco asked finally. “Of course I do.”

Then Potter grinned wider, which Draco didn’t even think was possible. It did something funny to his stomach, but he ignored the feeling. He hadn’t eaten in a while. That must be it.

“Okay, second question. Do you want to come stay with me, at least while we cure you? Because I still have a bunch of your things at my apartment from when you stayed last time.” 

Well, that was new. 

So he’d been living with Potter. Again, that made sense when he really thought hard about it. 

Draco looked over at his mother. The one person he loved more than anyone else in the world, the person he would have committed heinous crimes for if it meant she was safe. She was his home, the one person who’d shown him unconditional love and protection.

But she’d also been the one person who could have stopped his father. The one person who could have made sure Draco didn’t have his memories ripped away from him against his wishes, because Draco didn’t believe for a second that he could have ever wanted his parents to do that to him. And yet she’d stood by, allowed these things to happen. When Draco looked at her, he was startled and disappointed to find that she no longer felt like his safe haven, no longer felt like home. He didn’t trust her anymore, and that almost hurt more than the revelation of what his father had done.

So he nodded. His world had already been turned upside down, he may as well lean into it completely.

“What? You’re agreeing?”

Potter sounded suspiciously happy. He was staring at Draco like Christmas came early.

“Yes, but I’m starting to regret my decision.” Draco glared at him. “Stop gawking at me like that.”

“But why?”

“For convenience.” Draco snapped. He didn’t spare Potter a glance. His gaze was fixed on his mother, on her reaction. Would she have the decency to be regretful? Narcissa looked away, and Draco’s heart sank. So this was how it was going to be. She may have been sorry for how things ended, of how Draco reacted when he found out, but Draco knew from the way she refused to look him in the eye that she did not regret what she’d been a bystander in, and that if the situation were to repeat itself, she would make all the same choices.

“Perfect.” Potter smiled, and Draco quite wanted to punch him.

Nothing was perfect. Far from it.

***

“What’s he doing here?”

Draco glowered at the blundering idiot who was staring in open disbelief at Draco. He had to admit, though, he was asking himself the same question. What was he, Draco, doing in a Muggle restaurant with Granger, a contemplative expression on her face, Weasley, snorting flames from his nostrils, and Potter, with that undeterred grin that Draco wanted to slap off his face so badly?

“It’s not like I wanted to be here.” Draco snapped. He turned to Potter.

“I’m leaving.”

“Oh, no, you’re not.” Potter planted two firm hands on Draco’s shoulders. Draco considered jerking him away, but before he could do so, Potter was steering him to the table that Granger and Weasley occupied and giving him a push to make him sit down. Faster and more gracefully than Draco ever thought possible from Potter, he slid down into the chair beside him and clamped a hand on Draco’s knee before Draco could jump back to his feet.

The lurching feeling in his stomach and the way all his senses were hyper fixated on Potter’s hand, distracted Draco long enough for Granger to clear her throat and offer Draco a tentative smile.

“Hello, Draco.”

That was it. The world had gone mad, and Draco was the only one left that was sane. Draco’s eyes flickered to Weasley, who was still glaring at him as though he was thoroughly uncomfortable in this unpleasant situation. He couldn’t believe he was thinking this, but perhaps Weasley was the only one that still had all the screws fastened in the proper places in his head.

Draco ignored Granger’s attempt at greeting him and turned his attention to Potter, instead. His knee felt strangely cold now that the warm pressure of Potter’s hand was gone. Draco’s eyes involuntarily drifted down to Potter’s hands that were currently busy pouring himself some water.

When Potter pushed the glass over to Draco instead, Draco was finally snapped back to his senses.

“This was not part of the arrangement.” Draco hissed. He didn’t care if Potter’s stupid friends could hear him. 

“Yeah, well, Ron and Hermione are kind of a package deal with me.” Potter shrugged innocently. 

“In that case, I demand a refund.” 

“Does that mean you want to go back to Malfoy Manor?”

That shut Draco up. He weighed the options. Go back to the place that was riddled with nightmares and traumatic events, which also was the place his parents had brutally betrayed his trust, or have dinner with Potter, Granger, and Weasley.

It took more time than it should have for Draco to reach the conclusion that the latter was preferable.

“You’re insufferable.” Draco sniffed. He pushed the glass of water Potter had offered him far away from him. He was determined not to have a single sip.

Potter shrugged, as if to say, suit yourself .

The dinner itself wasn’t quite as awful as Draco had thought it would be.

Potter didn’t force him to join in the conversation. Instead, Potter and Granger chatted about trivial things back and forth, and eventually, after a beer, Weasley loosened up enough to pretend Draco wasn’t there and talk with his friends as he usually did. 

Draco found it was quite interesting to listen to the three talk about mundane things. It reminded him with a pang of how things used to be with Blaise and Pansy. Of course, his own friend group was much more dynamic and exchanged much dirtier, underhanded jokes that would shock anyone who happened to listen into their conversations. And the trio didn’t casually slip back and forth between English and French as Draco did absentmindedly with his friends. 

But the laughter, the inside jokes, the asking after family members, the reminiscing, and even the mindless bickering were the same. Just a group of friends being comfortable with one another. Draco was surprised that they would allow Draco to be there on what he now recognized as an intimate event between the three of them. 

Although he’d already been fully aware that he was an outsider in the situation, the confirmation that he didn’t belong there with them came as a jarring slap of reality stinging against his cheek. Draco scowled, reached out, and took a long gulp of water. He tuned out of the conversation. Even though he hated the idea of trying to get along with the trio, feeling so left out was not something he was particularly happy about.

Potter, strangely enough, seemed to pinpoint the exact moment Draco’s mood turned sour. He glanced over in the middle of a theatrical story told with a lot of hand gestures by Weasley. He waited for the story to be over, laughed appropriately, then introduced a new topic of conversation.

“Hermione, what was that one book you were trying to get me to read? Pride and Prejudice?”

Draco started. Somewhere in his muddled, foggy mind, memories of a small bookshop, the scent of old books and coffee, a dimpled smile, a shock of curly red hair, and the sweet taste of hot chocolate on his tongue emerged, clear as day. Pride and Prejudice. That was the first of many books that Emily had recommended him, one that he’d turned his nose up to in the beginning but had ended up enjoying more than he anticipated.

Potter nudged him. Draco stared at him, wide-eyed. Potter smiled and tilted his head minutely in Granger’s direction, who’d launched into a long speech about the book.

Draco’s eyes flickered back and forth between Potter and Granger. He wasn’t going to do this. It was weird, it was unnatural, it was-

Potter’s hand was back on Draco’s leg. 

“I’ve read that book.”

Draco blurted out. He glared at Potter, who’d removed his hand quickly once Draco spoke and was idly twirling spaghetti around on his fork. He avoided Draco’s eye. 

“Really?” Granger asked, sounding doubtful.

Well, Draco wasn’t having that.

“Yes.”

“You,” Weasley cut in. “You read a book Hermione likes? By a Muggle author?”

“Yes, and I thought it was rather good.” Draco couldn’t back away now. Granger’s brown eyes were sparkling and she was looking at Draco in an eager fashion that made him wonder if he shouldn’t have said anything after all.

“It is good, isn’t it? I’ve been asking Harry and Ron to read it for years now, but they clearly haven’t picked up a book since the day they were born. Have you also read-”

Granger listed off books, some that were familiar, others that weren’t. Draco curtly replied that he’d read a few, and Granger positively beamed.

Draco had no clue what had happened, but next thing he knew, he was sucked into a ten-minute-long conversation with Granger about books, and he was surprised to find that he was almost enjoying himself. Upon realising this, he quickly turned his attention to Potter and Weasley, who’d gotten sidetracked into a debate about Quidditch. 

Again, Potter caught on immediately that Draco’s attention had drifted and dragged him into the conversation.

“Draco, back me up here.” He pleaded. Draco was tempted to agree with whatever Potter had been insisting on, but once he took a moment to recall how the conversation had been progressing, he snorted and shook his head.

“Not a chance, Potter. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Weasley’s right.”

Weasley snapped his head over to look at Draco so quickly there was a large cracking noise from his neck. He winced, and rubbed a hand over the spot as he stared in disbelief.

“See!” He refrained from commenting, turning back to Potter instead. “Even Malfoy agrees with me. That has to mean something.”

“No, you’re both wrong.” Potter shook his head.

And then a heated argument ensued, and in the midst of it all, Draco realised that he was on the same side as Weasley. Arguing with Potter. They were defending each other’s points, throwing each other begrudgingly appreciative looks, and at one point, Weasley even ordered Draco a beer. Draco didn’t even like beer, but he downed the thing in several gulps, his eyes locked with Potter’s as he swallowed the last mouthful just to prove a point.

