When Harry returned home to 12 Grimmauld Place, the first thing he noticed was that there was light in house, which was something of an unusual occurrence in the former Black residence and ex-headquarters of the Order in recent days. Kreacher had issues with anything looking remotely cheerful after all, and Harry only really used the kitchen and his bedroom. But now there was bright, clean light chasing away those grumpy shadows in every corner of the house.

This could only mean one thing.

"Hermione! You're back!"

Finding her in the living room already surrounded by mountains of paper and books, Harry rushed to give his best friend a bear hug. She laughed and gave him a tight embrace back, her brown hair tumbling out of her bun and tickling his nose.

"Oh, Harry! I missed you so much!"

"No way! I missed you more!"

"Well, looking at the state of this house" she chuckled, glancing pointedly round the room, "I might have to agree with you. Seriously, Harry, did you tidy up at all? It was an absolute tip!"

Harry gave her a shocked look. "But tidying…is for women."

Wincing at the smack he deservedly received, Harry asked about her two weeks holiday with her parents. It had taken him and Ron an unbelievable mountain of effort to get her to take some time off to spend with the family she had only just reunited with. Hermione insisted that there was far too much to do, in particular with the Muggle Awareness project only just starting up, and so it was only when Harry suggested she could do some sort of muggle research there that she agreed. Looking from the happy glow of her skin and the sparkle in her eyes, Harry knew that effort was well worth it.

"Oh, it was fantastic! I was completely unaware of all the gains in technology while I was away. The internet, nanotechnology, genetics, the sophistication of computers now, it's all so amazing! I had to catch up while I was there!"

"Oh no, don't tell me you sent all your time reading!"

Hermione tutted. "Of course not! I used the Quick Eye charm to scan through everything at night. The days were spent with my parents."

"And how was that?"

"It was," Hermione said suddenly very softly and a little sadly, "really nice. They were terribly angry with me, of course, but they were just so glad to see me. I sometimes forget how much I miss them and love them. Before, I kept thinking there's this gap between us because of the magic I have, but really, that sort of thinking is very stupid. They're my flesh and blood and nothing would change that, you know?"

"Yeah, I think so" replied Harry but really he could only imagine how Hermione felt. The only flesh and blood he has ever known were the Durselys and he was pretty sure those sort of feeling would never apply to them. Memories of his parents in their ghostly form from fourth year and, more freshly, a few months ago flitted through his mind. As did Sirius, Remus, and Dumbledore…

Harry the Orphan.

But then he had always been the orphan. He had lived through that and will continue to live though it. There was another orphan he was much more worried about and that was Teddy. Feeling so much affinity with his godson, he felt the burning need to be there for him at any cost, to be the godfather Sirius would have been during his childhood. Though Teddy had a grandmother who loved him, Harry knew that he would undoubtedly suffer, just as Neville had. Teddy was somewhat like a second chance for a childhood full of love, and Harry loved him for that. Another Marauder's son, he was like a little brother.

"Oh yeah, while you were away, Teddy took his first steps!" Harry said excitedly.

Hermione gasped enviously. "Oh please say you got the pictures! You have, haven't you?"

"Of course, who do you take me for?" said Harry smugly, handing her the newly developed photos from his pocket, "Where's Ron by the way? I saw his shoes in the hallway so I thought he was here."

Freezing at the name, a blush raged through her skin like wildfire. "Er, um, well you see he's-"

"Harry!" cried a wet and half naked Ron rollicking loudly the stairs. "You're home!"

"-in the shower…"

"Hey!" greeted Harry happily, giving him a high five, "What's up with you? A shower at this time of the day?"

Ron grinned in a slightly embarrassed way. "Yeah well, got a little…sweaty if you know what I mean."

"RON!"

"What? Why should we hide from Harry?"

"What do you mean…oh," Harry realised painfully slowly, "I see."

An awkward silence enveloped the three; a stiff Harry desperate to clear his mind of unwanted metal images, Hermione buried in her own embarrassment, Ron stifling his laughter.

"Yes, well. Ron put some clothes on please and can we just get on with updating me about what's been happening!" Hermione finally huffed, striding purposefully into the kitchen to make some more tea.

Harry and Ron shared a look.

"Good?" enquired Harry with a little chuckle.

Ron gave him a dazed, post-coital happy smile.

"Bloody brilliant."

"The restoration of Hogwarts is well and truly finished. McGonagall just put up the last of the wards last week and they say that the memorial stone, you know the one that conjures up the image and life story of everyone whose died in the war when you say their name, should be ready by the end of the school year," said Harry, flicking through one of the many scrolls in their living room.

"That's good. Where is it going to be?" asked Hermione.

"Erm, I think its planned to be in one of the gardens. Someone suggested near Dumbledore's tomb which I think is quite nice."

