"Here you are, Draco," McGonagall said, handing him a small blue porcelain dish filled with floo powder. "I'll be at my desk if you need anything."

Draco nodded, "Thank you." He watched her go through the doorway connecting to the Headmistress' office, waiting for her to change her mind or remember who he was, but she didn't. McGonagall left him alone with an open floo and more than enough floo powder to force a connection he could step through, if he wanted.

Draco took the opportunity to look around. The living area had been set up a reading and tea room. McGonagall must have kept her old professor's apartments for the actual living in because there was no bed that he could see. It was cosy if a little heavy-handed with the tartan.

Draco stared at the fireplace for several seconds before slowly kneeling in front of it. Yesterday he had dragged a mopping Potter out of the hospital wing and spent the rest of the day curled up on the couch talking and teasing one another. That had been a good day. He took a deep breath and a large pinch of floo powder, throwing it into the fire and calling his parents apartments in france.

He saw his mother's robes first as she stepped into the room and eased the door shut behind her so that it only made the faintest click. She was wearing a pale mint green embroidered with flowers in all sorts of bright colours. Growing up, he had only ever seen her in deep jewel tones. During the war she only wore black, most thought it was in solidarity with the death eaters, Draco thought it was in mourning.

"Draco! I'm so happy to see you, darling. I was hoping you would call today. I've been looking forward to seeing you since I received your owl," Mother said.

"Professor McGonagall was kind enough to lend me the school's floo, we have plenty of time to talk, but I don't wish to overuse her floo powder," Draco said.

"Of course," Mother said, she levitated an ornate pot down from the mantle and threw a handful of floo powder into the fire to re-enforce the connection. "Now are you quite sure you don't want me to portkey over for the holidays?"

Draco shook his head, "I still have one more fever to go through, and after that, I need to put all my focus on my studies."

Mother pursed her lips, searching his expression through the flames, "I could come for just a few days, if you wanted. It would be no trouble."

Because he had never really been sick as a child, the only memory Draco had of his mother dotting on him at his bedside was after the chandelier fell and cut him during the war. He hadn't needed to stay in bed, it had simply been a way for Mother to keep him away from the death eaters and Voldemort's wrath for a few precious days. It wasn't a memory he wanted to revisit, and he didn't trust his fever addled mind not to dwell on the connection if she was there. "Thank you, but no. I'll be fine, Mother."

Mother looked down at her hands and carefully placed one over the other, her expression blank, "Of course."

Draco winced. Thinking quickly, he said, "I'd like to see you during the spring holiday. Perhaps we could- could see the shore?"

Mother hesitated, "...That sounds lovely. There are some delightful little towns in the south, we could rent a cottage."

Draco nodded, "Wonderful. So. That's settled..."

"I'll owl you your presents," Mother said.

"You don't have to-"

"Of course I do," Mother said, "I love buying you presents."

"Right," Draco said awkwardly.

He had never known what to buy. Anything he had ever picked out for his parents had been met with polite thank-yous lacking any sort of real excitement. After a while, he quit trying. Draco gave his mother jewellery, and he bought his father new quills from wherever they were most expensive. It meant nothing. When he was young, he thought it meant the world revolved around him, and only his own enjoyment had value. As he grew older and the world crashed down around his ears, he simply felt that he had never known his parents in any way that really mattered.

And he...he had never really tried to know them.

"Are your robes new?" Draco asked.

Mother looked down, smiling briefly in delight though she quickly tried to hide it, "Oh. Yes. It's the style here, spring in winter, the embroidery. It's all rather bright."

"I like it," Draco said honestly, "It suits you."

Mother smiled, and this time she didn't try to hide it, "Thank you, darling."

"How are you settling in?" Draco asked.

"Perfectly fine, as I've told you," Mother said.

It was all her letters had told him.

"Have...have you met anyone? You're close to some of our extended family, other Malfoy's, aren't you?" Draco pressed.

"I- we owled announcements of our arrival. The replies were very polite," Mother said.

"Have you met any of them?" Draco kept pressing.

