St Mungo's was unnervingly quiet when Draco arrived. He ignored the welcome witch's curious look and headed down the hallway towards the Mind Healers wing. The receptionist's desk was empty, but someone had found a silver desk bell and taped, 'Ring for Service!' below it.

Draco tapped the bell; it chimed loudly in the empty room. Draco vanished his empty coffee cup as he waited. A few seconds later, Iris hurried down the hallway, waving when she spotted Draco.

"You're here! You're the last one to arrive," Iris said, waving for him to follow her.

Draco hurried after her, "Oh. I, uh-"

"You're not late. Everyone else just go here before you," Iris said. She had a quick tip-tap pace, taking almost two steps for every one of Draco's and still somehow keeping ahead of him. "Our meeting room is this way, in one of the smaller offices."

Draco paused as they passed an open door. Inside, a large group of people were sitting in a circle of chairs. One person was talking while the rest listened with various amounts of interest.

One of the group participants saw Draco staring, frowned and got up, shutting the door in his face.

Draco flinched and hurried after Iris.

The smaller office at the end of the hall looked like it hadn't been used as an actual office for decades. An old desk had been pushed into a corner and was currently hosting an electric kettle and an old muggle drip coffee machine. The bottom of the glass carafe was stained with brown rings from some particularly stubborn coffee in the past.

A single stack of chairs graced the other corner, older metal-framed chairs with pea-green square cushions made of some sort of scratchy couch material straight from the seventies.

Five chairs had been set out in a loose circle. Iris sat in one, and Draco took the last one left.

"So this is it? I always thought group meetings had, y'know, a group?" The woman beside him said incredulously. Draco remembered her from the recovery ward where he had woken up after detoxing. He was pretty sure her name was Jasmine.

"I thought a smaller, more intimate group would be more beneficial for you four," Iris said.

"Ah, so we're the real fuckups, then," Jasmine said.

Iris smiled, "You might say that."

"Hey-!" Jasmine protested.

"Hmph," A large squat bloke sitting across from Draco huffed. He had short brown hair, only slightly longer than a buzzcut and had the sort of build that might trick you into thinking he was fat if it weren't for all the muscle layered underneath.

He reminded Draco vaguely of Goyle. They had the same build, the same posture. Draco thought he might even be a Quidditch beater just like Goyle had been; he had the same callouses on his hand Crabbe and Goyle had gotten from years of practice with a beater bat.

Sitting between Quidditch and Iris was another young man. He had loose, longish brown hair that hid half his face, looking to be of some sort of middle eastern descent. He crossed his ankles under his chair and crossed his arms tightly over his chest like he was trying desperately to disappear inside himself.

"So! Let's start things off with an introduction!" Iris said, "I'll start. I'm Iris. I've been a mind healer for several years now, and I am currently working on a masters psychology degree of the muggle sort."

Draco glanced around.

Jasmine was rolling her eyes, and Quidditch was staring sullenly at the floor. The other young man had tensed but otherwise remained completely still.

Iris was still smiling, "I'm not going to pretend this is going to be easy. But we have to start somewhere." She looked at Draco expectantly.

Draco grimaced and turned to Quidditch instead, "You play quidditch?"

Quidditch blinked in surprise, "Eh... yeah. You follow the leagues?"

Draco guessed that Quidditch must be, or had been, on a proper team. And if that was true, it might be a bit of a sore spot. He sidestepped the question, "I noticed the callouses on your hands. They're from a beater's bat?"

Quidditch nodded, "Yeah. You play?"

"Seeker, back in school," Draco said.

Quidditch smirked, "You look the type."

"So do you," Draco said.

Jasmine rolled her eyes.

"Look," Quidditch said suddenly, "I ain't doing this thing unless it stays here, you know? If this sort of thing gets out-"

"You're fucked," Jasmine said, sounding too pleased with herself.

Quidditch scowled at her.