Granger was shaking her head and muttering something about immature boys, and Weasley was busy ordering another beer, but time stood still as Draco held Potter’s impossibly green gaze and he knew what he’d done for him. Bringing up a book Granger liked that Potter somehow knew he’d read, and deliberately taking the wrong side in an argument so that Weasley would warm up to Draco. He was doing all this to make Draco feel more at home with his friends, and Draco hated it. 

He hated that Potter was going to such lengths to help him. He hated that there was a blank space when he grasped for what had happened between the two of them in the last two months. He hated the effect that Potter’s hand on his knee had on him, hated that in the space of a single dinner, Potter had somehow managed to prove his own point, that Granger and Weasley weren’t so terrible, and that they could move past their differences and have a civil conversation, even if it was just for the duration of a dinner. He hated those green eyes more than anything. He’d hated them since his years in Hogwarts. He hated how they froze his thoughts, making Draco unable to function properly whenever he was in their presence.

Draco hated Harry Potter.

But more than anything, Draco despised the fact that he knew he was lying to himself.

***

A week went by.

Potter insisted on accompanying Draco to St. Mungo’s, although Draco made him wait outside as he consulted the Healer he’d apparently been seeing. He received some bad news. Most of his memories were retrievable, but the ones he’d lost from the last two months had been performed perfectly and therefore would be gone to him forever.

Potter seemed to pick up on Draco’s bad mood upon leaving the room and didn’t question him any further about the situation.

Instead, the next day, he showed up out of the blue to the coffee shop Draco frequently visited, which was also coincidentally the place he’d chosen to hide out in order to avoid Potter, and sat opposite him deliberately. Draco had glared at him, preparing himself to snap at him the second he tried to talk to him, but instead he just shot Draco a small smile and opened a book.

Pride and Prejudice.

Draco could barely hide his surprise when Emily approached the table with two hot chocolates. Even more so when Harry struck up a casual conversation with her and the two chatted like they were old friends.

Just how much had happened during the two months that Draco would never get back?

Draco refused to visit the coffee shop after that, instead choosing to sulk in his room for days on end. Potter often knocked on the door and offered him some tea that he made, but after the first time Draco had accepted suspiciously only to find that Potter had made the tea exactly how Draco preferred it, he’d turned down those too.

His head was spinning, and he just couldn’t get used to just how different things seemed to be between them. It wasn’t fair, how Potter was treating him as the same Draco that had spent the last two months with him when the Draco he now was had never experienced them. 

So a week passed.

Potter still tried his best to restore whatever proximity had existed between them. Draco still found it all too jarring and confusing.

That evening, Draco heard the sound of Potter leaving. Probably to meet with Granger and Weasley for dinner. Finally, he was truly alone.

Draco sat on the floor of Potter’s guest room, leaning against the chest of drawers. Absentmindedly, he nudged the bottom drawer open, then pushed it shut again as he tried to gather his thoughts.

Then something caught his eye.

The corner of an envelope sticking out from the very back of his underwear drawer. Without hesitation, Draco stuck his hand inside and rummaged around, producing a stack of envelopes containing letters. Some were unopened, but most of them had carefully been placed back after clearly having been read.

Draco flipped the bundle over, trusting his past self to have been organised about the way he stored his letters, and picked up the envelope that would have been at the bottom, and therefore, the oldest.

And as he read through his correspondence with Pansy, all the pieces clicked into place and Draco finally understood just how eventful the past two months had been, and more importantly, just how cruel his parents had been to rip them away from him.

Draco read through the letters again and again, until two things became crystal clear.

One, Harry Potter liked Draco, and Draco most likely liked him back.

Two, Draco had to find Harry immediately.

Draco burst out of his room, letters clutched in hand, but he had no idea where Harry had gone and therefore had no means of finding him. All he could do was wait until he got home.

Draco suddenly found himself starving after the ordeal and walked into the kitchen to find something to eat, but there was no need for him to search for long. There, on the table, was a brown paper bag and a note scrawled in Harry’s messy handwriting.

Going out to dinner with friends so I ordered the food you like. Be back soon x

Draco collapsed into a chair and his hands trembled as he swept the hair back from his face. He stared down at the letters held in his shaking fingers, reading and re-reading the words until he felt he could recite what they said word for word.

It should have been sickening, the almost lovesick way in which he must have described Potter to Pansy and the way she tried to convince him of what he felt. But instead, all Draco felt was relief. It was like someone had removed a blindfold and Draco could see the world clearly again. Because in his heart, he knew that this was what he’d been searching for, all those days, locked away from the rest of the world and from Harry’s confusing words and actions. 

And now, for the first time in what felt like forever, it all made sense.

Chapter Text

Harry was quickly growing worried about how to move forward.

During dinner with Ron and Hermione, he’d confided with his two best friends about his concerns surrounding Draco’s trial. Harry wouldn’t have cared how much time it took for Draco to open up again had it not been for the constant threat of Draco being sentenced to Azkaban looming in front of him. 

The memories that had to be retrieved were the most delicate, and Harry knew that Draco might not be able to get them back in time. 

He’d left that dinner with anxious thoughts still whirling around in his head, wracking his brain for the best possible way to go about things as he stepped back into the warmth of his apartment. Harry unwound the scarf from his neck and took off his coat, hanging both up neatly. He was glad to be back home, although stealing glances at Draco’s firmly shut door often made him feel quite lonely.

Remembering the food he’d ordered for Draco, Harry decided to check in the kitchen to see if he’d eaten. What he hadn’t been expecting was to find Draco sitting at the table, holding tightly onto what appeared to be crumpled letters.

At the sound of Harry entering the room, Draco jumped to his feet, scraping the chair back so quickly it collided with a thump against the wall. Harry’s bewildered eyes met Draco’s unreadable ones, and Harry knew in that moment that everything had changed.

His gaze drifted down to the letters still clutched in Draco’s hand. Tracking the movement, Draco held them out. Harry took the stack carefully. He felt like the air between them was made of thin ice, and he hardly dared breathe, let alone speak.

“Are they true?” Draco asked, breaking the silence. Harry forced his numb brain to concentrate and read. The handwriting was unfamiliar to him, but by the time he’d skimmed through the contents of the first letter, who the letter was from was about the farthest thing from his mind. 

Harry quickly flipped the page, reading quicker than he believed he’d ever done in his life, and carried on until he’d made his way through the entire stack of letters.

What they meant was unmistakable. Draco, during his stay with Harry, had written to his best friend, Pansy, about the fact that he thought he might be falling for Harry. Pansy had responded that yes, that appeared so, but based on Draco’s description of events, she suspected that Harry might reciprocate those feelings. The letters ended somewhat abruptly, with Pansy demanding a response as soon as possible. The last letter had been from almost a month ago.

Harry looked up to find Draco still staring at him steadily, although his teeth gnawing at loose skin on his bottom lip betrayed him.

“Yes.” He replied finally. “It’s true.”

Draco frowned. 

“ All of it?”

Harry paused. Despite not saying it directly, Harry knew what Draco was asking. Harry stole a quick glance back at the letters still held in his hand and then back at Draco. Upon laying eyes on him, Harry felt a rush of affection, warmth, and something coiled in the pit of his stomach that he just couldn’t ignore anymore. Harry swallowed. Until mere minutes ago, Harry had been reluctant to admit it to himself, let alone to Draco. But he had to do this. He had to be honest.

“Yeah. All of it.” 

Harry couldn’t decipher the expression on Draco’s face. In fact, he could barely look him in the eye. He was afraid of rejection, afraid that Draco would curl his lip and sneer, or worse, back away in disgust. According to the letters, Draco had felt similarly toward Harry once, but that was before.  Now, all Draco remembered of Harry was their rivalry during school, and the rift between them that once seemed like it was wider than all the oceans in the world put together. 

There was no telling how Draco would react.

“Well, that’s … good to know.”

At least the response wasn’t completely negative. Harry stared at Draco for a prolonged moment, pleading with him silently to say more.

Draco sighed sharply.

“If you must know, it’s true on my side, too. At least, it was true at the time. That’s all I can say for certain.”

Harry couldn’t help it. He grinned widely.

“All of it?” He asked.

Draco rolled his eyes, but Harry could detect the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“Yes, Potter. All of it.”

***

Harry didn’t know what to do with himself. 

Now that he’d fully admitted to having feelings for Draco, everything that he’d kept firmly hidden under the surface suddenly came bubbling up and threatened to overflow. What’s worse was that he now knew that Draco had felt the same way once, but not anymore.

This put Harry in a bit of an awkward position.

The silence between them gone, they now spent a lot of time together. Harry took it upon himself to explain everything that had happened during Draco’s stay, smiling fondly as he recalled their little morning routine, the hours they’d spent talking at a coffee shop, and even the arguments that had kept them sulking for days at the time.

With each day that passed, it was more and more difficult for Harry to hold onto his self restraint. The mere sight of Draco now made his heart do cartwheels, and the rare image of him smiling widely or laughing heartily warmed him down to the toes. 