Mother shifted and then looked over her shoulder at the closed door to make sure she was still alone, "I've been to tea a few times. With your aunts-"

Draco shuddered though he tried to hide it, he was certain he had gone pale.

"-well they're several generations removed since our family moved to england," Mother corrected hurriedly, "but they would be the same age as- but more like cousins perhaps or great cousins. Yes, great cousins. They're your great cousins." She cleared her throat, "but they've been hospitable, to me."

Draco took a deep breath, "...Are they?"

"Oh yes, they're far more... relaxed about things, a bit like... the Greengrass's. Daphne is in your year I believe."

"I know Daphne, and her sister Astoria," Draco said.

Mother nodded, "The Malfoys here keep out of politics the same way they do. They keep their views private... it's... it's-" she glanced over her shoulder again, "it's been a welcome change."

Draco looked over her shoulder as well, "Are you okay? Are you-"

"I'm fine! Perfectly fine..." Mother said, her smile a little forced, "Your father hasn't been invited. They don't approve of his... politics. So I try not to bring it up around him. He feels they have judged him unfairly."

Draco just hoped he hadn't been shouting. Mother didn't deserve to be shouted at just because she had escaped unmarked and still had a chance at something like a normal life.

"Do you think you might become friends with any of them?" Draco asked.

"Friends..." Mother repeated, looking a bit startled by the idea, "Margot- a great cousin, she has invited me over several times. She's very kind, if a bit shrill, but I don't mind. She took me shopping, showed me her favourite tailors," she smoothed her hands over her robe.

Draco nodded encouragingly.

"Oh, you really should meet her daughter," Mother added excitedly, "Her name is Eloise, she's a few years older than you, but I feel you'd be quite compatible."

"I'm not going to date my cousin," Draco said bluntly.

Mother tutted at him, "Of course not. You're hardly related at this point but a Malfoy marrying a Malfoy? People would talk."

People would talk. Draco looked down at his hands, swallowing hard.

"I simply think you'll get along. Eloise is very acerbic, she reminds me of Pansy. Have you heard from Pansy?"

Draco shook his head, his voice quiet "I haven't."

"She's probably busy with school," Mother said, "It will be nice to have friends once your probation ends and you can move here, and to make new ones, like Eloise-"

"I'm not planning on moving," Draco said.

"What?" Mother said faintly. "But- but, darling-" she shook her head, "there nothing there for you."

Draco would have agreed with her before returning to school, but now he had things- people, worth staying for. He had hope, however fragile and though he loved his mother, he wasn't willing to move, alone, to be close to her.

He gripped his robes, "And I don't plan on hiding it."

"It-?"

"What I am," Draco said.

Mother's eyes widened, "Darling, you can't. The way people will treat you- I can't stand to think of it."

"Perhaps the sort of people who will hate me for being veela aren't the sort of people I have any interest in knowing," Draco said carefully, trying to feel brave and mostly failing.

"I don't want to see you hurt. All I care about is your well being," Mother said.

"I know. I know that," Draco said, "but if I hide, they're still going to hate me underneath it all, and I hate-"

"But if they don't know, they won't hurt you," Mother said.

"I'm a lot harder to hurt now," Draco said.

"Don't say that..." Mother said softly, "Draco. Don't- Say you'll move here, I think some of the distant family are veela, it's safe here, it's quiet here."

"You think?"

Mother blinked.

"You think some of the distant family are veela," Draco repeated.

Mother frowned at him, "I've heard-"

"Heard what?" Draco asked.

"Draco."

"Heard, what, Mother?" Draco asked.

"Margot mentioned it," Mother said.

"What did she say exactly?" Draco asked, his voice tight.

Mother's face crumpled, and she looked down at her hands, "...she called it the family's dirty little secret."

Draco shook his head.

"It's not such a bad thing, is it? Would I have been better off if everyone knew a-about me?" Mother asked.

"...no. You probably would have been treated very cruelly," Draco said slowly.

"So you see-"

"But... that you would have been treated badly has nothing to do with you. We are not at fault for how we were born, that is... immutable. It only speaks to the cruelty of others. How people treat others is a choice they make, a choice they can change." Draco said.

Mother couldn't look at him as she said, "Change isn't that easy."