Hermione and Ron murmured their agreement. Grabbing one of the ginger nuts biscuits she had brought back from her holiday, Hermione asked what was going on with the Retribution programme.

"Ah, yeah we're still at a standstill there," answered Ron, frowning. "We have most if not all of the surviving Death Eaters in our custody, it's just the same old debate about what to do with them."

"There's two opposing thoughts in the Ministry," said Harry solemnly, "Mr Weasley and his side feels that it would have to be life sentences with great reforms on the way Azkaban is run but there's a pretty strong side for execution."

"And the Minister?"

"Kingsley's yet to choose a side. I think ideally he wants to not have to resort to execution but can see argument for it."

"It's a pretty good argument, though I hate to say it," said Ron, "The number of Death Eaters and Snatchers is high enough to risk a mass break out without the amount of wizards on guard we have now, and we won't be able to keep that number up for the time scale we're talking about. The public are worried too and its not surprising. Loads of the Death Eaters who committed the worst crimes were the ones to break out last time and people are scared they'll do it again."

"But that can't justify a mass execution!" cried Hermione, "I don't want to sound cliche but that truly would put us down the same level as them."

Harry sighed. "I know. I hate the idea as well but frankly I hate more the idea of history repeating. And though I couldn't agree more about that new reform about abolishing Dementors, keeping the prison locked down is going to need a whole lot more manpower and resources that we don't have."

"The Wizarding United Nations isn't going to like it though," said Hermione, turning to Ron, "Didn't your dad say the Minister has gotten a letter from them?"

"Yeah, it must be about the execution thing. Most of them are dead set against it after all, like France and other Europeans, though I reckon blood lineage is more on their list of priorities than human rights," said Ron darkly, "Not sure where the Americans stand on this."

Eyes suddenly blazing, Harry spat angrily. "What does it matter what they think? Where the hell were they when Voldemort was manipulating the country? When people were being rounded up and murdered? Doesn't the WUN consider the genocide of muggle-borns as a crime? Why the fuck are they interfering now? Fuck them."

"Unfortunately mate, we can't," Ron said grimly, "We need their aid, simple as. Percy is in part of the accounting and stuff and he says the we're close to broke."

"What about the money from the Death Eaters?"

"Not nearly as much as we hoped. Seems like You-know-, sorry bad habit, Voldemort sucked most of them dry already."

Harry let out a frustrated breath as he leant back on his armchair. "Trust him to ruin our plans even from the grave."

"Leaving the WUN matter for now, what's the public opinion on this?" asked Hermione putting her hand onto Harry's shoulder to calm him.

"Fifty fifty, like the ministry, like my house," said Ron tiredly, "Dad is against it of course, so's Bill and Fleur but Mum, Ginny and Charlie are for it. I'm still undecided on a principles sense and Percy's got that resource dilemma to deal with."

"And George?" enquired Hermione carefully. Ron shook his head and Harry cast his eyes down. George was not…George. He was a walking ghost.

Harry's heart throbbed with the mention of Ginny. He had hardly seen her these past months, what with them both being busy and him understanding when she apologised and said she needed some space to mourn for Fred. It was the same, he thought, for him and Sirius' death. No matter how much those close tried to support and comfort, sometimes space and some time alone was all he could handle. So he gets it, he really does. However, the lonely nights in the empty house, alone with just his own hand were beginning to grate on him. He missed her face, her smile, her defiant, fiery voice, her warm body. He missed being a 'them' rather than a 'him', especially now Ron and Hermione were together. He missed her.

Missed her so much he was getting paranoid that she was avoiding him. Paranoid in the sixth year Malfoy-stalking way. Which was really not good.

"How is Ginny, by the way?" he asked in a forced casual way. He was well aware the two before him knew about his paranoia, especially from the worried look they had just shared. Ron cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Yeah, she's okay I guess. Still really down and moody all the time but she's seems a lot better after spending time with Luna and them. Not sure how much good that is for her mental health though."

"Oh, well that's good" said Harry, slightly disappointed that she would choose to spend time with Luna and not him. But it made some sense. Luna was a good person to talk to, remembering Dumbledore's funeral, and they were really close after last year as the heads of the resistance in Hogwarts, along with Neville. Made some sense but still left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Has she asked about me?"

"Yeah, yeah of course!"

"Of course, she has, Harry! She misses you lots!"

"What, you've met her recently as well, Hermione?" said Harry surprised and a little accusingly, "When? I thought she was too busy to meet up? She's never there when I go and visit!"

"Well, I only saw her today when I went to the Burrow to talk about ideas for the new Muggle Awareness Programme with Mr Weasley," Hermione said defensively, "You two went to the meeting as well didn't you?"