"I have to agree...." Draco said carefully, "My life- if the papers got a hold of some of the things I- I can't."

"Sucks to be you. Some of us aren't ashamed of the shit we've done," Jasmine said.

"I don't want my parents to know," The other young man said quietly.

"No one's going to talk to your parents. That's just weird," Jasmine said.

"Well, Jasmine, your other group members would like it if you would keep what we talk about in group in confidence," Iris said. "So will you?"

Jasmine raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest.

"If you want us to trust and respect you, you have also put forth some amount of trust and respect yourself," Iris said.

Jasmine slumped down in her chair, "Yeah. Fine. Fine. Mum said she'd kick me out if I didn't do the meetings, so I won't tell anyone."

"So we gonna do an unbreakable vow or something?" Quidditch asked, his chair squeaking as he leaned forward.

"I think a promise will do," Iris said.

Quidditch frowned.

"Sometimes, we just have to put our faith in people. Magic can't solve everything," Iris said.

"It could solve this," Quidditch said.

Iris laughed, "That's not the point, and you know it."

Quidditch huffed and dropped back in his chair, the metal squeaking in protest.

"Well?" Iris said.

"I promise," Draco said, looking from Quidditch to the quiet young man, to Jasmine. "I won't tell anyone what we talk about in group,"

"I promise," Quidditch said.

"I won't tell," the quiet young man said.

Jasmine rolled her eyes one more time for good measure, "I promise to keep all your dirty little secrets."

"Good!" Iris clapped her hands together, "Now, shall we do introductions?"

Quidditch said, "I'm Jarold. I play beater for Puddlemere United."

Draco raised an eyebrow, impressed.

Jarold looked away, frowning at the floor, "-on the reserve team. But Puddlemere is the oldest team in the league. It has more cup wins than anyone. They have to keep a good roster."

Draco nodded, "They are a good team, from what I remember."

"The best team," Jarold insisted.

Jasmine snorted, "What is it with this country and being stupid about sports? Footie or Quidditch, it's all the same."

"Why don't you introduce yourself next, Jasmine?" Iris said.

"You already know my name," Jasmine said.

Iris nodded encouragingly.

"Fine..." Jasmine sighed, "I'm Jasmine. And I'm an unemployed layabout because I was addicted to sleeping potions and was only awake a few hours a day. There. Happy?"

"Very," Iris said with a smile. "Who's next? Emad?"

The quiet young man, Emad, tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace, "I moved to the UK with my parents a few years ago. I work nights stocking shelves, or I did. I....I uh... I tried to kill myself." He squeezed himself tighter. "It didn't- It didn't work," he joked weakly.

"I'm glad it didn't. I'm looking forward to getting to know you, Emad," Iris said.

"...Yeah. Yeah, that's rough, mate," Jarold said.

Emad gave a tiny nod.

"Last but not least-" Iris looked at Draco.

Jasmine snorted, "Like anyone doesn't know who he is."

"...I don't," Emad said softly.

"He's our resident wizard nazi," Jasmine said, faux-conspiratorially.

Iris frowned, "Jasmine-"

"The rest are in prison," Jasmine went on, "But this one got away."

Draco froze, a shudder going down his spine.

"Draco was underage when he took the mark-" Iris said.

"Oooh, hitler youth, then. I stand corrected," Jasmine said.

"Jasmine," Iris said, "Trust and respect-"

"Yeah, you want us to trust a Malfoy? Really?" Jasmine said. She propped one ankle over her knee, "Why'd you do it anyway?" she asked Draco, "Why'd you join?" She looked pointedly at his arm, "Take the mark?"

"You don't have to answer-" Iris said.

"Yes, he does. If he wants to be in this group, he does. I'm not opening up around a fucking deatheater," Jasmine said.

"No one-" Iris said firmly, "-has to answer anything they don't want to. This isn't an interrogation; we're here to help one another and talk through-"

"He needs to answer this one," Jasmine said.