The bigger problem in all this was the random urges that Harry got out of seemingly nowhere. They could be bickering back and forth, and Draco would be wearing that smug smirk, and all of a sudden Harry would be swallowing the urge to grab him by the face and kiss it right off his face. Or Draco would be casually leaning against the counter, the sleeves on his sweater pushed up and his hair falling in his face, absentmindedly pouring himself a cup of tea, and Harry would be tracking every movement from his seat at the kitchen table, a golf ball sized lump in his throat that Harry didn’t think he would ever be able to logically explain.

The very existence and proximity of Draco living in such close quarters with Harry was driving him crazy. But at the very least, Draco appeared oblivious to Harry’s inner struggle.

Meanwhile, they were also making regular visits to see Max in order to continue the Healing process. Harry was no longer allowed to stay in the room, per Draco’s request, but Harry squashed his hurt feelings and waited patiently outside until Draco was done. At the end of the restoration sessions, Draco was always pale, weak, and a lot more snappy than usual. Harry quickly learned not to say much and instead they walked in silence to whatever place they planned to eat that night. Once he got some food and more often than not, a glass or two of wine, in him, Draco’s foul mood dissipated and they talked about what memories had returned to Draco that day.

They were speeding through the recovery process a lot more quickly than what would have been ideal, according to Max, but because they had the deadline of the trial, they had no choice. It took a clear toll on Draco, and Harry did his best to be supportive and take care of him in any way he could.

Soon enough, they got through most of the memories that had been unintentionally erased, but the difficult task remained of retrieving everything from Sixth Year through to the war.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Harry attempted to make light conversation. It was late, and both of them were supposed to be in bed because the appointment they had was early the next day. But with the thought of what lay ahead of them, Harry had tossed and turned, unable to drift off. Eventually, he’d headed to the kitchen to get a glass of water, only to find Draco already there, sitting in his usual seat.

Draco looked up with stormy grey eyes and Harry’s heart skipped a beat. To distract himself, Harry set about rummaging around to find a glass. He tried not to be too conscious of Draco’s gaze searing the back of his head.

Harry took his time pouring some water, and sat down opposite Draco.

“Hey.” Harry said gently. “You okay?”

“Fantastic.” Draco said dryly. “I could burst into song any second.”

“You’re being sarcastic.”

“How very smart of you to point out the obvious, Potter, you deserve an award.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. 

“I suppose I don’t have to worry so much anymore, seeing as you’re feeling well enough to be your charming self.” He smiled half-heartedly. In truth, he really was glad that Draco was glaring rather than staring off into space with a haunted look in his eyes. He would take Draco’s attitude over him being distant and concerningly quiet any day.

“What do you have to worry about?” Draco narrowed his eyes.

“You.” Harry replied.

“Why?”

“ Why ?” Harry was incredulous. “You’re asking me why I’m worried about you? Didn’t I make it clear enough that night with the letters?”

Draco flushed and looked away.

“Don’t remind me.”

Neither of them spoke for a while, and the only sound that filled the kitchen was the steadily dripping sink. 

“I’m afraid.” Draco said, so quietly that Harry almost missed it.

“What?”

“You asked me if I was okay. Well, I’m not. These sessions have been draining enough so far, and barely any of those memories are bad ones. So I can only imagine how horrible it would be to relive the moments of my life that were the most painful.”

Harry felt a rush of sympathy, and, in an instinctive act that he didn’t have time to think through, he reached out across the table and took Draco’s hand. To his surprise, Draco didn’t pull away immediately. 

“And I like Max well enough, he’s a decent man, but the thought of him seeing all of that -” Draco shuddered. “I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if I can stomach letting him in so far.”

Draco looked up, grey eyes troubled as they met Harry’s.

“What if I can’t go through with the treatment? What if I can’t get everything back in time for the trial?”

“We’ll take things a little slow from now on.” Harry fumbled for the right words. He recognised how private, how vulnerable the moment between them was, and he desperately needed to not fuck this up. “Of course you don’t want someone poking around in your head like that, seeing all of your most private memories, no matter how good they are as people. If it doesn’t work out tomorrow, we can find a different way. But I promise you, no matter what, you are getting those memories back before the trial.”

Draco cracked a small smile.

“Thanks.”

Harry smiled back, caught a glimpse of the clock, and realised that if they didn’t go to bed now, they were both going to have a hard time getting up in the morning.

“Yeah, well, it’s getting late. We should probably get some sleep.”

The pair got up and began making their way to their respective rooms. Just as Harry was about to step in his room and shut the door behind him, Draco called his name softly.

“Harry.”

Harry paused and turned to face Draco again.

“Would you … like to go in with me tomorrow for the appointment? You know, for moral support.”

“Of course.” Harry replied quickly before Draco could change his mind. Draco nodded awkwardly.

“Well, goodnight then.”

“Goodnight.”

Harry managed to fall asleep quickly after that. They had a big day ahead of them, and he was going to need all the rest he could get.

***

Despite all of their best efforts, the appointment didn’t go well. By the end of the session, Draco was sweaty and frustrated, his jacket having long been discarded. The top couple of buttons on his shirt were undone, sleeves pushed up just enough so that it didn’t expose the entirety of his Dark Mark. 

After the last attempt, which had lasted the longest but had ended with Draco jerking back violently in his chair, gasping for breath and shuddering with his entire body, Max threw his wand down in frustration. 

“This isn’t working.” He paused, and took a deep breath. He bent down to pick up the wand that had rolled to the floor. By the time he straightened up, he looked quite composed again. Harry admired the level of control the man had over his emotions and the level of professionalism that must have taken. He’d been performing highly advanced magic for almost an hour, only for nothing to work.

“Clearly.” Draco muttered. He used both hands to push back the hair from his face, most of it having come loose from the way he’d carefully styled it that morning. 

“It’s time to explore other options.” Max sank into his chair. He glanced over at Harry, then back at Draco. Since the very first appointment, where Draco had asked Harry to wait outside and Harry had tried to feign nonchalance as he walked out of the room, Max had clearly noticed the shift in dynamic between the two but had refrained to mention it. Now, he had to address the elephant in the room.

But of course, Max tried to be tactful about it.

“The reason this is so difficult is because the deepest part of your subconscious keeps blocking me out. Is there any way you would be okay with someone else performing the spell? Someone you have a deeper connection with?”

Harry stared down at his hands. The wheels in his head started turning, wondering if he could convince Pansy or Blaise to fly back out to England to help cure their best friend in time for the trial. 

“Potter.” Draco said slowly. Harry looked up so quickly he was sure something snapped in his neck, but he didn’t care. 

“Yes?” He was almost breathless.

“Would you be willing to try?” Draco asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, but are you sure?” 

“Well.” Draco paused. “I’m not going to pretend I have any sort of faith in your ability to perform the kind of advanced and delicate magic to restore my most awful memories.”

“Ouch.” Harry murmured. Draco ignored him, and continued. 

“But if everything that happened in the last two months is true, then whatever memories were forced away from me don’t matter. Deep in my subconscious, I must trust you. Maybe more than I trust anyone else in the world right now. What’s more, it might be the only chance I have.” Draco tugged his sleeves back down self-consciously. “And for what it’s worth, even now I trust that you would do everything in your power to make sure that I get my memories back.” 

“Well, that’s settled.” Max turned to Harry. “I’ll have you come in a few times before Draco’s next appointment to learn the spell, and of course I’ll be here to supervise to make sure nothing goes wrong. We’ll do the next session a week from today, to give you enough time to really get the hang of it, and so that Draco can take a break from the mental toll this must be taking. In the meantime, it may be a good idea to further build on your relationship, so that you have that genuine connection that’s necessary for this to work.” 

“Thanks.” Harry nodded. “I’m available whenever you are.”

“In that case, we’ll get started with you tomorrow.”

***

The day following the initial agreement, Harry left early in the morning to St. Mungo’s. For once, he was up before Draco. Harry was careful to shower quickly and quietly, not wanting to wake Draco after his long day. 

Draco was quite the light sleeper, however, and stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as Harry stuck a piece of toast between his teeth to energise himself for the day ahead of him. 

Without a word, Draco shuffled in his slippers over to the coffee pot and began brewing a cup while Harry scrambled around to make sure he had everything he needed. There really wasn’t much that he needed to do to prepare, but it had been so long since he’d performed any kind of complicated magic that he was incredibly nervous. The fact that Draco’s future was also riding on his back doubled the pressure, and Harry was determined to get everything right. 

As he chewed absentmindedly on his toast, Harry stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom and tried to make it lie flat. 

“What are you doing?” Draco’s voice came from behind him. Harry turned with a start. He’d been so preoccupied that he hadn’t heard Draco approach.

“I dunno, I just thought-”

“What, are you going on a date or something afterward?” Draco smirked. “We’ve been to St. Mungo’s plenty of times, and I don’t seem to remember you making so much effort before.”