"The Muggle Awareness Programme?" asked Ron confusedly but happy to change the subject, "not the experiment ? Oh, I remember! The meeting with muggle-borns and half-bloods about increasing awareness of muggles in the public!"

"Yes, hence the name," replied Hermione dryly.

"Last Sunday, right?" said Harry, quick to return from his Ginny-turmoiled state, "Dean is one of the leaders in it so it was really well organised, needlessly to say. There were some really good ideas, especially from Daphne Greengrass."

"Ohh, that Greengrass," shivered Ron in juvenile excitement as he gestured towards his chest, "she was something else, if you know what I mean."

"Greengrass?" said Hermione with a frown more directed at Ron, "I remember her from my Arithmancy class. Wasn't she a Slytherin?"

"Yeah but as it turned out she was a closet muggle-born. Apparently she's kept the muggle thing secret from the rest of the school for years apart from her best friend Tracey Davies. It pretty amazing!" explained Harry, "She came out of hiding just after you left and came straight to see us at the Ministry about helping out. You should've seen our faces when she showed us her mobile phone!"

"Especially Seamus!" laughed Ron,"Dean said he had a weird hate-filled crush on her in sixth year because she was in their Charms class, so apparently he used to annoy her as hell. He spent the whole of that meeting going 'She's still a slytherin, she's still a bitch' next to me."

"Nice to know you were listening during the meeting," said an unimpressed Hermione raising her eyebrows, "So what were these good ideas of hers if you weren't too busy looking at her chest?"

Harry cut off a baulking Ron before any arguments could take hold. "She suggested an integration of muggle technology into the magical world, so developing magical mobile phones and computers etc, so muggle culture doesn't seem as alien, as well as making more gains in magical technology to rival places like Japan and the US. It was her thinking that if we could make these gains and have new stuff, we'll be able to export them and get more money into the country."

"That's…brilliant," murmured Hermione uncertainly, as if she could not quite believe that a Slytherin of all people had suggested it, "Exactly my train of thought…"

"She also said she really liked your Muggle Awareness Experiment and thinks maybe it could extend to normal wizards and witches as well. Obviously not an exile but more like trips organised by those in the programme to experience sides of the muggle world they would normally never see."

"She specifically said clubbing," mumbled Ron, mouth full of ginger nut biscuit.

"We discussed this idea more and Dean suggested a gap year in the muggle world, maybe made compulsory. Dennis and a few of his friends said maybe Muggle Studies should be taught compulsory from first year or even pre-Hogwarts. And I think someone suggested more muggle fashion."

"Yeah, and all the muggle-borns cheered," said Ron seriously, "especially the girls."

"And Dean and Seamus," added Harry equally seriously, "They wanted more mini-skirts."

"Which I agree."

"As do I."

"Boys," said Hermione, rolling her eyes at the guffawing two, "Please be serious. I don't think fashion is on the top of our priorities at the moment. And can you even imagine some of those old wizarding families wearing jeans, let alone the sort of mini-skirts you're imagining."

"Oh my god," heaved Harry, "I just remembered what Malfoy looked like as a muggle. In Starbucks."

"Oh god, Harry, don't do this to me!" cried the laughing Ron, clutching his sides.

"An apron."

The two burst into fresh peals of laughter. Even Hermione let out a chuckle.

"Oh, oh, oh, the Ferret in an apron!"

"He was actually making coffee. He called me sir."

"Don't Harry, I'm literally dying here!"

"He couldn't even open the cans in his house!"

Hermione's face, though first amused, grew darker by the second. She held herself in at first but when Harry started imitating Malfoy's rant in the coffee shop she burst.

"Harry!"

He turned to her, bemused. "What?"

"You're acting completely unprofessional!"

"So? Its Malfoy, for god's sake! We always bitch about him!"

Hermione sighed. "I know we used to but we're adults now and this isn't a game anymore. It's his life you're mocking."

"Steady on, Hermione," said Ron cautiously, not wanting to get on either on of their toes, "you've got a point but don't forget Malfoy was never slow on mocking us about our lives. And this is just harmless banter outside the workplace."

"Look, I wouldn't care about this if it wasn't for how Harry's been acting while in his workplace."

Harry scowled. "What do you mean?'

"I've read your work log," said Hermione looking him in the eye, "because I was curious about how Malfoy was progressing. All your interactions are noted you know, and it seems like you were being deliberately as horrible to him as you possibly could, and provoking him. It's not like you."

"I can't help it if he's a prick."

"I know he is! But that's not the point, you should be and are normally very professional and empathetic to these situations. But with Malfoy, you're reverting back to your school day pettiness, even when he's being compliant. I don't know if it stress or whatever that's making you be like this but don't think for a second you can get away with it!" cried Hermione getting shriller and more tearful as Harry'd face got harder. Ron put his arm round her, giving Harry an apologetic look mixed with reproach.