Iris opened her mouth to say something, but Jasmine cut in.

"No. No. You don't understand. I was in sixth year when the battle of Hogwarts happened. I was there. I saw him and his little friends playing at being the bad guys for years until they were the bad guys, and it wasn't a game anymore. I saw people die," Jasmine said.

"The war was a hard time for all of us," Iris said, "We all carry trauma from what happened then."

"...Not Emad," Jarold said. He looked embarrassed when they all looked at him, "Err, he said he just moved here a couple years ago, so... I didn't mean anything by it."

"I read a bit about it in the news," Emad said.

"I didn't kill anyone," Draco said, his voice tightened down to a whisper. He squeezed his hands together, his fingers gone desperately, uncomfortably cold.

"Why'd you do it?" Jasmine asked again.

"I had to," Draco said.

"That's your defence?" Jasmine said.

Draco felt a brief flush of fury go through him before he firmly tamped down on it, holding himself still. "My father failed- It was important- very important to the dark lord. Father was in Azkaban, and- and we, our family- we owed him a debt."

"A debt," Jasmine repeated flatly, clearly unimpressed. "You're not your shitty father; you could have just said no."

"Debts to the dark lord were paid in blood," Draco snapped, "The only choice we had was whether it was our blood or someone else's."

Emad sucked in a startled breath.

"Fuuuuck, mate," Jarold said.

Jasmine bit the edge of her scowl and looked away, glaring silently at the wall.

Draco stood up, stepping out of the circle and leaving the room.

"Draco!" Iris ran after him, catching him halfway down the hall.

Draco stopped, "...what?"

"You did a good job," Iris said.

Draco's brow furrowed, and he turned around, "A good-"

"You stood up for yourself," Iris said.

Draco stared at her.

"That was a difficult discussion. And you did well," Iris said.

A bitter smile twitched on the edge of Draco's mouth.

"Do you want to talk? I can make time for you later today," Iris said.

Draco shook his head.

"Will you be at the next meeting?" Iris asked.

Draco shrugged, not trusting his voice.

"I hope you come," Iris said, "If you need to talk, you can always owl me. I'll do everything I can to make time for you."

Draco nodded. He shifted his weight to leave.

"Do you want a hug?"

Draco looked back at her.

Iris grinned, looking only a bit embarrassed as she opened her arms, "I'm a big hugger."

Draco hesitated and then leaned down. Iris gave him a tight hug, far stronger than her small frame would suggest. "You did a good job," she said against the fabric of his shoulder.

Draco swallowed hard as he pulled away. He headed to the apparition zone at the front of the hospital as fast as he could, fighting against tears the whole way.

Draco apparated back to Potter's flat, landing in the kitchen. He slid down the cabinets to sit on the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest. His eyes ached, and he finally let go, tears slipping down his cheek.

He hated it. He hated feeling this way. He would have even taken straight alcohol, a few shots to make everything less sharp. He wanted that pleasant floating feeling where his thoughts didn't cut like razor blades and he could just- just fucking be.

The tv clicked off, the quiet noise disappearing into a ringing silence, followed by the couch squeaking as Potter stood, "Malfoy?"

"Don't look at me," Draco snapped, hurriedly trying to wipe his face dry.

"Err... alright."

Draco glanced up and saw that Potter had stopped where the kitchen tile met the carpet and turned around. He was looking down at his feet like he wasn't sure what to do with his eyes.

"I take it group therapy went... great?" Potter joked weakly.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Should I go?" Potter asked, "I could go."

Draco sniffled and looked at his hands. "Potter..."

"Err... yeah?"

"If- if I had," Draco hesitated. He took a deep breath and made himself ask, "If I had asked for help in sixth year would- would you have?"

"...Sure?" Potter said.

Draco frowned, " You almost killed me."

Potter opened his mouth, but nothing came out. After a moment, he said, "I didn't know what that spell did. And well... I mean... You broke my nose on the train and left me there petrified."