"I know. I've- I've been trying- I think it's worth it," Draco said haltingly. "All that not changing got us was another war."

Mother bit her lip, "...don't say us, it wasn't your war. It was never your war, my darling boy."

"It was from the moment the dark mark was branded onto my arm," Draco said.

Mother sniffed and tried to wipe the tears for her eyes, trying to compose herself even as she was crumbling, "I am so sorry."

"You've already apologised."

"But I could have done more," Mother said.

Draco pressed his sleeve over his eyes to blot away his tears before they could fall. He wanted her to stop apologising. He had heard so many of them. They always hurt. There was some part of himself, deep inside himself, that couldn't fully forgive her. And he hated that he couldn't forgive her and he was so tired of trying to. He just wished he could let it go, and move on. He wanted to. He wanted things to go back to the way they were. And he knew they never would.

Draco swallowed hard, drying his cheeks on the black fabric of his robe. He sniffed as discreetly as he could and patted his cheeks again to make sure they were dry. When he looked up, Mother was looking to the side, her eyes and the tip of her nose red from crying.

"Do you think-" Draco cleared his throat, "do you think Father will, will he-"

"He will come around," Mother said firmly.

"Mother-"

"I will make him come around," Mother said, "After all that he has asked of us, he can manage this."

"What if he can't?" Draco asked, sounding small even to himself.

"He will," Mother said, and Draco knew from her tone that he wouldn't be able to change her mind.

Draco said carefully, "If... if you ever need to, or want to, you could always come back here. I would be... I would be happy to have you here."

Mother smiled, looking like she might start crying again, "Thank you. That's very kind of you."

She would never leave Father. Draco knew that, but he had to offer.

"I should go," Mother said, "I have a few errands to run before it gets too late."

Draco was fairly sure that was a lie, but understood that they both couldn't take much more of this, "Of course. It was wonderful to speak with you."

"See if you can firecall around christmas, won't you darling? Even if it's only for a few minutes," Mother said.

"I'll ask," Draco said.

They said their goodbyes and Draco closed the floo. He sat there, staring at the soot-black stones at the back of the fireplace for a long time.

-

-

"Malfoy?" Harry called.

The main tower room was empty. Harry looked out the window, which was dark, and then back down the stairs he had come from. Malfoy had said he was going to firecall his parents, but he wouldn't have left it this late.

Harry went up the stairs, sidestepping a collapsing pile of notes and old assignments that were half sorted through. The blankets on the bed were rumpled and had a rather human-shaped sort of lump under them.

"Malfoy?" Harry said.

Malfoy pushed one arm out of his blankets and blindly held it out in Harry's general direction.

Harry dropped his bag by the chair and took Malfoy's hand, it felt dry and gripped his hand almost too tightly, "Why are you in bed, it's only seven?" he asked, pulling the blankets down, which turned Malfoy's hair into a static mess and earned him a glare.

Malfoy pulled him.

"Wha-careful! I-" Harry caught himself on the edge of the bed with his free hand, "Hold on for a second, would you?"

Harry kicked off his trainers and shoved the sheets back. This was apparently enough waiting for Malfoy, he grabbed the front of Harry's robe and dragged him down on to the bed.

"You're a lot stronger than you look," Harry said.

Malfoy didn't say anything, just wrapped his arm around Harry, his cheek pressing tight to Harry's chest. Harry tried to carefully smooth the blond white hair back out of Malfoy's face. Malfoy's eyes looked redder than normal.

"Did your firecall to your parents- did it go alright?" Harry asked.

"Just my mother," Malfoy said into the weave of Harry's jumper.

Harry was probably too relieved at that. He dreaded having to pretend to care about Lucius Malfoy for even a second.

"How was she?" Harry asked.

"Fine," Malfoy said.

"And you? How are you?"

Malfoy didn't answer, tilting his head down so Harry couldn't see his expression, which only made Harry worry more. He hated when Malfoy wouldn't look at him, it reminded him of a kid flinching away because they expected to be hurt.

"What do I do? How do I help?" Harry asked.

"You are helping," Malfoy said, a touch of sarcasm to his words, "What do you think this is?"