"I sorry, I'm ruining the experiment," he said lowly. He knew at the back of his mind that, yes, he was being a bit of a git to Malfoy, but at the same time could not help but feel that he wasn't out of place in doing so. It was nearly as bad as Hermione made it out to be.

A small space somewhere in his heart started to well up with guilt.

"It's not even that and you know it, Harry. You were the one that said he should be given a second chance, you were the one, for reasons you've kept from us, who said you wanted to be his supervisor! It's obvious that he's trying really hard with this experiment and you should be the last person in the world who is trying to sabotage this for him!"

"I'm not trying to sabotage," Harry sighed, relenting, unwilling to have an argument over Malfoy of all people or for the gradually accumulating feeling of shame to continue, "Really. It's just that he winds me so much, acting like nothing's changed, that I just fall back into habit with him. Or maybe you're right, I'm taking out my stress onto him. I'm sorry, I promise I'll keep a check on myself from now on."

Hermione got up to hug him as she always does when they get into arguments. She holds tight as if she's afraid to lose him to his rage, and he only has his past to blame for that.

"I know sometimes it feels like he deserves it," she whispered in his ear, "But just remember that though we all have been through a lot, so has Malfoy. And I think you know that much more than I do."

She was right as always. Harry did know, know too much, and wished to the bottom of his being that he didn't.

"So," said Ron, awkwardly breaking the tension, "anyone for a game of Exploding Snap?"

It was in the middle of the night long after everyone had retired to bed but Harry could not sleep. The evening had been brilliantly fun in a way that brought back memories of their early years at Hogwarts, innocent and untainted with fear, and the buzz of it had not yet left him. Filled with all kinds of alcohol, from the nostalgic Butterbeer, to Firewhisky to Borrichius' Brew (a fantastically strong liqueur from Denmark, one of the many gifts they had received), the chaotic game of Exploding Snap threatened to destroy half their paperwork while Ron's formidable ability in Wizarding Chess was only taken down through the joint efforts of the other two through tickling him relentlessly. As the night when on, the mood mellowed and the three reminisced about the happy times they had shared over the years and by the time they were ready for sleep, Harry went to bed with a massive smile on his face.

But now he was lonely.

Or maybe he was restless. He couldn't quite tell which but he knew he was itching for something (or someone) to do. For something to happen. It was understandable really, seeing as he was not yet used to being able to sleep soundly with the safe knowledge he would be alive when he wakes. Or to leave his wand over an arm's reach away. The nights spent on the move had primed his ears for the most faintest of noises and there were plenty of those in that creaking house. The wind whistling through the drafts, taps dripping, senile Kreacher mumbling away to himself in his sleep. No to mention the energetic thudding and moaning from Ron and Hermione's shared room when they forget to put on a silencing charm.

Harry had first heard them when he was half-asleep and through his dream-hazed mind Hermione's groans were not of pleasure but agony. Being tortured by Bellatrix. Harry had to save her, the thought blazed through his mind as he rushed out of bed, sweating and trembling as his nightmares warped reality. He managed to bring himself back before he embarrassed everybody but the experience had left Harry uncertain about his own mental health. More than once, he thought about seeing a mind Healer but would repeatedly dismiss the idea. People still needed him to be strong.

The people can't have a broken hero.

The lack of sleep wasn't helping. The simple solution would be to block out the sounds with a charm, but he could not bring himself to be vulnerable to dangers both real and imagined. There may still be Death Eaters or their sympathisers out there who would want to harm them and Harry knew there were some in the Ministry who feared that he would turn uncontrollable. No, he could not leave risks like that.

Still, he needed to sleep… or these plaguing fears and nightmares would consume him.

It would help to have Ginny here with him. To warm him. To distract him. To use up the pent up energy with more fun ways. They could fall asleep together, tangled in each other's limbs, breathing hot heavy breaths together, melting into each other skins. He could wake up first and watch her sleeping face, he could bring her up her favourite breakfast and let the smell wake her. It could be dream-like, it could be possible.

It should be possible.

Maybe if he explained to her how much he needed her, how much he was flailing in this ocean of responsibility without her then she would realise that she needed him too. Maybe it would turn out that she's been waiting for him to say and maybe then he could finally kiss her again, touch her, fuc-

"!"

A shrill alarm went off in his head.

What the hell? he thought, has Malfoy activated the emergency signal?

In one smooth movement he deactivated the spell wordlessly and jumped out of bed. Changing as quickly as he could, he tried to think of what possibly could have befallen Malfoy in that short space of time.