Draco snorted, "I should have sent someone to the train station to find and kill you."

Potter blinked in surprise and turned around.

Draco dropped his forehead on his knees so Potter' couldn't see his face, "Crabbe mentioned it later."

"Why didn't you?" Potter asked.

"I don't know," Draco huffed. "It never occurred to me."

"...Okay," Potter said, leaning against the counter, "Well, I saw you in Borgin and Burkes that summer. You were threatening the clerk to fix the cabinet. After that, I was pretty sure you were a death eater. So, I don't know if I would have trusted you if you asked me for help."

Draco nodded faintly.

"I always wondered, how did you even know about the vanishing cabinets?" Potter asked.

"The first one, I'd seen in Borgen and Burkes for years, though I didn't know what it did." Draco said quietly, "Then in fifth year, the Weasley twins shoved Montague in the other cabinet and closed him in. He managed to apparate out eventually, and I found him stuck in the fourth-floor toilets."

Potter nodded, "Right. I remember, he was trying to take away points and Fred and George just shoved him in."

"After Montague recovered, he told me about it, how he could hear sounds from the shop and Hogwarts..." Draco said, "I looked into it a bit, used the information for a history of magic paper about magical artefacts from the first wizarding world. I never thought... I never thought I would need it."

"Yeah," Potter said. "You never seemed the handy type to me."

"What?" Draco looked up.

"Peeves dropped the cabinet in second year and broke it. It's hard to imagine you repairing something, much less something so complicated."

"Oh," Draco said. "No. I was just- I had no other choice."

Potter sighed and sat on the floor across from Draco.

Draco almost laughed, "What are you doing?"

"It felt weird to keep standing when you were down here," Potter said.

"That's stupid," Draco said, not able to stop himself from smiling.

"Why didn't you just ask Dumbledore for help?" Potter asked.

"He hated us."

"Us?" Potter asked.

"Slytherin," Draco said.

"How could he hate a whole house?" Potter said.

"Other than simply being Slytherin?" Draco asked.

"You can't be Headmaster and hate a quarter of the students just for being in a certain house," Potter said.

Draco snorted. "Whenever Slytherin was about to win the house cup, he gave you hundreds of points. He never came to quidditch games Slytherin played unless they were against Gryffindor. He didn't really talk to any of us." He leaned back against the cabinet, letting his legs sprawl out onto the floor, "It was worse than hate. He didn't even care enough about Slytherin to hate it."

Potter chewed on the edge of his thumbnail absent-mindedly.

Draco noticed that Potter was wearing his full formal auror uniform. The robes were terribly wrinkled. He wondered if they were wrinkled to begin with or just wrinkled from Potter sitting on the couch. It could be either one knowing Potter.

"It must have been nice, though-" Draco said absently.

"Hm?" Potter said.

"-to be his favourite."

Potter frowned, looking more at the floor than Draco.

"What is it?" Draco asked, "You were his favourite. Even you can't deny that."

Potter leaned against the cabinets, "Yeah, no, I was, I guess."

Draco's brow furrowed in confusion.

"It's complicated," Potter said sourly. "I suppose you liked being a teacher's pet. You were always Snape's favourite."

"That isn't the same at all. Being liked by Professor Snape simply meant he didn't treat you like shite. He was never nice about it. He was only slightly more generous with praise than my father," Draco said.

"I would have taken it," Potter said. "Anything would've been better than being bullied all the time."

"That's what you get for being the headmaster's favourite," Draco said.

"It wasn't that," Potter said.

"It wasn't?"

Potter shook his head, "Snape went to school with my mum and dad. My dad sorta bullied him a lot when they were young. And he had a crush on my mum-"

Draco's eyebrows rose.

"He messed that up pretty badly, called her a mudblood," Potter said, "Joined Voldemort right out of school. Then he ended up hearing Trelawney's prophecy that me or Neville would end up finishing Voldemort off, and then he told Voldemort about it-"

Draco winced.