Harry flushed a deep shade of red. This was undoubtedly true, but he still had some time before he had to leave and he didn’t think he could stand to sit and wait. The only thing he could think of to occupy his hands was to attempt the impossible task of making his hair look halfway presentable. Being caught by Draco thoroughly embarrassed him, however, especially when Draco somehow managed to look perfectly cool and put together despite having literally just stepped out of bed.

In two quick steps, Draco was standing directly in front of Harry, closer than they’d ever been before. His heart hammering, Harry took an involuntary step back.

“What are you-”

Before he could secure some distance between them, Draco grabbed his shoulders and held him in place impatiently.

“Hold still.” Draco opened a cabinet, produced one of his many hair products, and lathered some onto his hands. Harry stood there, still as stone, as Draco deftly handled Harry’s hair. 

Harry took advantage of their proximity and the fact that Draco was very much focused on Harry’s hair to steal a prolonged glance at the man he could no longer deny he had a huge crush on.

He studied the tip of Draco’s long nose, and how it turned upwards toward the end. His gaze drifted down, to Draco’s lips, pursed in concentration. Harry swivelled his eyes back to Draco’s eyes that were fixated on Harry’s hair, admiring the light grey that held so much darkness. 

“If you’re done ogling me,” Harry detected a hint of smugness in Draco’s voice. “There. Your stupid hair has a mind of its own so it wasn’t easy, but you have to admit that looks much better than usual.”

Harry quickly turned to the mirror to hide his humiliation at being caught. He was surprised to find that his hair had been neatly styled back, in an imitation of how Draco often wore his, only it was left looking a little more natural and some strands were already beginning to escape.

“Wow, that looks great. Thanks.” Harry grinned. 

Draco rolled his eyes but looked very pleased with himself.

“You should leave now, or you’re going to be late.” 

Harry looked down at his watch, startled to find that Draco was right. 

“Oh shit, you’re right.” Harry said, hurrying out of the bathroom.

“Hey, Potter, wait.” Draco disappeared into the kitchen while Harry was busy putting on his coat and winding his scarf around his neck. He promptly reappeared with a cup of coffee in his hand. 

“Go on, you can barely function with coffee, let alone without it, and you’re going to need your wits about you to learn advanced magic.” Draco thrust the cup in Harry’s hand. Harry stared down at it, pleasantly surprised. Harry looked back at Draco, ready to say something, anything, that would express how he was feeling, but Draco met his gaze with a glare and pushed him in the direction of the door.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He snapped. “Go.”

Harry grinned so widely his cheeks hurt. 

“Alright.” He took a sip of the coffee. Strong and piping hot, with no sugar or milk, just the way he always took it. He left with a spring in his step, no longer so anxious about his appointment with Max. 

*** 

Harry returned frustrated and upset that things weren’t going as well as he’d hoped. Draco had been nowhere to be found in the apartment, and Harry hadn’t known whether he should be upset or glad. 

Harry wanted Draco’s company very badly after the exhausting three hours he’d spent, but at the same time he also didn’t want Draco to know Harry had failed so miserably. Max had assured Harry that this was perfectly normal, that it was such a difficult spell that it would have been absurd to expect to do well on the first day of learning, but Harry couldn’t help but feel anxious to master it as quickly as possible. 

Sitting alone on the living room sofa, Harry reminded himself of the time he’d tried to learn Expecto Patronum. It had been just as frustrating and difficult, but he’d managed it in the end. And right now, he was about five times more desperate to perfect the spell than he’d been at thirteen. 

Draco returned a few hours later, when Harry had already retired to his room.

There was a knock on his door. Harry sat up abruptly in bed. 

“Yeah?”

The door opened and Draco stood in the doorway. 

“Weasley called and asked about dinner tonight.” “Oh, yeah.” Harry groaned. “What time is it?”

“A quarter to seven.

“Damn it.” Harry muttered. He rolled out of bed. He’d taken a long nap, and now, as he tried to get up, his muscles ached. He looked up at Draco who was still standing there. 

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing?” Draco demanded.

“Going to dinner.” Harry replied. He picked up his jeans off the floor where he’d thrown them carelessly. “We’re going to eat out and then maybe go to a bar afterward.”

“Potter, you’re not serious.” Draco crossed his arms.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not in any condition to go out tonight, let alone go drinking.”

Harry noted the fact that Draco didn’t ask how things had gone. It must have been obvious from his sour mood and exhaustion that nothing had gone the way Harry wanted, but Draco didn’t mention it at all. Just like that, Harry’s stubbornness melted away and he nodded dejectedly. He recalled the first time Draco had undergone treatment, how he’d barely been able to walk straight and how he’d slept the entire day and late into the next one.

“It gets better with time and experience.” Draco assured Harry, and Harry felt like throwing his arms around Draco and kissing him just for being so understanding and tactful. “So you can go out with your friends straight after a session like that when you’re more used to it. Tonight, I’ll call Weasley and tell him to reschedule.”

“Thanks.” Harry paused, sinking back into bed. “Tell him tomorrow, same time, same place.”

Draco nodded curtly. Just as he was about to leave, Harry had an idea.

“Hey, Draco.”

“What?”

“Do you want to come with us tomorrow? To dinner and stuff?”

Silence fell between them.

“Okay.”

“You’re serious?” Harry sat up again, too excited to register the way Draco was glaring like he was regretting his decision. 

“Go to bed, Potter.” Draco rolled his eyes, and he shut the door behind him as he left.

That was how the four of them ended up seated together the following day, having their second ever meal together as a group.

Dinner itself was a little awkward. Hermione was perfectly polite and while Ron was obviously disgruntled, he warmed up much quicker than he had done so before, and without the help of alcohol at that.

Having visited a muggle establishment for dinner, Ron suggested they head to Diagon Alley to have a drink or two before calling it a night. Harry immediately began to open his mouth, thinking of Draco and the less than kind ways in which the wizarding world treated him, but Draco grabbed his wrist before he could get any words out.

“It’s fine.” Draco murmured, quiet enough that Ron and Hermione, who were leading the way couldn’t hear them. 

“But-”

“If you’re alright with it, then I sure as fuck am not backing down.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Trust Draco to turn this into some kind of contest. The Boy Who Lived and Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater. It really was difficult to say who’d attract more unwanted attention. Harry knew from the glint in Draco’s eye that he was adamant, but still felt the need to make sure. 

“If you’re uncomfortable-”

“Oh, come on.” Draco cut him off in his slow drawl. “I told you, I’m completely fine with it. Unless, of course, you don’t want to be seen out in public with a Malfoy.”

“That’s crazy.” Harry said, a little too fiercely. He forced himself to laugh to pass it off in a more joking manner, the way Draco had clearly been doing. But Draco was looking at him in a way that made Harry think that maybe it hadn’t been a joke at all, that deep down, Draco thought that Harry would be ashamed or embarrassed to be seen with him, and Harry suddenly felt very sick. 

“Oi, aren’t you two coming?” Ron called, the distance between them having gotten larger in the short space of time.

“Of course we are.” Harry grabbed Draco’s hand and dragged him along with him. “Let’s go.”

***

The next day, Draco was up before Harry. He stayed in his room as Harry went about getting ready, but casually followed Harry into the bathroom to touch up his hair for him, and before he left, brought him a cup of coffee.

“Thanks.” Harry smiled. Draco looked away.

“Whatever.”

The session itself went better than the first time. Harry was making solid progress, and was able to perform the spell properly, albeit not perfectly by the time their three hours were up.

“You’re a natural.” Max grinned as Harry was putting his coat back on. “Have you ever thought of pursuing a career in being a Healer?”

“I haven’t, no.” Harry shook his head as he finished putting on his scarf.

“Well, you should consider it.” Max opened his desk drawer and produced a pamphlet. He handed it to Harry. “No pressure, but I would hate to see talent go to waste.”

Harry took the pamphlet. He didn’t look at it before tucking it in his pocket, clearing his throat.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you Saturday.”

“Yes. The last official session before we see if you’re fit to try with Draco.”

Harry nodded, raised a hand in goodbye, and left. 

He had a lot to think about.

*** 

The following Monday arrived all too quickly.

Harry had made further progress on Saturday, so much so that Max deemed it would be okay to try with Draco during their next appointment. Meanwhile, Harry had been making it a point to hang out with Draco at Diagon Alley, ignoring the stares and whispers wherever they went.

“Check this out, we’re on the front page.” Draco handed Harry the Daily Prophet as they sat down together for tea and coffee before leaving for St. Mungo’s. 

Sure enough, there was a picture of the two of them, Harry laughing at something Draco said and Draco smiling in a table in the corner of a bar in Diagon Alley. The headline read, Harry Potter Fraternizing with Former Death Eater Draco Malfoy.

“You’d think they’d have more interesting things to report on.” Harry shook his head. “That’s just sad for them, honestly.”

Draco studied Harry’s expression.

“You’re not upset?”

“Why would I be upset?”

“I mean, this kind of thing might be bad for your reputation.”