He doesn't even leave his bloody flat, Harry thought quizzically, it's got the Fidelius Charm on it anyway and I'm it's Secret Keeper!"

He apparated to a dark, empty living room.

"Shit."

Malfoy was out for a bloody drink.

It took Harry about ten minutes wandering aimlessly in drunken youth-filled central London for him to remember that there was a Tracking Charm on Malfoy. Fortunately it lead to a pub not far from where he was, leaving him feeling slightly amazed at his own intuition. The cold October night had sobered him up before the need for a Refreshing Charm but left him in a terrible mood. He irritably pushed past the smokers lingering at the doorway, checking in an instant all the exits available just in case, and scanned the interior for Malfoy's conspicuous white blond hair.

The pub was fizzing with life and drunken laughter, warm and full of people. Alive people. Harry concluded that whatever or whoever was threatening Malfoy must be doing so discretely, seeing as the Tracking charm stated that Malfoy was amidst the crowd. This meant that they were most probably a common wizard or witch who wanted revenge, but would never want to hurt bystanders. They were most probably working by themselves and were scared about confronting Malfoy alone, unsure of his ability, and wanted to get him off-guard. Harry thought it was likely they would try to force Malfoy outside to some quiet place so as not to cause unnecessary trouble.

Harry sincerely hoped it wasn't Frank.

Suddenly a loud distinctively familiar shriek reached his ears. Rushing past the many drinkers, Harry whipped out his wand discretely and prepared for a rescue. He reached the table where, to his horror, he saw Malfoy's body slumped over it.

"Malfoy!" he cried, grabbing onto his shoulder, "Are you alright? Did you see who did it?"

"POTTER!" Malfoy bellowed, shooting back up, "I knew you'd come, you righteous bastard!"

Harry stared at him in confusion. And then around the table. David sat to Malfoy's right, looking sheepishly apologetic and to his left sat a pretty woman who Harry remembered as the waitress from before. She looked at him in a dazed awe.

"Drake…you were right."

"Of..course I'm right," said Malfoy, stressing every word with great effort, "I'm magical!"

They both burst into laughter.

Malfoy looked nothing like Harry had ever seen him before. His hair and clothes were dishevelled as if someone had split drinks all over them, his pale face was stained with a hearty pink blush across his cheeks, and he was laughing without any malice. What's more, for the first time since Harry had spurned his friendship long ago, Malfoy look genuinely happy to see him. Elated, even.

Oh god, Malfoy was totally wasted.

"Your round, like...like we agreed!" he chirped, slurring every other word, "a bet is a be-et. I said he'll come when called and there he is!"

"No fair!" she whined good-naturedly, as drunk as he, "it took such a, such a, such a long time! He should buy the round!"

David said apologetically, "I'm so sorry about this, Harry, actually I'm the one that said the emergency word. Drake, as you can see for yourself, wouldn't be able to say your full name let alone that tongue-twister. I thought a drink would loosen him up but I had no idea he would freaking unravel,".

Harry was lost for words. Malfoy actually getting on with muggles? Even while drunk, it was unbelievable. Must show how much the experiment is working I guess, he thought, trying to look on the bright side of this ridiculous situation as he felt an intense irritation beginning to bubble under his skin. He had panicked for this? Ran out of bed, got lost in chilly, grimy streets and forced become sober because Malfoy was drunk…Merlin. Harry let out a deep breath and forced out a smile.

"It's no problem. I just thought that there was some, I don't know, danger or something."

"Oh no!" cried David, misunderstanding, "he's great, fine, wouldn't even think of causing a scene!"

"No, that's not what I meant, oh forget it," sighed Harry wearily, pushing a hand through his hair, "I don't want to sound rude but if there was no danger, why did you call me?"

"Well, he'll probably be a danger to himself if I let him go home alone."

Harry had to agree as he watched Malfoy announce loudly that he needed to piss and wobbled his way to the toilets. The women's toilets.

"So you want me to take him home?"

"Yeah if you could. I mean I would taken him if I had any idea of where he lived but he won't tell me, and my girlfriend would go nuts if I bought him back to mine," explained David while the girl nodded her agreement. Michelle, was it? Harry had always been pretty good at names since he was young but had become even better since helping the construction of the memorial stone. He could now remember every single person that had died in the war. Unhealthy? Yes, probably.

"Is he always like this when he's drunk?" Michelle asked him in a friendly slur, "He's absolutely hilarious!"

"Er, I don't know," he replied awkwardly, unsure how to handle a drunk, muggle girl, "I've never seen him drunk before."

"Oh? But I thought you two were friends."

"No, we're definitely not friends," said Harry firmly.