"So he kind of blamed himself for getting my mum killed, and yeah, since I look just like my dad, but I have my mum's eyes, I was kind of like the living embodiment of all his worst mistakes," Potter said. "But I didn't know all that till the end of the war. I just thought he was an arsehole."

Draco snorted, "What a petty bitch."

Potter grinned, seeming almost surprised to be smiling.

Draco went on, "Now that's someone that would have benefited from some fucking therapy."

Potter huffed a faint laugh, "Yeah. Probably." He ruffled a hand through his hair, fingers catching in the loose curls. Black hair contrasting with tan skin and a relaxed, easy smile Draco had only ever seen from a distance before. All sitting on the floor in his kitchen chatting with Draco-

Draco shook his head and looked away, chiding himself with annoyance, Don't even start.

"Which professor would you have wanted to be the favourite of?" Potter asked, "McGonagall?"

"No."

"Sprout?"

"Not a chance!" Draco said

"Flitwick, then."

Draco laughed, "That would be... acceptable."

"Acceptable?" Potter said with a snort, "What the fuck, Malfoy?"

Draco waved his hand, "Flitwick just wouldn't be my first choice."

"Who would then?" Potter asked.

"Professor Sinistra before we started taking elective classes. And Professor Vector after," Draco said.

Potter's brow furrowed, "What did Vector teach?"

"Arithmancy," Draco said.

Potter made a face.

"Just because you're a dullard doesn't mean we all are," Draco said.

"I'm not stupid," Potter said tensely.

"You wouldn't have survived this long if you were," Draco said.

Potter relaxed just a little, "I just don't find it interesting. Magic ought to be magical, not a load of maths."

"That explains why you were pants at Potions," Draco said.

"It was boring," Potter said.

"Muggle magic is all a load of maths as well," Draco said.

"Muggle magic?" Potter said.

Draco rolled his eyes, "Yes. It's that, what is it called..."

Potter shrugged.

Draco frowned, racking his brain, "...Technology! That's what it's called. Have you ever had a look at some muggle textbooks? The maths and sciences are just-" he shook his head in disbelief "It might as well have been in a different language."

"Why were you looking in muggle textbooks?" Potter asked.

"I had a thought once about trying to get muggle A levels," Draco said.

"Huh," Potter said.

"What?" Draco said, narrowing his eyes, looking for the insult he was sure was coming.

"Just, well, wouldn't it be easier to get your NEWT's? You can apply to take them every year in the spring," Potter said.

Draco smiled sourly at the floor, "I tried."

"Did you... fail?" Potter asked.

"They do the testing at Hogwarts," Draco said. He swallowed hard, remembering the walk from Hogsmeade, the long rise up the grassy lawn, the tall grey stonework, repaired but still stained by spell burns and curse bleed.

Draco laughed humourlessly, "I didn't- I couldn't even go in." He hadn't even reached the doors. As soon as he had been able breathe again, and he no longer felt like he was going to die suffocated in his own skin, he had turned and ran. He apparated away the moment he stepped foot outside the wards.

The doorbell rang, loud and sudden, making Draco flinch.

"I ordered a pizza," Potter said.

"Did you get extra cheese?" Draco asked.

"Nope," Potter said, pulling himself to his feet.

Draco groaned loudly.

Potter ignored him and went to the door. His voice was muffled by the walls as he talked to the delivery person and returned with a large pizza box.

"Potter. What did you mean, you didn't know what it did?" Draco asked.

Potter slid the pizza onto the little square table, "What?" He took out his wand and tapped it against the box, murmuring charms under his breath that soon had the pizza hot and smelling as divine as it must have straight out of the pizza shop's ovens.

"After I said you almost killed me, you said you didn't know what the spell did," Draco said.

"Cause I didn't," Potter said.

Draco's brow furrowed.

"Are you going to get up?" Potter asked. He flipped open the box and pulled out a slice of pizza.

