Harry was watching the two men climb toward him, both on foot. They had not yet tackled the abrupt rise leading to his house built on a hillside. They were breathing hard, making slow progress in the tall grass on the high, deserted plateau. From time to time, they stumbled. It was clear that they did not know the region, they stumbled along parallel to the small path hidden almost entirely by the wild plants. Harry estimated that it would take them thirty minutes to reach the base of the hill. He went inside to make tea.

He crossed his living room, making his way to the kitchen of his small cottage. It was decorated sparsely, though richly. Harry was rich, after all. Being a hero paid well, and he still had his mother's and father's fortune. If he had wanted to, he could have lived in extreme extravagance, in a mansion somewhere beautiful. But he didn't, and it wasn't entirely to get away from pesky reporters that loved to shove their noses in his business whenever they got the chance, though that was a bonus. Ever since the war, he had prefered to be alone with his thoughts. He had slowly distenced himself from all his relations. Both his secluded place of living and job at Hogwarts as the DADA professor worked in discouraging visitors, though his friends still dropped by occasionally. He hadn't always been a professor. He had become an auror, like he had dreamed when he was younger, but, well. PTSD could be a bitch.

Having put the kettle on and set the table, Harry returned to the window from which he had first seen the two were no longer visible. They must have started up the hill. The rainy cover of clouds only lifted from the sky now, the sun's watery yellow light blanketing the area. At two in the afternoon it looked as if the day were only just beginning. But this was still better than those three days when summer storms had pounded on the roof and bashed at the windows. Then Harry had spent long hours in his room, leaving it only to tend to his basic necessities and fix the occasional leak that had worked it's way through.

He had stocked up well a while back, the way he always did to limit his visits to the world that was not Hogwarts or his home. Reminders of the War even years after the final battle had taken place were everywhere. A forgotten building, crumbling to dust. A clearing in which nothing would grow for fear of the past events that had occurred in it. Harry would rather forget the entire ordeal had happened. Only here, where there was no one and nothing to remind him of anything did Harry feel safe.

He stepped out onto the terrace of his house, the two men were now halfway up the slope. One was easily identifiable, he would know that red hair anywhere. The other was being lead with his hands magically bound together, his platinum head lowered. Ron waved a greeting to which Harry did not reply, lost as he was in contemplation of the blonde. He was dressed in unremarkable robes, though he wore them the way one might wear the finest silk, even with his head bowed. There was only one person that Harry knew of that could pull off looking so regal while being whacked in the face continually with tall grass.

Within earshot, Ron shouted, grinning tiredly: "Hey mate!" Harry did not answer. In his simple robes he watched them climb. Not once had Malfoy raised his head. "Hello," said Harry when they got up onto the terrace. "Come in and sit down." Ron smiled at Harry from under his long bangs. His blue eyes, set under a freckled forehead, and his mouth surrounded by the faint beginnings of laugh lines, made him look friendly and expressive, both of which Harry knew to be true. Harry lead them into his living room, gesturing towards the couch and chairs, where three places were set. "Settle in, I'll fetch the tea." When he entered the room again, Ron was on the couch. Malfoy sat stiffly in one of the chairs, his still bound wrists folded neatly in his lap, looking out the nearby window. His thin lips were carefully neutral in expression, his aristocratic nose and cheekbones only adding to the illusion of calm indifference. Only his silver eyes, lively and dark, shattered the image. "Thanks," Ron said as Harry passed him the teapot he had collected from the kitchen. "What a chore! I become an auror to do some good and battle some Death Eaters, and they send me after this ferret. He didn't even fight when we found him!" Ron passed the teapot back to Harry, who filled his cup and Malfoy's. When he held out a glass of tea to the prisoner, Harry hesitated at the sight of his still restrained hands. "He might perhaps be unbound." "Sure," said Ron. "He won't be able to do much damage without a wand, and it's unlikely he will get far if he tries to run from here. That was for the trip." He started to get to his feet. But Harry, setting the glass on the floor, had knelt beside Malfoy, pulling his wand from his pocket. Without saying anything, Malfoy watched him with feverish eyes. Once his hands were free, he rubbed his stiff wrists together, took the glass of tea, and began to drink it with poise that had apparently remained undamaged through his ordeal.

"Harry, mate. I know you're on vacation and all, but would you mind finishing taking this bloody bastard to the Ministry? Hermione's due any day now, and it's not far. He's supposed to be there tomorrow morning." "I guess," Harry answered simply. "Thanks, mate. I knew I could count on you!" Ron slapped his shoulder. Harry flinched, though it was clear the redhead hadn't noticed. Quicksilver eyes had, though the pale pink lips belonging to the same face did not stir. In an earlier time, he had no doubt that he would have been mocked for that. But then, in an earlier time, he would not have flinched. He supposed they had both changed quite a bit.

Ron stayed and chatted a while, until the tea ran out, then bid a quick goodbye and stepped outside his wards to apparate out.

Harry cleared the table and transfigured the couch into a bed for Malfoy to sleep on. "Potter," Malfoy eventually said quietly. "Yes?" "Thank you." "For what?" "For not treating me like I'm a piece of shit you stepped in." Harry hesitated. The Malfoy he had known would have never thanked anyone, much less his rival, unless he was under death threat. He thought perhaps he was. He was not up to date on what punishment awaited Malfoy for his crimes. "Good night, Malfoy," he finally said instead.