Michelle looked surprised and then appeared saddened by this. She murmured softly, "But you're the only person he's talked about…"

Harry suddenly felt very uncomfortable, the guilt starting to itch at him again. He excused himself from the two muggles, telling them that he would rescue Malfoy from the dangers of the women's toilets, and made his way away from them. It was in no way his fault, he told himself, that Malfoy had no friends or that Malfoy was in this predicament. Well, it was a little. He was the one who nominated Malfoy after all, but that was because there was no chance, not even for the Chosen One, to get Malfoy acquitted like his mother, and in any case, it was much better than Azkaban! And Harry couldn't be blamed for the path the Malfoy chose that had lead to incarceration! But then, he supposed, neither could Malfoy…

My son, said Narcissa Malfoy's melancholic, dignified voice through his memories, may have not been the nicest boy in the world but he would do anything to protect the ones he loved.

Harry looked at Malfoy's inebriated body, lying quite comfortably on the plastic , sticky floor and felt a slight kinship with the boy. Malfoy slowly roused his eyes open and met Harry's gaze with glazed, mournful grey eyes.

"I'm tired, Potter," he whispered softly, "I'm so tired."

"I know," said Harry, gentler than he would have ever imagined himself to be with the other, "let's go home."

Going home was easier said than done. Part of Malfoy's exile was that he would not be able to perform magical acts, and this included apparation. Feeling undone by the very policy he and Hermione had created, Harry had no other choice but to usher Malfoy into a night bus and take the long, muggle trek back. Malfoy was fortunately not the type to throw up all over the place like Neville and thankfully fell straight asleep as soon as he sat down. Leaning his head against the window, his body visibly relaxed and his breathing evened.

Harry, exhausted, cast a quick refreshing charm on himself or else they would miss their stop. Now alert, he realised he had nothing else to do and so turned to study Malfoy as a means to combat boredom. He definitely was not as thin as he was before, back in his trial, though he still was as pale as ever now that the blush had faded. Harry preferred him with a bit of colour, he looked so much more human, but perhaps that was more to do with that happy expression that Harry had never seen before. Who else, Harry wondered, had he shown that too? A face lacking the sneer or the fear or that all too familiar smirk. An untainted smile. Not to Crabbe and Goyle probably, maybe Pansy. Almost certainly to his parents.

For a fleeting moment, Harry understood why Malfoy was loved.

But it passed quickly, with embarrassment.

Being so close to Malfoy, Harry realised he didn't look so much like father as he had previously thought. Or perhaps it was because Harry had spent a considerably amount of time with Narcissa that he saw her features expressed in her son. The curve of his lips and the shape of his eyes were more her than Lucius, and the shape of his face seemed like a mixture of the two. His eyebrows…they were like Sirius'! Arched and arrogant, a Black characteristic.

"What are you looking at?" mumbled a half awake Malfoy, peeking at Harry through thin slits.

Harry coughed embarrassedly, "Nothing. Go back to sleep!"

"How can I when I'm being perved on?" said Malfoy yawning widely like a cat. He rolled his head to Harry's shoulder. "There. You can't see now."

"Right. I'm guessing you haven't sobered up then," grumbled Harry but he made no move to push him away. Too much trouble than it was worth, he reasoned, when dealing with drunk people. So he let them sit there like that, ignoring how odd a situation they had come to.

"Hey, Potter," said Malfoy after a few minutes, "I was never going to be happy was I?"

"What do you mean?"

"Whatever outcome in the war, there was no chance of me being happy," Malfoy started to rant in a suddenly more coherent manner, "I mean, I'm sure you realised what a shit situation my family were in that time you were captured. We were the Dark Lord's dogs, and the other Death Eaters treated us as such. If he had won, things would have only got worse. They would have made me kill eventually, or kill me, us. Torture us because I would fuck something up. It would have been hell. But this, this is no paradise either. I'm never going to see my family again and I'm in exile indefinitely. Sooner or later, you're going to find something to send me back to Azkaban and if not, you'll end up forgetting me and I'll be left to rot here forever. If some miracle was to happen, and I'm let back in, everyone hates me anyway, no one would associate themselves to me. I'll drink myself to the grave probably. The last Malfoy, a complete fuck-up in every angle possible."

He let out a shaky breath.

"It probably wasn't even the war. I was fated to not be happy, since birth. I could never do nothing, anything right."

His shoulders started to tremble and Harry panicked. Malfoy wasn't going to cry was he? Harry wasn't sure he could handle all these different sides of Malfoy in one day.

"You're not a fuck-up, Malfoy," said Harry in strained kindness, "everyone makes mistakes and not being able to kill isn't a bad thing. It shows that there's good in you. And you're making loads of progress in this project."

"I am?" asked Malfoy, looking up at Harry.

"Yeah, definitely! David said you're brilliant at work and that you've really adjusted. It was really good of to go out and socialise as well. You're doing really well."