"Why would you use a spell you didn't know?" Draco asked.

Potter sighed, "Because I found it in a book, and it was labelled 'for enemies'. I wasn't really thinking. I just said it."

"For enemies," Draco repeated quietly. But mostly he remembered how Potter had left the bathroom and just went on with his life. Dating Ginny Weasley, going off on missions to fight Voldemort... he hadn't even bothered to stalk Draco after that.

Draco closed his eyes, sliding down the cabinets until he was lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.

"I'll take that as a 'no'," Potter said dryly.

It was stupid. Draco knew it was stupid. He had always known that he cared more about Potter than Potter cared about him. From the very beginning, he had been fighting to have Potter take him seriously, as a rival student, a quidditch player, even... Draco grimaced to himself as he thought it, -even as a proper enemy, by taking the dark mark. But he had never seen Draco as anything more than a nuisance. Even less than that once the war started. He was barely more than nothing to Potter.

A tear leaked from the corner of his eye, and Draco slung his arm over his face so Potter wouldn't see.

He wondered what he was doing. Why was he even here?

"Malfoy," Potter said, followed by the soft weight of a blanket falling over Draco's body.

Draco pressed the tears into his elbow, rubbing his cheeks clean before moving his arm.

Potter had brought over the pillows from the couch, sitting on one as he set the pizza box on the kitchen floor.

"What?" Draco said faintly.

"You looked cold," Potter said.

Draco stared at him and then slowly sat up, pulling the blanket tight around his shoulders. Potter pushed one of the pillows, made of the same thick red material as the couch, over to Draco. Rather than sit on it, Draco pulled it into his lap, hugging it to his chest and resting his chin on top.

"Y'know, I'm not sure it would have been better for you if you had asked for help back then," Potter said. He nudged the pizza box closer to Draco, "You should eat. Have you had anything since the mocha?"

Draco shook his head.

"You should eat," Potter repeated. "You don't take very good care of yourself. I guess that's not too surprising considering... everything."

Draco obediently took a slice of pizza. Potter hadn't gotten extra cheese, but he had ordered nearly everything else.

"Because if you had asked for help, and I actually listened," Potter frowned faintly. "I would've gone to Dumbledore, and he would have... yeah, he would have made you a spy, like Snape was."

Draco started picking off the peppers, dropping them back in the box.

"He probably would have hidden Narcissa away, maybe at Grimmauld place. But since you had the mark, he'd have said you had to keep going to meetings," Potter was practically muttering to himself, his brow furrowed. "He would've tried to keep Lucius in Azkaban; that way, you would've had no choice but to spy to keep your mum safe."

"I don't think I would have been a very good spy," Draco said.

"Err, I suppose you weren't one of Voldemort's most trusted followers," Potter said.

Draco snorted, "Like anyone was going to trust the seventeen-year-old fuck up."

"You wouldn't have been, though," Potter said, "Dumbledore would have made it all work."

"What? But I was supposed to infiltrate the castle and kill him," Draco said.

Potter nodded even as he took a bite of pizza. "He could have worked out a way to fake his death..."

"At least then he'd be alive," Draco said darkly.

"He- he was already dying from a cursed ring." Potter said, "Actually, he might have had you kill him. So you could get closer to Voldemort."

Draco stared at him, horrified.

"And letting the death eaters into the castle; if Dumbledore knew maybe, Bill wouldn't have got hurt. Or more people would've got hurt," Potter said, frowning. "It's hard to know what he would have done."

Draco took a bite of pizza and decided he didn't particularly care for pepperoni at the moment.

"But I'm pretty sure Dumbledore wouldn't have been much help if he couldn't make use of you. He would've just locked you up somewhere out of the way like he did Sirius," Potter said, his tone sour.

Draco pulled off a piece of pepperoni and tossed it in the box; the flavour of it still lingered on the cheese.

They fell into a dark silence, the past draping over them like a heavy fog.