"Hmmm," Harry said, with exaggerated thoughtfulness, "a really boring wrestling match?" He wrapped Malfoy up in his arms and gave him a tight squeeze.

"fuck off," Malfoy said. Harry could hear the smile in his voice.

"Or... we could be hibernating for the winter like bears," Harry said.

He could feel Malfoy laugh, just a little bit.

"A couple months of sleep would be nice," Harry said.

Malfoy hummed in agreement.

Harry hesitated and then asked, "Do you want to talk?"

"About?" Malfoy said.

"About what made your eyes red. You don't have to. But if you wanted, I'd listen," Harry said.

"Oh, we talk now, do we?" Malfoy said.

"Well, I'd listening. You'd be talking," Harry said.

Malfoy was quiet for a long time then said, very quietly, "it's stupid."

"I'll listen to that too," Harry said.

Malfoy smacked him half-heartedly.

"It's probably not stupid," Harry amended.

"Probably," Malfoy muttered.

Harry grinned, "Probably."

"....okay...." Malfoy said.

He was quiet for so long Harry thought maybe Malfoy had changed his mind.

"I don't know why I started thinking about it, we talked, it was... fine, but I started thinking about it for some reason, and I couldn't stop," Malfoy said, "I just- ....I wanted her to pick me, even once, to put me first."

Harry could feel a shudder go through Malfoy.

"I know she loves me. But... during the war, if she had said no to my father, then maybe... maybe I could have said no too," Malfoy said.

"She made Snape take an unbreakable vow to protect you," Harry said. "And she lied to Voldemort and all the death eaters to get back to you."

"Because he didn't know," Malfoy said.

"Your father?"

Malfoy nodded, "If he had known and told her no, she wouldn't have disobeyed him."

"You can't know that for sure," Harry said.

"She didn't want me to take the mark," Malfoy said, "Father said I had to, that our family honour rested on it. Our honour."

Malfoy trembled faintly in his arms, and Harry thought he might be crying. Harry tentatively ran his hand down Malfoy's back, hoping it was the right thing to do.

"We could have run away at any time. We could have gone- we-" Malfoy broke off and laughed, a broken, painful little laugh, "Except- except that I wouldn't have run away. I couldn't say no to him any more than she could. A-and the worst part is- is..."

Harry waited.

Malfoy took a deep breath, "The worst part is... I went along with it... I was proud-" his voice went terribly small, "I was proud to take the mark. I- I didn't know- I didn't know-"

"No one knew..." Harry said carefully, "everyone thought I was lying until they saw him themselves."

"...Father didn't tell me how much it would hurt. The pain- And I knew V-Voldemort could hurt me with it whenever he wanted and then he gave me the task-" Malfoy spit the word, "all I can remember is how they looked- my parents were so pale, so so pale-" he stopped abruptly.

"...Malfoy?" Harry asked.

Malfoy shuddered again, "I wish I could stop thinking about it- I want to. I want- Why can't I just forget? Why can't I move on? I want to be better than this- I want something... normal. Or... something close, something better than this."

Malfoy's words seemed to send a shock wave through Harry, his breathing picking up as utter relief washed through him in a voice that sounded like: me too, I feel like that, it's not just me-

"Do you hate me?" Malfoy asked, hardly above a whisper.

"Um.." Harry said still a little distracted, wondering if Malfoy could feel his heart pounding, "No, I don't. I sort of already knew."

"oh..." Malfoy said.

"Did you want me to?"

"No, I- no..." Malfoy said.

"I mean if anyone's going to hate anyone it'd be you, hating me... for what I did."

Malfoy quickly shook his head, "It was...that was a bad year..."

"Yeah," Harry said.

Malfoy sniffed, "...sorry."

"It's alright, I'm listening just like I said," Harry said.

"No. Because you weren't a coward. You never ran away," Malfoy said.

Harry hesitated and then said, "I wanted to," even though it made his heart race even faster.

Malfoy looked up, his eyes wide, tears caught between his lashes.

"I thought about it sometimes," Harry admitted.

"Why didn't you?" Malfoy asked.

