Now, instead of Harry avoiding Draco, it was the other way around. The forthcoming articles hadn't been pleasant to say the least. Draco had known they'd be bad, but he didn't think they would be this bad.

"Death Eater Imperios Savior" was not a headline Draco had ever thought he would have to read.

Potter tried doing damage control of course. Putting out his own statement through The Quibbler, essentially saying what he himself had told Draco. He also mentioned that he could throw off the Imperius curse, and would be more than willing to test that theory if anyone was stupid enough to try.

But still, Draco knew he was making things harder for Harry than they needed to be. It was difficult trying to avoid the other man when he seemingly always knew where Draco was. The only safe place he could find was his room, where Potter had enough self-respect not to barge in.

It was a challenge trying to find a schedule where he could enter the art room without Harry being there. Both men seemed to need an artistic outlet, and it was hard for Draco to tell just when Harry was actually in there, because if he was he was in the booth in the back. Draco was beginning to feel bad about the lack of potions help, but if Harry really needed help, Draco was sure Hermione could provide it.

After a week of careful avoidance, Draco should've known that things would come to a head. He was surprised he lasted that long. It was late, or was it early? Time always seemed to escape him at 3am when he was aimlessly wandering about, unable to sleep.

He entered the quiet art studio, locking the door behind him. Taking out his painting supplies, Draco set himself up in the corner. It was too late when he realized Harry was in the booth, but he was transfixed by his voice. Harry's song choices were oh so telling, and Draco wondered how he was doing.

Quickly, he found out the answer was not good.

Close up camera one
The hero sings in this scene
The boy that gets the girl gets to go home where they get married
But stop the tape,
The sunset still looks fake to me
The hero looks like he can't breathe
The damsel just left everything

You're like a black cat with a black backpack full of fireworks
And you're gonna burn the city down right now
Whoa whoa
You're like a black cat with a black backpack full of fireworks
And you're gonna burn the city down right now
Whoa whoa

Oh close up camera two
Cause the hero dies in this scene
Your inspiration is the loss of absolutely everything
And flashback on the girl
As we montage every memory
And we bleed out in the bathroom sink
And we fade out as the soundtrack sings:

You're like a black cat with a black backpack full of fireworks
And you're gonna burn the city down right now
Whoa whoa
You're like a black cat with a black backpack full of fireworks
And you're gonna burn the city down right now
Whoa whoa

She said get your hands off of my star
It's not your part but all your fault
And this jealous actress has a habit of making things sound way too tragic
Get your hands off of my star
It's not your part but all your fault
And this jealous actress has a habit of making things sound way too tragic

And this jealous actress has a habit
Of making things sound way too tragic
Oh this jealous actress has a habit
Of making things sound way too tragic.

You're like a black cat with a black backpack full of fireworks
You're gonna burn the city down right now
Whoa whoa

You're like a black cat with a black back pack full of fireworks
And you're gonna burn the city down right now
Whoa whoa
You're like a black cat with a black back pack full of fireworks
And you're gonna burn the city down right now
Whoa whoa-ahh

And this jealous actress has a habit
Whoa

Draco's heart hurt, and his chest constricted. This had been what their last conversation had been about, what happens to the hero once the story ends. The way Harry's voice cracked when he sang "the hero looks like he can't breathe" had Draco wanting to reach out. At the sound of a crack, he looked down to realize he had gripped his paintbrush so tightly that it snapped in half.

No matter, now clearly was not the time to paint, and Draco had to hurry. Harry couldn't catch him, not here, not now. All he had to do was-

"Malfoy."

"Pot-Potter," Draco stuttered.

"Oh, you do recognize me then."

"What?"

"You've been ignoring me ever since we went out, I thought maybe you were obliviated. Good to know that you are doing it on purpose."

"You ignored me last time!"

"You made a mistake, recognized it, and apologized for it. I don't recall doing anything wrong, but please do correct me if I did. To think, I actually believed you."

"It's not like that-"

"When you figure out what it's like, let me know. Or don't. I don't care either way anymore. You've made it perfectly clear where we stand. Thanks for not even giving me the courtesy of a note saying that you didn't want to tutor me anymore by the way. I had a great time waiting around for you."