Harry snorted so hard he almost spit his coffee out. 

“My reputation?” He threw the paper down on the table. “I don’t give a rat’s arse what people think of me, Draco. I stopped caring a long time ago.”

“So you really don’t mind that people think we’re friends?” Draco persisted.

“Are we friends, Draco?” Harry asked earnestly.

“Well … yes. I suppose so.”

“Then that’s what matters. You know the truth, I know the truth. They can say or think whatever they want.” Harry drank the rest of his coffee in one big gulp. “Now come on, we should go.”

The two of them pushed the paper from their minds as they made their way to St. Mungo’s for more important matters. 

Harry thought he noticed people staring more than they usually did once they stepped into the building, probably due to the newspaper, but he meant it when he said he didn’t give a damn. He just hoped Draco didn’t either. When Harry stole a glance in Draco’s direction, he was relieved to find he looked calm and collected, face betraying no trace of discomfort.

They silently made the journey that was now all too familiar, knocked on Max’s door, and stepped inside when he welcomed them in.

“Now, are you ready for this?” Max asked, looking them both in the eye in turn.

“Yes.” Draco nodded immediately. Harry fidgeted with the wand grasped in his sweaty hand, steeling himself for what he was about to do. He wasn’t sure if he could do this. What if he botched the spell, left Draco worse than he’d been before? Maybe they should find a different way, one that didn’t involve him, and-

“Potter,” Draco’s voice stopped Harry’s train of thought. Harry locked eyes with his former school rival, whose stormy grey eyes were steely with determination.

“I trust you.” 

It was perhaps the most important thing that Draco had ever said to him. Harry nodded, wiped his palms on his jeans, and glanced over at Max.

He gave him an encouraging nod.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began.

***

Harry felt the suffocating, crushing pressure on his chest before he knew he’d succeeded. Everything surrounding him was dark, and he couldn’t hear anything, but the weight that doubled with every second was as clear as day. 

Harry struggled to breathe. He thought he would choke, gasping for air as he clawed at his throat that was closing up rapidly. 

He began to cough, tears filling his eyes, still cloaked in endless blackness, until suddenly, he saw a splash of red and he spluttered to expel the blood from his throat as he retched, doubled over and sweating profusely.

It took a moment to realise that instead of pitch black, his surroundings had materialised into Malfoy Manor. He looked down, hands trembling, at the ground, to see that the blood he’d coughed up was very real. He reached up, wiping at the stray tears that had escaped the corners of his eyes and glanced around to take in what was going on around him.

Before he could gather his bearings, however, he was struck with a wave of excruciating pain, and his knees buckled, falling with a crash to the floor as he writhed. Someone was screaming, screaming, screaming, and he wished it would stop, but it was only when the pain lifted that he realised from his scratchy throat that it was him.

“Get up.” A cold voice commanded. 

Harry shakily lifted himself up, although he wanted to curl up in fetal position on the ground and stay there.

“Now, tell me what happened again.”

“I-” The words left Harry’s lips without him being fully aware of what was going on. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it.”

“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?” The voice hissed. 

“Couldn’t.” Harry’s voice came out full of desperation that he didn’t feel, that he didn’t understand. “I couldn’t do it, I swear, I tried.”

“Luckily for you, our dear Severus finished the job. But you failed to prove yourself, Draco. The Dark Lord is very disappointed.”

Finally, Harry placed the voice. It was coming from the sofa that was shrouded in the shadows so it was difficult to make out who it was that was there. But once his eyes adjusted to the dark, Harry identified Bellatrix Lestrange lounging on the couch, feet kicked up on the cushions and her wand lazily pointed at Harry, no, Draco.

Harry put the pieces together.

This must have been what happened after Draco failed to kill Dumbledore.

“Your mother and father, too. It’s such a shame, Lucius was so hoping that you’d be able to get them back in good favour with the Dark Lord, but the Malfoy family just keeps proving themselves to be failures again and again, don’t they?”

Harry remained silent. The pain was still fresh on his skin, burning through his veins.

“I wonder what my dear sister thinks of all this, hmm?” Bellatrix twirled the wand around on her fingers. “I do love Cissy, of course, but I have to say she’s done a poor job of raising my darling nephew.” Bellatrix paused. “She ought to be punished for that.”

“No, please.” Harry’s voice came out choked and frightened. “Not my mother. I’ll do anything. Please.”

“Anything?” A sadistic smile spread across Bellatrix’s sick face and Harry wanted to tackle her.

“Anything.” 

Harry felt that crushing weight again, and the sense of doom that no matter what he did, there was no way to escape this prison. All he could do was try to survive.

The scene changed.

Harry was standing in the basement, the underground prison that he himself recognized from being held there when he’d been caught. 

Bellatrix stood beside him, and she flicked her wand to make the bleak dungeon brighter. The harsh light from her wand illuminated the faces of the prisoners held there. His stomach sank as he recognized some of them, faces that he knew from his days at Hogwarts. 

Bellatrix pointed at a girl, barely fifteen. What could she have possibly done that caused her to be stuck in a place like this? 

“W-what are we doing here?” Harry asked, his voice shaking slightly. Bellatrix grinned like a shark.

“Making sure you can carry out all your future jobs from now on, silly.” Bellatrix jerked her head in the direction of the girl. “Go on, give her your worst.”

Harry raised his wand. His hand was shaking so badly he could hardly aim. The girl looked up at him imploringly, begging him not to, but he had to. 

He had to.

“Crucio.”

The girl stiffened, whimpered in pain, but Bellatrix knew this was not the full effects of the curse.

“No, no, Draco, like this .” 

Without warning, Bellatrix turned her wand on Harry and performed the curse perfectly, sending him crumpling to the ground, agony taking over all his limbs. Once the pain subsided, Bellatrix reached down, her grip surprisingly strong, and dragged Harry to his feet. 

“Try again.”

Harry tried again, but his heart wasn’t in it. He couldn’t do it.

Again, Bellatrix showed him how to do it properly by demonstrating on him. 

It took another five tries, another five crucio curses inflicted on him, until Harry finally got it right. But the sight of the girl twisting and screaming was so horrifying that Harry almost wished he’d be the one to be on the receiving end again.

He turned and threw up, entire body trembling from exhaustion. 

“That’s better, Draco.” Bellatrix smiled. She pointed to another prisoner, a man that looked to be in his early to mid-thirties. “We’ll keep practising until you get the hang of it.”

***

Harry snapped back to reality with a gasp.

The lights of the room were almost blinding and he blinked rapidly to clear his sight of the dancing spots. He felt sick to the stomach. He looked over at Draco, who could barely look him in the eye. Without a word, Harry reached out and grabbed Draco’s hand, squeezing tightly. 

Harry had briefly experienced Draco’s pain with him, but to go through all of that firsthand and alone must have been more horrible than Harry could imagine.

“It worked.” He said finally, turning to Max, who quickly rearranged his face from looking rather impressed to solemn. 

“Yes, well, I think that’s enough for today.” Max glanced back and forth between the two. “We still have some time before the trial, so we’ll continue in small chunks until we get there. Does that sound alright?”

So that was what they did.

Over the course of the next two weeks, they returned to Max’s office every other day save for weekends, and worked on piecing Draco’s memories back together bit by bit. Soon Harry got deft enough at the spell to the point he no longer experienced the memories as if he were Draco, but rather watched the scenes from a distance, much like he were in a pensieve. 

In the last two or three sessions, he only experienced bits and pieces, a shadow of the things that happened. He heard the screams from the basement that never ceased, felt the searing pain in his arm as he got brandished with the Dark Mark, watched Lucius Malfoy kill someone for the first time when Draco was only fourteen, felt the hot blaze of fiendfyre on his heels and saw the faces of the people he’d harmed flash before his eyes. 

And he also saw himself, Harry, snippets of the things that had happened between them that were now returning to Draco. There was Harry’s face, streaked with dirt and lips pressed firmly together in determination as he flew toward him, hand outstretched, felt their sweaty palms lock around each other as they got on the same broom to escape the Room of Requirement. He saw the scene they needed the most, a split second snapshot of Harry’s face after Hermione had cast a spell to make him look different, and the recognition and dread that coursed through Draco the second he saw Harry the minute he laid eyes on him.

It took a long time, and it was a gruelling process, but finally, it was over.

Just in time, too, as the trial was right around the corner.

***

The day began, as it always did now, with coffee for Harry, tea for Draco, and the Daily Prophet. Draco looked impassive as he slowly sipped his tea, but his leg was bouncing up and down and his knuckles were white where he gripped his cup.

“Nervous?” Harry asked casually.

“Not in the least.” Draco replied quickly. “I have the Chosen One vouching for me. I’m pretty sure no one’s going to shove me in Azkaban when you’re there.”