Malfoy glowed with delight. "Well, yeah, of course I am! I've studied really hard you know, and I read that manuel a ri-diculous amounts of times and I used the phoon all by myself! I bet no other pure-blood would be as efficient as me in making cappuccinos! Without magic!"

Looking at Malfoy's happy face as he incoherently stumbled out boastful words, Harry was reminded of that time he was stuck in Borges and Burkes and saw the Malfoys. Malfoy had that same look of showing off, of being desperately eager to please and impress, as he did then with his father. It made Harry realise something about Malfoy. All along he was a just little boy who wanted praise and attention from everyone but especially from a father who was stingy in giving them. And that maybe it was the pent up frustration from this lack that made him such a prat. Perhaps this uneasy feeling and immaturity Harry recently gained around him was due to the fact that Malfoy had not grown up, that he was stuck in that mindset, while Harry and everyone else had moved on and matured.

The bus stopped just 5 minutes from Malfoy's flat. They got off, Harry silently, Malfoy still babbling, and made their way as quick a pace Harry could force Malfoy to walk. The wind had gotten colder as night rolled towards dawn and stung Harry's skin like thousands of sharp needles, piercing their way through his thin clothes. Harry mourned the loss of the summer warmth, something he associated with the euphoric celebrations that had occurred months ago. Now, in the middle of October, temperatures plummeted and heavy grey clouds took control of the skies.

Malfoy's voice abruptly fell silent. Harry turned to find the other looking at him with serious and coherent eyes.

"What?" Harry asked, impatiently, jumping from one foot to the other to ward the cold away.

Softly, sternly, clearly Malfoy asked what Harry had been dreading the whole night.

"Why did you choose to become my supervisor?"

Harry pushed his fists farther into his hood pockets and started to walk away. He had a feeling this question was going to come up eventually seeing as Malfoy wasn't stupid, but he did not want to reveal the reason, for he knew that Malfoy, once he knew, would wish that he didn't.

"Potter…"

"Look, it's bloody freezing out here! Can we just talk about it once we're inside?"

It was just a delaying tactic but Harry hoped that it would be long enough for the drunken Malfoy to forget he asked. Merlin, Malfoy would probably forget the whole night the next morning! However, Harry could not risk telling him. If Malfoy found out it would be too…awkward. For both of them.

"Trust you to suddenly sober up just as we get back," Harry muttered under his breath as they climbed the long flight of stairs to Malfoy's flat.

Without bothering to let Malfoy get his keys, he opened the door with a wordless 'alohamora'. Inside, the two were engulfed by a stale warmth which both welcomed. Harry collapsed onto the lumpy armchair, exhausted, and Malfoy looked at him in distaste, no trace of his happy inebriated self left.

"So, Potter?" he asked pointedly, his metallic gaze like a spotlight on Harry, "Care to explain?"

Harry shrugged. He was too tired, physically and mentally, to come up with a convincing explanation or to confess the whole truth and deal with the aftermath. After a moment of mental debating, he decided to compromise with a half-truth.

"I'm the only person who could do it."

"Bullshit," was Malfoy's quick-fire reply.

"No, I'm serious. I don't know if you know how much controversy there was around your exile but you must know how many people want you locked up?" retorted Harry, "Or even dead!"

Malfoy visibly flinched.

"Because of…Dumbledore?" he asked awkwardly, avoiding Harry's eyes.

Harry nodded tersely and carried on.

"So yeah, for your protection, we could only assign people we fully trust to go along with this project and we're pretty short on people we fully trust. Those we do are all extremely busy and no one is really lining up to take this job on, as you can imagine."

"But still, why you? You must be the busiest out of the lot!"

"Well," said Harry, scratching the back of his head, "I've been made take a bit of a back seat to be honest. They say it's so I could have a bit of a break or some shit like that but really they want to limit how much power I have over things. As hard for it is to imagine, there's some in the ministry who still don't like me very much."

"You are shitting me, Potter?"

"Nope, they think I might turn into the next Voldemort or something."

"Merlin," said Malfoy, genuinely sounding shocked, "I thought it would have been a few years till they started to think like that. Even I think it's a bit ungrateful."

Harry shrugged. "Comes with the territory really. And the WUN's influence isn't making it any better, they really don't like me."

"So, that's the only reason?" asked Malfoy unsurely, "What about Frank?"

Harry's heart dropped. He had been hoping the issue of Frank wasn't going to be raised but it was inevitable he supposed. He liked Frank, he really did, so he would have preferred not to have disclosed such personal things about him to Malfoy but Malfoy did have the right to know. To know his life was in danger.

Maybe that'll make him behave.