Draco watched Harry walk away, not knowing why he was so upset at the gesture. This was what he wanted, wasn't it? Then why did he feel so horrible? It was akin to the feeling he felt on the first day of school, Harry not even bothering to hear what Draco had to say.

Harry, for his part, no longer felt anything at all. He had actually thought that Draco wanted to be his friend. He should've known better. After all, there was nothing to be gained, not anymore.

For a week now, Harry had watched Draco pleasantly interact with those around them, accept their sympathy, and move on. Why couldn't he move past whatever had happened between them? Harry had tried to reach out, but what was the point? Each attempt went unanswered, but Harry saw Draco with Hermione almost as much as she was with Ron. That was the highest form of betrayal in his mind.

Yet again, Harry was facing his issues on his own. It seemed to be a common theme these days. Why was there no one for him? He didn't even need a romantic partner, just a friend. Harry thought that could've been Draco, he really did. Their conversations had been so real, so raw, and having revealed all of that to someone who might not remain in his life had his stomach twisting.

Did he even have anything keeping him here at Hogwarts anymore? There was a lack of a home for starters. He supposed if worst came to worst he could go and live with Andy and help take care of Teddy.

Mind made up, Harry made his way to McGonagall's office. He knocked tentatively, worried about waking her up.

"Just a moment," she called.

It was too late for Harry to turn back now.

"Harry, is something the matter?"

"You said I could come anytime, I just... I needed someone."

"Come in. I'll start some tea."

Harry took a seat, fiddling with the frayed strings of his t-shirt.

"What's on your mind Harry?"

"A lot of things."

"Well, let's pick one."

"I think I need to leave for a bit."

"Is this because of the defense class? Are you feeling overwhelmed?," she asked, concern present in both her voice and face.

"That's part of it. I just... coming back isn't what I thought it would be."

"What did you have in mind?"

"I thought I would be happy. I'm not feeling anything at all to be honest with you. When I do, it's just pain, grief, and emptiness. I'm alive, but I'm not living. Not anymore. When I died, I think I left more than part of Voldemort's soul behind."

"Have you spoken to anyone about this, Harry?," she asked with a frown.

"I tried. There's no one that I trust. Ironically, the only one who helped was Malfoy, but he's avoiding me again. I'm just so tired, Professor. I spend all my free time in the art room, trying to find an outlet, but he's there sometimes too."

"Do you wish to drop out?"

"Not forever, no. I think I just need a day or two. I want to see my godson, and remember why I'm still here. I came back for a better future for everyone, but to be honest? Mine kind of sucks."

McGonagall laughed and shook her head. This poor boy.

"I'm sure you'll be happy to know that I've found a new defense professor who will be starting on Monday. Someone from out of the country who wasn't affected by the war as we were."

"Do I need defense? What if I just took my OWLs?"

"If that's something you wish to do, I can set up another independent study course for you in place of defense. I'll provide you with the materials, and you can work through them at your own pace."

"Thank you Professor. Really. You've been one of the only people to genuinely support me through everything, and that sentiment will never be lost on me. That's why I come to you. You have never led me astray."

"I'm afraid I may have in asking so much of you."

"I told you that if you ever needed anything, I would provide it."

"That's your problem Harry, you give so much of yourself that you don't have anything left for you and you alone. What is it you want?"

"I don't know."

Harry's words hung heavy in the air, and McGonagall reached out a hand for him.

"It's Thursday now. Take today, Friday, and the weekend. Try to find out. At the very least, spend time with Teddy."

"That Professor."

"Behind closed quarters, you may call me Minerva if you wish."

"Is Minnie off the table then?," he asked with a small laugh.

"I don't tell you enough, but you are so much like your father, other than the uncanny resemblance. Did you know he was left handed?"

"No, I didn't."

"That could explain your poor handwriting," she teased, hiding a smile behind her teacup.

"You know Minnie, you may just be onto something there."

"I did find a few things for you. Some old photographs. Would you like them now?"

"Save them for Halloween. I'll need them then."

"Be safe please Harry. Send me an owl in a few days so I know you're doing alright."

"I will. Thank you, for supporting me."

"Enough of that. Get home, get some rest."

"I'll do my best."

Silently, Harry made his way up to his room, packed a few things, then snuck out of the castle. Exhaling, he said goodbye to the castle for four days. Maybe longer. Only time would tell.

{Song credits, Black Cat by Mayday Parade}