“Damn right.” Harry smiled. He hesitated. Having all of his memories returned to him had to have been tough on Draco. That was years worth of trauma condensed into two weeks reprogrammed into his brain. Harry was worried about him, but knew Draco hated the concern, so tried not to mention it. It was difficult not to, though, not today of all days. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Draco nodded after a brief pause. “It’s not very pleasant, but I’m okay.”

Harry studied Draco, and realised that although he looked tired and worn out, his eyes were clearer and sharper than they’d been for months, and Harry knew that Draco was telling the truth. It was exactly like he said. It wasn’t a nice experience, but Draco needed this. 

“Alright.” Harry stood up. “Let’s go, then.”

Draco followed suit.

“You’re not thinking of attending my trial like that , are you?”

Draco raised his eyebrows, scanning Harry from head to toe. Harry’s hand jumped defensively to his hair. He’d tried to do it himself that morning. He knew it looked ridiculous, but he’d just hoped that no one would notice. Of course Draco, dressed impeccably and his hair styled perfectly, would not only notice, but call him out on it.

“What’s wrong with how I look?” Harry protested. Draco rolled his eyes and steered him into the bathroom. 

Harry obediently remained still as Draco fixed his hair, took a step back, and tugged on Harry’s robes here and there so that it sat nicely on his body instead of slightly lopsided as it had been before.

“There.” Draco smiled, satisfied with his work. 

“How do I look?” Harry asked, pretending to admire himself in the mirror. Draco laughed, but when their eyes locked, Harry watched Draco’s eyes visibly soften and his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat as he swallowed. Draco reached out, almost in a trance, and touched Harry’s face, his palm cupping Harry’s cheek. Harry immediately blushed bright red, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment, holding his breath as he waited. 

Draco seemed to shake himself out of it, using his thumb to wipe at Harry’s cheekbone and removing a stray eyelash as though that had been his goal the entire time.

Both of them cleared their throat, left the bathroom, and made excuses to part ways until they had to leave the apartment.

When the two of them arrived at the Ministry, they were surprised to find Ron and Hermione already waiting there, anxiously looking out for them. When Hermione spotted the two of them, she brightened and immediately rushed over, Ron hot on her heels.

“I was so worried you’d be late! Harry, you look- wow. Nice work, Draco.”

“Thanks.” Draco grinned. Even Ron looked impressed.

“Good luck, Draco.” Hermione smiled. “There’s almost no chance they’re going to send you off, all you have to do is give honest answers and you’ll be fine.” Hermione spoke rapidly.

“Hermione, they know, relax.” Ron patted his wife’s shoulder, who shrugged sheepishly. 

“Are we getting celebratory drinks afterwards?” Ron asked Harry. 

“Of course.” Harry nodded. “It’s been so long since we had a proper drink, because of the Healing process and whatnot.”

“Right, then we’ll see you in an hour.” Ron slapped Harry’s shoulder, then turned to Draco.

“Good luck out there, Malfoy.” Ron extended a hand. Harry and Hermione’s eyes widened, and Harry felt a sudden sense of deja vu. Rejected handshakes, years of rivalry, and finally this. He couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

Draco reacted more calmly. 

He took Ron’s hand and shook it firmly.

“Thanks, Weasley.” Draco replied. Hermione beamed with pride for her husband. 

“We really should be going now.” Harry nodded toward the door. “Don’t want to be late.”

With one last hug from Hermione, Draco and Harry made their way into the building. They were forced to separate nearly right away, but Harry wasn’t too worried. In less than an hour, Draco was going to be a free man, and everything else they could figure out slowly after.

The trial itself progressed quickly and succinctly. Most points had already been visited during the original trial, so the only part of real importance was Harry’s testimony and Draco’s confirmation, as well as official medical records that confirmed Draco’s memory loss. Max had helped them with that part, of course.

Harry gave his version of events, and watched as Draco answered all the questions he was asked honestly based on the memories that he’d recovered in the last couple of weeks.

Then all they could do was wait.

Even though Harry knew they couldn’t possibly send Draco to Azkaban, he couldn’t help but feel anxious. His nails dug into his palms as he watched the judge give the final verdict.

Cleared of all charges, under the condition that Draco returned to Hogwarts to finish his NEWTS for observation. 

Harry could barely contain his excitement, but he still had to wait to see Draco. He left the courtroom, and stepped outside of the Ministry to wait. It was snowing, the first of the year. 

Harry tilted his head back to watch snowflakes fall from the sky for a brief moment, letting himself breathe a quiet sigh of relief that everything had turned out alright.

Ron and Hermione had agreed to meet them at the restaurant, so they weren’t anywhere near, so Harry was looking for one person and one person only. People were pouring in and out of the Ministry, with no sign of a tall, blonde figure, until suddenly, there he was, emerging from the building, looking so utterly wonderful and endearing that Harry yelled out his name and ran toward him without a second thought of all the nosy witches and wizards staring at the commotion.

Draco turned, and he barely had time to recognize Harry before Harry barrelled into him and threw his arms around him. 

“You’re free!” Harry exclaimed, pulling away. 

“Yes, I am.” Draco grinned, breathless. “All thanks to the famous Harry Potter.”

“Shut up.” Harry punched Draco’s shoulder but he didn’t think he could stop smiling for the world. All the pain, the exhaustion, the frustration, all of it led to this moment, the two of them standing in the middle of a crowd of people, not giving a single fuck what anyone thought, with snow swirling from the sky as they basked in the sheer joy of the fact that Draco had found himself again, and that he wasn’t going to Azkaban. 

“I could kiss you right now.” Harry blurted out, scarcely aware of the words tumbling out of his mouth. He was too distracted by the way snowflakes caught on Draco’s eyelashes and the way Draco’s face flushed pink, from cold or excitement or both.

“Here?” Draco glanced around, at the strangers muttering and pointing. “You know, sometimes I think you secretly enjoy all the attention, and that you want to make headlines.”

Harry raised his eyebrows as Draco continued.

“I mean, being friendly in public is one thing, but really, Potter, kissing? I know you find me irresistible, don’t think for a second I haven’t noticed the way you stare, honestly, you really are shameless, but-”

Meanwhile, Harry was debating whether or not it was really okay to do this. To throw caution to the wind, and to thrust both of them in the spotlight like that after everything that had happened. He was sure that if he followed through on his urges and went ahead and kissed Draco Malfoy, they would never be able to visit another wizarding world establishment again without drawing an uncomfortable amount of attention.

But all that really seemed trivial right now, when Draco looked so goddamn beautiful as he rambled on, not perfectly put together for once in his life, and that was the moment that Harry decided, fuck it. He was going to be in the spotlight for the rest of his life anyway. He may as well give them something true to talk about.

So Harry kissed Draco, cutting him right off, and everything finally felt right in the world.

Chapter Text

Approximately One Year Later

Harry woke to the sound of Draco taking his shower.

He lay back against his pillows for a prolonged, drowsy moment. He had never been much of a morning person. 

By the time Draco was done with his shower, however, Harry was out of bed and stretching his arms above his head, stifling a yawn. They’d had an early night and still he was impossibly tired. Harry had a theory that years upon years of nightmare-riddled sleep made it so that no amount of sleep would ever be quite enough. He would be perpetually sleep deprived. 

Draco had a similar problem, but they were slowly catching up on the hours lost during those terrible years in the past. Sleeping side by side, more often than not entangled in each other’s arms, helped quite a bit.

Draco stepped into the room in his dressing gown, busily running a towel through his hair. A smile broke out on his lean face when he noticed Harry was up.

“Morning.” Harry smiled back. He had been in the process of making their bed. 

“Good morning.” Draco replied. “Breakfast in fifteen, be ready.”

Harry shook his head.

“I thought I’d do breakfast today.”

Draco raised his eyebrows.

“Today’s a burnt toast kind of day?”

Harry pretended to be offended.

“My toast happens to be incredible. The same goes for my famous coffee and tea, which you never seem to complain about.”

“That’s because you’re fairly handy with beverages. Food, on the other hand …” Draco trailed off teasingly. He ducked out of the way, laughing, as Harry threw a pillow at his head. 

“Shut up.” Harry snapped, but he was smiling too.  

“Hey, be nice to your boyfriend who’s cooking a meal for seven people tonight. You still haven’t told me who all our guests are, by the way.” Draco called out as Harry left to brush his teeth.

The pair of them had become quite comfortable in the little routine that they’d developed. 

Neither really talked about Draco moving in permanently with Harry. It was sort of a given fact, not just for the two of them, but for Ron and Hermione as well. No one ever questioned the fact that Draco never packed up his things and returned to Malfoy Manor. There had been a tense conversation around two months down the line with Narcissa, but eventually she realised that there was nothing she could do and that the least that she could do to begin to repair her relationship with her son was to be fully supportive of the decisions that he made for himself.

Meanwhile, Draco picked up cooking again shortly after the trial was over, having regained interest after Harry informed him about the time Draco had spent learning how to do so. He got the knack of it again almost instantly, and ever since, Draco had been in charge of all of their meals. They rarely had use of the delivery numbers anymore, as they either ate whatever Draco was in the mood to cook that day or ate out.