"Frank," Harry explained tensely, "resigned. He lost his wife in the War and he didn't feel like he could supervise you in a responsible manner without getting his feelings involved."

"Oh," replied Malfoy, surprised and then asked quietly after a heavy pause, "Who was she?"

"Professor Burbage, the Muggle Studies professor."

In a sudden violent movement, Malfoy whipped his head to face Harry with a horrified expression. His grey eyes shone so bright in shock and fear that they almost looked silver, especially as all the colour drained out of his already pale face. Then, without warning, Malfoy seemed to crumple from within. It was as if some sort of dark, painful nightmare was slowly polluting his body and was trapping him in its world. A flashback. Harry recognised the symptoms; trembling, clammy skin, heavy ragged breathing, and a glazed over agonised expression.

Harry shouldn't have said it, he knew that. He knew Malfoy was there when she was killed, everyone did from the trial for her murder. He knew Malfoy found it traumatising, he had witnessed it in a memory. And above all, he knew having Frank supervise was a bad idea but Frank himself offered and told Harry that he wanted his wife's dream to educate wizards about muggles to carry on, so what else could Harry do but give him a chance? Harry was only eighteen, he made mistakes like any other teenager but the consequences of his were much less forgiving.

He reached his hand out towards Malfoy in an awkward attempt to comfort the other boy.

"Malfoy…"

"Don't," Malfoy cut him off before he even had the chance to speak, "just…go, Potter, please just go. I don't want you here."

"But I can't just leave you here!" exclaimed Harry, his inherent good nature unwilling to forsake him in such a state. He felt it was his fault after all, his brusqueness, his pettiness this past week was, as Hermione said, childish and unfair on Malfoy, who really had been trying despite the initial rattiness. Malfoy had suffered too in so many different ways, ways in which Harry could relate to, and ways which Harry could not even begin to understand. Malfoy was pitiful to a staggering degree whose every insult, every jibe, was a desperate cry for help.

To his surprise, Harry realised that he desperately wanted to help.

Malfoy had sank to the floor and held his head in shuddering arms. He did not move when Harry crouched down next next to him and grabbed hold of his shoulders, but the rhythm of his breathing slowed.

"Come on, Malfoy, snap out of it!" said Harry strongly, shaking him a little.

Reluctantly, Malfoy sluggishly raised his head and his expression triggered a memory in Harry, a memory he should never have had… Malfoy on his knees with a face so tear-stained it was as if someone had carved a spider web of tear tracks down it… his eyes were like dull metal with the emotion hollowed out... and his lips, oh why could Harry not look away from those lips? Puffy and purple like bruised fruit, glistening with fresh blood and saliva and…and…

"Please," croaked the Malfoy in the memory or was it the Malfoy in the present?

"Please what?" whispered Harry, finding himself unable to tell the difference.

"Please fuck off," demanded a very much present Malfoy whose voice cracked with effort. Though still very pale and shaking like a leaf, Malfoy seemed to have come back to his normal state of mind. Fortunately, he had not noticed Harry's own trip to the past, dazed and emotionally exhausted as he was.

Harry silently berated himself for letting down his guard and allowing unwelcome nightmares to sneak up on him again. It wasn't healthy and, more pressingly, the flashback had left him feeling intensely awkward towards Malfoy. It was understandable really, given the memory he had just seen, but the strange uncomfortable feeling, his thudding heartbeat, the dryness of his throat …he, he could not put his finger on it but he knew he had to get away as fast as he could.

Hastily letting go of Malfoy, Harry shot up to his feet and hurriedly moved away from Malfoy in order to apparate the hell out.

"Potter," murmured Malfoy suddenly, making Harry stop in his tracks. His head was hung low, between his bent legs and his blonde hair covered his face like a curtain.

"What?" asked Harry, struggling to hide his discomfort with a mask of impatience.

"You know I hated it, right?"

Malfoy's words startled him but gave Harry a rush of compassion that overrode his panic.

"Yeah," he said gently, truthfully, "I know."

"You, you know I never wanted to do it," pressed Malfoy, his voice juddering as it increased in volume, "I never wanted to watch people die!"

Harry remembered Malfoy's panicked expression when he did not, would not identify Harry that night at Malfoy Manor.

"I know."

As he left, as the rolling landscapes of London swooped past him, Harry decided he would come back the day after next. He would bring some DVDs that Dean had recommended, some microwave popcorn, and a massive tub of ice cream. He would bring a comfy old bean bag that had patterns of chickens that he mysteriously found in Sirius' room and make Malfoy sit in it together with a rainbow coloured blanket Harry had been given years ago by one of his 'fans'. He would force Malfoy to stop being jittery around muggle appliances and he would sit with him in the living room and show him how to enjoy one of the greatest perks of muggle culture.

Television.