Draco finished his slice and took another, removing the toppings he didn't like. "So..." he glanced up at Potter and then quickly down at a pepper, flicking it into the box, "You were his favourite because he could make the most use of you?"

Potter looked at him, and for a moment, his expression was one Draco was very familiar with, one of pure burning hatred. Then the expression crumbled, his eyes flicking from one side to the other, mouth tight, "It- it was-"

Potter shook his head more to himself than Draco. "He cared about me. I know he did. I- maybe he wouldn't have been able to go through with it if he had been alive," his frown grew as if he was trying to convince himself it was true.

"He was important and treated me like I was important and like I belonged there and- and he was like- like-" Potter stuttered to a stop.

"It was complicated," Draco said.

Potter put a hand in his hair, catching on the curls and tugging gently, with a look of frustration.

"I understand complicated."

Potter frowned.

And Draco bristled at the expression, "Did you forget who my father was? The man so desperate for power and influence that he sacrificed his wealth, power, legacy, estate and nearly killed his family as well?"

"That's not complicated," Potter said, "He was a fucking dea-"

"He was my father," Draco interrupted sharply, "He was my father first. He taught me how to fly on a broom and took me along on his errands when I begged because I just wanted to spend time with him and took me out to ice cream afterwards. He was my father and I-" he nearly bit his tongue on the words, spitting them out with fierce embarrassment, "I loved him. And I hate him. And I can very well do both."

Draco frowned at his pizza, dragging a slice of pepperoni off the layer of greasy cheese and flicking it at Potter's face. It landed in the middle of the floor.

"So, fuck you," Draco muttered.

"Yeah... okay, I get it," Potter said carefully.

Draco turned the pizza around and ate the crust before throwing the half-eaten slice into the box.

"I've just never talked about any of..." Potter suddenly stood up, "I'm going to make some tea."

Potter used an aguamenti to fill the kettle rather than try to use the sink Draco was blocking. "Sweet with milk, yeah?"

Draco blinked, a little surprised that Potter was making him tea as well. "Yes. Please," he said quietly and leaned back against the cabinets.

Potter got quiet after that, chewing on his thumbnail in what Draco was starting to recognise as his 'thinking face'. Once they were both done with their tea, Potter retired to his room, even though it was still early. Draco eventually convinced himself to get up, mostly to use the loo, and then went to bed. He covered himself in all the blankets Potter had given him until he was almost too warm, letting his toes and face peek out to cool off.

Draco wasn't terribly tired, though he felt like he should be. There was plenty for him to think about anyway. Potter's relationship to that old-ass-Dumbledore for one.

Draco had heard the prophecy about Voldemort and Potter, eventually, long after it was relevant. It was strange to think that something like that came to change every facet of Potter's life, mostly for the worst. And Dumbledore had known, and he used Potter, to see an end to the dark lord.

Draco turned over, trying to get more comfortable on his right side. He pressed his cheek into the cool fabric on the edge of the pillow.

But Draco had to wonder if he was all that different. There was no prophecy for him, but there was blood. As soon as he was born, the weight of being the heir-apparent, their family name and legacy, was placed upon him. He had been proud of that once.

Draco rolled onto his back. He looked up at the faint shadows of light on the ceiling; reflections of the street light below caught and cast into this room through the small square windows in the living room. The light moved as a car drove past, the rumble of its engine muffled by the walls.

It had always been quiet in the manor, especially at night. Birdsong would sometimes carry through the windows come morning, but at night, the stone walls muted all the sounds outside, every chirping frog and singing cricket. Up until he was eleven, he fell asleep to only the sound of his own breathing and quiet heartbeat.

It had taken him a long time to get used to all the noise in London, which was never quiet and never slept. There was always someone awake and living their life on the London streets. That, at least, he liked. Draco finally began to relax, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to him and pulling him down to sleep.

There was always someone working, drinking, walking, laughing; there was someone out there living their life. It was nice knowing that he was never completely alone.