Their relationship had remained undefined for a good amount of time. It had frustrated Harry to no end. Clearly they liked each other if the constant kissing and affectionate gestures were any indication, but they never put a label on it and Harry had no idea whether or not he could think of Draco as his boyfriend or not. For the longest time he was reluctant to bring up the subject in case Draco would laugh in his face. 

Then, one drunken night in late February, Harry had confronted Draco on the matter.

They’d been tangled up in one another on the sofa. Draco was lying down with his head in Harry’s lap, eyes closed and his cheeks flushed slightly courtesy of the wine they’d been drinking. One of Harry’s hands had been buried deep in Draco’s hair, playing with the silvery locks absentmindedly and admiring their softness.

Draco had gotten up abruptly, wine glass in hand, and had casually plucked Harry’s glass out of his hand to bring them both a refill. Seemingly without even thinking about it, Draco had leaned down to briefly kiss Harry’s forehead before he left, and the small gesture had been more than Harry could bear.

“Just what the fuck are we?” He’d blurted out. Draco had turned, confused to find Harry glaring at him. “I mean, we do all these couple-y things but we’ve never referred to ourselves as boyfriends, and-”

Harry cut himself off when he realised Draco was wearing that old smirk on his face again that Harry had grown to find endearing after years of considering it infuriating.

“What?” He’d muttered, crossing his arms.

“Do you want to be boyfriends?” Draco tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, crouching down in front of Harry so that Harry was staring down at him. 

“Well-” Harry searched wildly for something to say that wouldn’t make him look more like an idiot than he already felt like, face burning. 

“Yes.” He opted for the truth.

The word barely left his mouth before Draco was putting the wine glasses carelessly down on the ground, grabbing his face, and kissing him breathless. He pulled away, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he pecked Harry’s lips again. By this time, Harry was beet red.

“I thought we were boyfriends since the trial, really.” Draco admitted. “Was I mistaken?”

“I-” Harry paused. “No, I mean, we were definitely something, but I didn’t know what-”

Draco shut him up by kissing him again. Harry never questioned their relationship again after that day, especially since Draco began pointedly referring to Harry as his boyfriend whenever he could. It became Draco’s favourite way to elicit an unguarded grin from his partner, and he exploited the opportunity every chance he got.

Of course, there were bumps in the road of their relationship, much like any other. But what with all the time they’d spent fighting in Hogwarts, bickering was their default and arguments rarely escalated to what they used to be, so neither of them ever had reason to be nervous about their relationship falling apart.

As far as Harry was concerned, Draco was one of the few people in the world who saw him for himself, the flawed human being who was still struggling to move past all the trauma he’d endured instead of some glamorous hero. Draco was the one who fully supported Harry’s tentative ventures into becoming a Healer, and the one who could bring him back to earth when he felt like he was aimlessly floating through the world.

For Draco, according to what Draco had told him, Harry was one of the few people in the world who had seen his darkest moments, who had been there to witness the worst choices he’d made in his entire life and still chose to see the light in him. He was the one who acknowledged that Draco perhaps wasn’t the best person in the world, that he’d at one point been a pretty bad one, but chose to love him regardless. Harry grounded Draco when he began spiralling.

So it was safe to say their relationship was doing just fine.

Later on in the year at September, Draco returned to Hogwarts.

Out of Harry’s friends, Hermione and Draco were the only ones to go back. Ron simply chose to begin pursuing a career in being an Auror, while Harry secretly began looking into what Max had suggested.

At first, Harry had been worried that Draco might suffer from unwanted stares and whispers, or worse, downright threats to his wellbeing upon going back. 

According to Hermione, there had been a few scuffles at the very beginning of the school year. Draco was reluctant to retaliate, partially because he thought he deserved the mistreatment and partially because he was determined to prove that he could get through the year without drawing unnecessary attention to himself.

Don’t worry, Harry. Hermione had written in her first letter to Harry in response to Harry asking after Draco because he knew Draco would never admit it himself if he was being bullied. I’ll make sure they back off.

Hermione never really specified what she did to get people to leave Draco alone, but Harry was reassured to know that Hermione was there to look out for his boyfriend. Hermione being one of the very few people he was afraid of, he knew he was leaving Draco in good hands. 

With Draco and Hermione gone, Harry found himself increasingly lonely. The empty apartment reminded Harry of those first days when he’d moved there because he hadn’t been able to stand staying at Grimmauld Place alone, or alternatively of the agonising period of time when Draco had been kidnapped by his father and Harry had had to pace the floors trying to figure out a way of getting him out of there quickly and safely. It drove him mad, and the only thing that kept him distracted was his preparation for his new job.

No amount of burying himself in work could compensate for the absence of Draco’s presence, however, and Harry was therefore counting down the days until Christmas break arrived. 

The minute Draco walked through the door, Harry had tackled him in a hug and peppered Draco’s cold face with kisses with such enthusiasm that they had both toppled onto the sofa. The first two days after Draco came home, they were practically joined at the hip.

Now it was the third day since Draco’s return and also Christmas Eve. Since they had plans to go to the Weasleys on Christmas Day, Harry had made the decision to host a dinner with just close friends. Ron and Hermione were invited of course, but there were a few other guests that Harry chose not to mention yet.

In the kitchen, Harry went about making breakfast. Draco shortly joined him, and the two of them sat opposite each other, falling into comfortable conversation. Draco talked more about his days at Hogwarts, tactfully choosing only to mention the favourable stories he had. Harry made a mental note to ask Hermione more about how Draco was doing at Hogwarts later, and smiled at himself acting like a worried parent sending their First Year kid to school.

Speaking of kids, the first guest was due to arrive soon.

There was a knock on the door just as they were putting away their cups in the sink. 

“Are you expecting someone?” Draco asked, glancing over at Harry who had the biggest smile on his face. 

Harry hurried to the door, Draco close behind him, and opened it to reveal Andromeda with Teddy Lupin bundled in her arms. 

“Teddy!” Harry exclaimed, receiving the two-year-old as Andromeda and Draco exchanged curt nods. The two had seen each other multiple times since Draco began living with Harry, especially as Harry began carrying out his godfather duties and watched Teddy whenever he could. Teddy and Draco had also formed a bond after the first couple of visits, but the air between Andromeda and Draco was continuously stiff and uncomfortable. 

“Alright, I’ll bring him over Christmas morning!” Harry waved to Andromeda, shutting the door. 

“Teddy’s the first guest?” Draco could barely suppress his smile. 

“Yep.” Harry held Teddy up in Draco’s direction. “He missed you while you were gone, you know.”

“Of course he did.” Draco sniffed, but Harry could hear the concealed delight in his voice. It was endearing really, watching Draco go from awkward and uncomfortable around the baby to clearly becoming fond of him. He’d even sent presents while he was away at Hogwarts, making Harry promise to tell Teddy that it was Draco who bought them and to keep showing him pictures in case he forgot who he was.

Thankfully, Teddy seemed to reciprocate Draco’s affection and extended his arms in Draco’s direction, round eyes wide and giggling as his hair turned from dark brown to platinum blonde as he was transferred to Draco’s arms. 

“Missed me, did you?” Draco bounced Teddy up and down in his arms. “You’d better have, I’m the one who sent you all those expensive gifts.” 

Draco looked up at Harry, who was busy rummaging around a drawer to find a camera to capture the moment. 

“You did tell him they were from me, right? Because I’m telling you, that toy broomstick was not cheap and I swear if you took credit-”

“I told him, relax.” Harry rolled his eyes. 

Draco had to reluctantly hand Teddy over soon enough to begin on the dinner, but a couple of hours later, he emerged from the kitchen and suggested that the three of them go outside so that Teddy could play in the snow for a bit.

Having gotten a lot of time with Teddy already, Harry was content to watch from his seat on a bench as Draco crouched down with Teddy in the snow. Draco was bewitching the snowflakes that fell around Teddy to take on different forms, muttering a string of incantations that turned the snow into white dragons swirling around Teddy in circles and occasionally landing on Teddy’s nose and eyelashes. 

Harry felt warm despite being out in the cold as he watched Draco smile down at Teddy fondly and flick his wand to conjure up tiny snowmen that danced around and climbed up Teddy’s arms and legs, making the kid squeal with delighted laughter. 

In that perfect moment, a thought suddenly occurred to Harry, one that he’d been toying with the idea of for a while at that point but hadn’t told anybody yet because he was scared that he wasn’t sure yet. But there wasn’t any room for uncertainties anymore, and Harry knew without a shadow of a doubt. 

Draco, sensing the shift, chose that instant to look back at Harry, remnants of the child-like smile still gracing his face, and Draco knew, too. He also knew what Harry was thinking, and before Harry could begin to remove the lump in his throat to speak, Draco beat him to it.

“I love you.”