Harry sighed, he sometimes forgot that not many people knew about the prophecy. It was too closely connected to the horcruxes, and that was too dangerous a secret to let out.

"There was a prophecy that said I'd be able to kill him for good. Dumbledore seemed to think I was the only one that could do it, so I thought that too," Harry said, "I didn't really feel like I had a choice."

Malfoy managed to wiggle the arm pinned between them free and reached up, brushing his hand over Harry's jaw. "I think you probably did have a choice, you could have run away," he said absently.

"I couldn't leave all my friends, I couldn't," Harry said.

"You're a very good person," Malfoy said.

"I don't feel like it," Harry said. He pulled Malfoy's hand off his cheek, "I just did what I had to."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"There was- a- it felt like anger in your tone? No, more like resentment. What is it?" Malfoy asked.

Harry shrugged.

"No, tell me. I want to know," Malfoy said, leaning back so he could get a better look at Harry's face.

Harry frowned to himself, "Well, it's- It's- People call me 'good' and 'a hero' but I kind of always just felt like they use it as an excuse to be- to be kind of shit. That they don't have to help people or being kind because they see 'good' and 'hero' as like built-in, rather than something you do."

Malfoy didn't say anything.

Harry tried to backtrack, "I mean, generally, not everyone o'course."

"To be fair, I never actually tried to be good," Malfoy said, "And I always thought you were only good because you were a suck-up-"

Harry snorted.

"-and a show-off, and utterly lacking in self-preservation."

Harry laughed, "That last one might be true."

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

Harry knew that they probably should get up and study. They had learned a new spell in charms that Harry had spent ages before dinner learning so he could teach it to Malfoy. But he didn't move, and neither did Malfoy.

"Something funny happened at lunch," Harry said.

Malfoy shifted on the bed, using Harry's arm for a pillow, "What happened?"

Harry absent-mindedly traced Malfoy's hand with his fingers, telling him about how someone had put something in a pitcher on the hufflepuff table that made it spray pumpkin juice all over the students around it and even onto some of the tables next to it....

-

-

Harry blinked awake in the dark. His glasses were pressed into his cheek, and he could feel every seam and edge of his jeans digging into him. He couldn't feel his arm because Malfoy had fallen asleep on it.

He slowly sat up, slipping his arm free as carefully as possible. He tried to rub some warmth back into his arm and had to bite his tongue on all the fucking words he wanted to say as a horrible, painful prickle came along with the returning circulation.

Harry tiptoed to the bathroom, using the loo and brushing his teeth while he was there because his mouth felt like it was in the process of growing a carpet.

He stared at himself in the mirror for a few long seconds, then turned off the light and went back to Malfoy's bed.

-

-

There was a ringing in Harry's ears, slightly muted and it took far too long for him to realise he wasn't dreaming, the sound was from the real world, and it was, in fact, his alarm spell.

He cursed under his breath, leaning over the edge of the bed, patting around until he felt his jeans and dragged them over to him. He pulled his wand out of the pocket and dispelled the alarm, immediately awash with relief. When Hermione had taught them the charm in first year, he thought it was a nice sort of bell sound, at least compared to muggle alarm clocks. He was wrong. It could have sounded like a choir of heavenly angels, the fact that it woke him up every morning made him certain there wasn't a sound he hated more.

Harry grabbed his glasses and pushed them on and then sat there, trying to convince himself to move. It took possibly minutes before he realised something was missing, mainly the delightful early morning grousing of his little chickadee.

Malfoy was laying on his side, turned away from Harry.

Harry frowned. "Malfoy? Are you pretending to be asleep?" he said softly in case he was wrong, and somehow Malfoy had slept through the alarm, and Harry moving around in the bed, and swearing and-

Harry frown grew and he reached over, pressing his hand against Malfoy's forehead; it was hot.

He shook Malfoy's shoulder, "Malfoy-" then when he only got a grumble for his trouble, pulled Malfoy over into the middle of the bed, "You have a fever."

Malfoy glared at him, his breathing was already heavier, his skin flushed pink. "I'd never have noticed," he muttered grumpily.

"Good morning to you too," Harry rolled his eyes, "You should probably change and use the loo now before it gets worse."

"Must have a fever if Potter's making sense," Malfoy said.

Malfoy let Harry pull him up and only shook him off when he tried to walk him to the bathroom. Harry refreshed and remade the bed, summoning his pillow from downstairs and adding it to Malfoy's.

Malfoy finally came out and shuffled his way to the wardrobe and slowly started unbuttoning the wrinkled dress shirt he'd fallen asleep in. He gave up after three buttons and turning to Harry, who finished undoing the rest. Malfoy let the shirt fall onto the ground. Harry found himself staring at those pale scars across Malfoy's chest, the sickening guilt he had felt the first time he'd seen them had faded somewhat, softened by sadness and the hope that he could make up for it, someday. Malfoy had dropped his trousers as well by the time Harry remembered that Malfoy apparently had no modesty.

Harry quickly turned around, "You could warn me."

"Then look," Malfoy said.

"I'm not-" Harry protested.

"I wouldn't mind you looking," Malfoy said.

Harry felt his face go hot, "Yeah, well..." he cleared his throat, "I think that sort of thing maybe should be more on purpose."

"More on purpose..." Malfoy repeated, his voice faint. "I like that."

Harry felt Malfoy lean against his back.

"Are you dressed?" Harry asked.

"Just shorts," Malfoy said, "I can't- can't manage-"

Harry turned around, catching Malfoy's hands in his, they were trembling, and Malfoy was breathing even harder than before. Harry grabbed the shirt, his old t-shirt, though he had no desire to reclaim it, and helped Malfoy back to the bed. He pulled the shirt over Malfoy's head and helped his arms through. As soon as he was dressed, Malfoy collapsed back into the mattress, not even bothering to get his legs back up onto the bed, so Harry did it for him.

Harry started to pull the blankets up, but Malfoy shook his head.

"Alright," Harry said, dropping them back on the foot of the bed. He went downstairs and made a tray with the toast from breakfast, the tea, juice and a few empty glasses. He came back up and made a cup of tea, too sweet, the way Malfoy wouldn't admit to liking, filled another with pumpkin juice, and the last with an aguamenti.

Malfoy drank two glasses of water and half a slice of toast before refusing more. Harry refilled the glass with more water as he stood, grabbing his jeans off the floor and shaking them out. He knew he looked like a disaster, but it would have to do until he came back and had time to change.

"I'll be right back, I'm just gonna-"

Malfoy eyes widened, his voice small, "You're leaving?"

Harry hesitated, "I need to go tell the house elves to send up soup and that sort of thing and tell Ron and Hermione you're sick. I'll come right back."

Malfoy nodded. He looked stiff, and there was an anxious energy around him that worried Harry.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed.

"I'm fine. I just- you can go," Malfoy said.

"I told you I wouldn't lie about where I was going," Harry said.

"Right," Malfoy said, "I said I was fine."

Harry wasn't sure what to say. He was starting to understand Hermione's frustration with 'fine' when it obviously wasn't.

"...I'm listening," Harry tried.

Malfoy looked at him and then away at the wall, and Harry held his breath.

"Do you remember when the veela said I'd know the last fever when it happened?" Malfoy said.

Harry nodded.

"That's- I read the book, and it listed all the changes that could possibly occur and I've had most of them. So... if I'm having a proper fever then it's the last one, and the book said," Malfoy took a shaky breath, his hands trembling as he clutched them together, "the book said the last fever is the most painful. That's what she meant about knowing."

Harry reached out for Malfoy's hand, and he met him halfway, gripping Harry's hand tightly.

Malfoy swallowed hard, "I suppose... I'm- I'm a bit scared. Is all. I don't like pain."

"I'll... stop by Pomfrey's, get some pain potions, and ask Hermione if there's anything else we could do," Harry said.

Malfoy slumped lower against his pillows, looking embarrassed but maybe a little grateful. "It's just a fever. I'll be fine... I'm just tired."

Harry wished he could do something more. Even if it was only to say the right thing. He waited, holding Malfoy's hand until he drifted back to sleep, before tiptoeing out of the tower.

-