Draco said it softly, barely audible, but to Harry, it sounded like the loudest, clearest thing in the world, echoing around his ears in increasing clarity until he was almost overwhelmed by the torrent of feelings that surfaced from those three simple words.

Harry blinked, in disbelief that Draco had just said exactly what Harry had been thinking. 

Draco laughed.

“I can still read you like a book.” He grinned. "Looks like I beat you to it, Potter."

Harry came back to his senses then, and began rambling an indignant argument about this not being a competition. When he was done, they stared out at the snow for a bit, watching Teddy burst into peals of laughter as Draco’s conjured snowmen split into two sides and jumped at each other in what could only be described as a brawl.

“You haven’t said it back.” Draco murmured, not looking at Harry. Harry raised his eyebrows.

“I thought you could read me like a book.” He shot back, wanting to torment his boyfriend, just a little bit.

“Everyone is prone to making mistakes. What if I read wrong?”

Harry could tell that Draco was starting to get anxious. As much as he enjoyed teasing Draco and getting a rise out of him from time to time, this was too important a moment to push further. He leaned over and kissed him.

“You read right.” Harry paused. “I love you.”

***

When they got back inside, Draco had to busy himself with finishing cooking dinner and all too soon, their guests began arriving. 

Of course, Ron and Hermione were the first to walk through the door. The minute Ron stepped inside, he was demanding Draco get his arse out of the kitchen so that they could settle an ongoing dispute about who was the better chess player, and Hermione was fussing over Teddy.

“You know, he would rather die than admit it, but I think Ron’s missed having Draco around.” Hermione whispered to Harry as she bounced Teddy up and down on her knee, accepting a cup of hot tea from Harry as he sat down beside her on the sofa.

“What?” Harry burst out laughing. “You’re joking.”

“Don’t tell anyone.” Hermione hissed anxiously. “But yeah, I think he misses the challenge.”

“My lips are sealed.” Harry mimed turning a key. “Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask, how’s Draco doing?”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Draco warned me you’d be asking me that, and he also asked me to tell you that he’s doing perfectly fine, and I can back up that statement.”

“Looks like you two have gotten close in the past three months.” Harry muttered, put out that his best friend wasn’t taking his side.

“Oh, come on, Harry, Draco’s more than capable of taking care of himself.” Hermione shook her head. “And he’s a good study partner.”

She shrugged when Harry stared at her openly. He’d always known she was more accepting, but it was amazing to see his boyfriend, their former enemy and bully, truly getting along with his best friends with no hint of bad blood between them. 

Dinner was ready soon, and everyone was desperate to begin.

“When are the others coming?” Draco asked, wandering out into the living room where everyone else was gathered. 

“Oh, they might be a bit late. I think we can get started without them if everyone’s hungry.”

Ron and Hermione nodded in assent and they all began filing into the kitchen, Harry gathering Teddy up in his arms, when just in time, there was another knock at the door. 

Draco was closest, so he went to open the door, throwing Harry a curious glance and wondering why his boyfriend looked so bloody proud of himself.

He got the answer soon enough when he pulled the door open to find Pansy and Blaise standing there.

There was a brief moment when everyone stared as they tried to figure out what was going on, and almost simultaneously, all eyes in the room shifted to Harry, who grinned. 

“Surprise?” He said.

Pansy ignored everyone else and marched up to Draco, throwing her arms around him. 

Meanwhile, Blaise slipped inside, shut the door behind him, and walked over to Harry. Harry glanced up at him in bewilderment as he mildly patted Harry’s shoulder.

“Thanks.” Blaise whispered.

“Er, for what?” Harry asked. Pansy was still fussing over Draco, who was trying to detach himself from her vice grip, while Ron and Hermione looked uncertain as to whether or not they should introduce themselves. They apparently decided it was silly since they were already familiar with each other from their Hogwarts days and informed the room at large that they’d go and set the table.

“You won me five galleons.”

Harry had never been more confused in his life.

“What?”

Blaise nodded over to Draco, who’d finally successfully pushed Pansy away at arm’s length, but he was smiling as he tried to steer his best friend in the direction of the kitchen while she bombarded him with questions.

“Well, Pansy and I made a bet all the way back when we were at Hogwarts about the two of you. Don’t tell Draco I told you this, because I doubt he realises it himself, but he had a bit of a crush on you even back then. Pansy bet that it would never happen, but I thought you two had a shot. Hence, five galleons when we found out you two were dating.”

“You made a bet about whether or not Draco and I would get together?” Harry gaped at Blaise, the virtual stranger who he’d never exchanged more than a few sentences with, who was walking off to the kitchen after everyone else now that he’d said his piece.

That night at Harry and Draco’s place was a strange sight to see. Three Gryffindors, three Slytherins, and a small child were gathered around a table together, having dinner on Christmas Eve. Despite having hated each other’s guts during school, somehow they were brought here together, and although it shouldn’t have worked, miraculously, it did.

Draco and Ron were arguing, as they always did, but in a manner of begrudging acceptance and companionship that made it obvious to everyone else that they rather enjoyed disagreeing with one another on pointless topics and exchanging light insults. 

Pansy was sat near Teddy and was on a mission to make him laugh, asking Harry questions here and then about both his godson and about his relationship with Draco. Harry quite felt like this was the long overdue conversation with the parents where he promised to treat Draco well. She went into extensive detail about how she would hurt Harry if Harry ever hurt Draco, all in such a lighthearted tone of voice that she succeeded in scaring him a little.

Blaise and Hermione were perhaps the weirdest combination to watch. At first, Hermione was barely able to hide her disapproval as Blaise talked of what he’d been up to in France, but Blaise was a good storyteller, and she eventually began cracking smiles despite herself. It was quite entertaining to watch her attempt to rearrange her facial features back into a stern expression and failing miserably. Blaise kept going with a straight face that contradicted his ludicrous tales, but Harry got the feeling that Blaise had a wicked streak and thoroughly enjoyed making people uncomfortable with his stories. Whether or not that was the case, one thing was certain; he had the kind of sharp humour that made him about the furthest thing from unlikeable possible.

Later, after they put Teddy to bed, they all regrouped in the living room for another round of drinks. Everyone talked among themselves as Draco and Ron immediately produced a chessboard and started up a game.

It was warm, comforting, and it just felt right.

Once Draco had managed to beat Ron two out of three times, and Ron was busy insisting that they play again when he wasn’t tired from studying for Auror exams all day, Draco pulled Harry aside into their shared room for a moment of stolen quiet.

“I can’t believe you invited Pansy and Blaise.” Draco said as he shut the door, and joined Harry sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I think I win Christmas.” Harry replied. 

“Christmas isn't supposed to be a competition.” Draco protested.

“You’re only saying that because I won.” Harry grinned. 

“I wouldn’t be too sure.” Draco said slyly. 

“What?”

“I was going to wait until Christmas day, but since you’re so determined to turn this into a competition …” Draco stood up and held out a hand in Harry’s direction. “Care to join me?”

Harry took it slowly. He knew from the glow in Draco’s soft grey eyes that this was going to be good. 

They disapparated with a crack, and when Harry took in his surroundings to find Grimmauld Place looming down over him, he whirled around to look at Draco. Without a word, Draco led the way inside, swinging the door open. 

The last time Harry had been in there, the place was falling to ruins. He hadn’t had the heart to fix it up properly after the war ended; the house was too large, and Harry was in no condition to take care of himself, let alone a house. When he left, it had almost been in worse shape than when he first arrived.

But now, it was almost beyond recognition. The portraits lining the walls hadn’t been disposed of but there were white sheets of cloth carefully covering them, and they were no longer dusty and grey, but spotless. Everything previously broken had been repaired, and the peeling wallpaper had been switched out to identical wallpaper that was pasted flawlessly. Grimmauld Place looked livable, homely. 

Harry took a few steps along the hallway, then turned back to Draco, still standing in the doorway, who now appeared nervous. 

“I’ve been getting the place fixed up since April.  I originally wanted to surprise you on your birthday, but it took longer than I expected. After I left for Hogwarts, I had to ask Weasley to help out a bit, but I did the most of it by the end of the summer. The apartment is great, don’t get me wrong, but this house is yours, and I thought it would be nice if it felt and looked more like home so it would be here waiting for you if you ever wanted to move back.” Draco paused. “Do you like it?”

Harry walked back over to Draco and kissed him, hard.

“I love it.” He pulled away. “I love you.”

Draco smiled against Harry’s lips in relief. 

“I love you too.”

“And I can’t believe you won Christmas.” Harry had to admit defeat. This was one of the most touching things anyone had ever done for him. 

Draco laughed and wrapped his arms around Harry, pulling him close.

“Better luck next year.”

Next year. Two simple words that promised a future and sent a warm fuzzy feeling shooting through Harry's stomach.

“I’m going to start planning your gift the moment we get home.”

“Speaking of which, our friends are probably looking for us.”

Harry turned around, his heart full. 

“They can wait.”

END