When Draco at last descended from his room, late in the evening, there was no evidence of his breakdown earlier that day. He’d washed the ink stains from his hands and had scrubbed the redness from his eyes, and his hair had been combed back into its usual, uniform style. The only difference in his behaviour was that he was more lofty and cold than usual, if that was even possible.

 

It failed to irritate Harry like it usually would, though. Draco was drawing the front of icy indifference around himself like a cloak, but beneath sat the smarting wounds of his friends’ betrayal, Harry knew. He knew because it reminded him a little of himself. Harry was quick to stoke the fires of his temper whenever the unpleasantness of the Dursleys flashed through his mind, because it was easier to cope with than giving into the sharp grief that was always swimming beneath the surface.

 

Harry didn’t want to think about how he was relating to Draco now.

 

Instead, he distracted himself with the usual evening Snape-enforced Monopoly game. Draco had once again begged for Snape to join them, and to Harry’s surprise, he had actually agreed for the first time. He settled on the ground opposite to Harry in a flurry of black robes, back rigid and hawk-like eyes narrowed as he observed the dice rolls and exchanges of money. At first, Harry was a little nervous with him there, but he gradually settled into the usual gameplay.

 

Harry had been planning to let Draco win the game, since he was having such a terrible day. Since Monopoly was partially luck-based, this mostly consisted of Harry agreeing to property deals that were far lower than what he usually would expect, but he thought it was the right thing to do and had been expecting Snape to do the same. To his shock, Snape played ruthlessly. He picked his properties thoughtfully, and took a great deal of vindictive pleasure in collecting rent and brokering utterly unfair property trade deals. Over an hour into the game, Harry was becoming incredibly frustrated by him.

 

“Come on, sir,” Harry said exasperatedly. “It’s an even trade! Fenchurch Street Station for Regent Street! Just accept it!”

 

“And allow you to obtain a monopoly so easily?” Snape’s eyebrows rose. “I think not. I’ll take nothing less than an additional five hundred.”

 

“That’s ridiculous!” Harry snapped. “You have three railroads, I’m giving you the fourth one! That’s such a good deal!”

 

“And I suppose the green properties are merely pocket change?” Snape smirked. “I’ll take nothing less than what I’ve offered.”

 

Harry groaned. “That’s basically all my money! I can’t give you that much!”

 

Snape thought for several moments. “I’ll drop the price to two hundred and fifty if you add in The Angel Islington.”

 

“I’m not giving you two properties and money!” Harry hissed. “Are you actually mad? No!”

 

“Then we don’t have a deal,” Snape said. “Very well. I believe it’s Draco’s roll?”

 

“Wait, wait, hold on!” Harry bit his lip and stared at the board. He really, really needed this monopoly. Snape only had one of the light blue properties, and it was only a cheap one…

 

“Fine,” Harry agreed reluctantly. “I agree.”

 

“Excellent,” Snape said, the sneer evident in his voice. Harry made sure to glare at him with as much vehement hatred as he could muster while he handed over the property cards. He didn’t even have the money for his houses after all that…

 

“He is completely ripping you off, Harry,” Draco announced after the money had been exchanged.

 

“You think I don’t know that?” Harry grumbled. He shoved the dice in Draco’s direction. “I hate you all. You’re evil people.”

 

“Oh, I love it when you lose,” Draco said with a delighted sigh. Harry scowled at him.

 

Draco’s glee was short-lived, as Snape proceeded to subject him to the same brutal property deals until his eventual victory. Harry, who hadn’t known that someone could be so good at Monopoly, made a mental note to never play against Snape again.

 

At least it seemed to make Draco happy, though. That pleased Harry, especially since later that night, he was fairly certain he could hear the muffled sounds of Draco crying into his pillow. He needed any small joys he could get.

 

Still, he decided to take after Snape and do two things: one, not acknowledge what had happened with Pansy and two, treat Draco as normal. Harry knew that if he was in the same situation, he wouldn’t want a fuss, and Draco certainly wouldn’t either. That meant playing their violent football knockoff with the usual vigour two days after the letter incident.

 

Usual vigour might have been a bit of an understatement, though. Despite the detached front Draco was putting on, he was clearly still angry about the whole situation with his friends. This, of course, manifested in an usually brutal match of their version of football, which was really turning out to be more like dodgeball with the way they were playing. Harry didn’t particularly mind, though. After all, he was more than capable of holding his own, and Draco did want to pretend like nothing had happened, so he had every right to punt the football at Draco as hard as he possibly could.

 

When Snape came to call them in for lunch, they were both rather worse for wear, caked in dirt and a fair bit of blood. The man’s face settled into a deep scowl as he took in their appearances.

 

"What on earth do you two think you're doing?" Snape hissed.

 

"Football," Harry said brightly, wiping away the blood under his nose. It had started bleeding a bit after a particularly hard kick of the ball to his face.

 

Snape glowered at him and got out his wand. He jabbed it at Harry, and after a brief, sharp sting, the blood dripping from his nose tapered off. "This is the second day running I have called the two of you in for lunch, only to discover you covered in filth and blood! I may not be an expert in sport, but I highly doubt whatever you're doing is proper!"

 

"We're Quidditch players at heart, Severus," Draco said innocently. "This is a rough sport, that’s all. We're fine!"

 

“Really,” Harry said with a vehement nod.

 

Snape stared between the two of them, lips white and thinly pressed together. He clearly knew they were up to something, but just couldn’t prove it. Harry couldn’t really understand what the problem was here. He and Draco had two years worth of pent-up hatred and rivalry that the football games were helping them channel. Snape had said he wanted them to get over it, after all…

 

Snape muttered something under his breath that sounded vaguely like 'idiotic teenagers' as Harry and Draco shuffled inside. He threw out an arm to stop them from walking any further than the bristly mat by the door.

 

“Do not trek mud through my kitchen!” he said severely. “Shoes off, now. Tergeo.” 

 

Harry and Draco both yelped in tandem as they were hit by twin Cleaning Charms. Harry’s skin felt rather tender and sensitive where the dirt had been cleaned, like he had been harshly scoured.

 

“Merlin’s beard, Severus!” Draco hissed, rubbing his arms and glaring around reproachfully. “Don’t put so much power behind that thing! You just took the entire top layer of my skin off!”

 

Snape sighed loudly and pointed to the kitchen table where their lunch was waiting without bothering to respond.

 

"You two are done with that football for now," he added as they sat down to eat. "I know you're up to something, and I don't like it."

 

"But Severus, we're both enjoying ourselves!" Draco protested.

 

“Do not argue with me," Snape said, glaring at Draco. "You will find something else to occupy your time."

 

Harry kept his eyes firmly fastened to his meal as all of this went down, feeling a little wary. As he reflected upon it further, he realised Snape had been in a completely rotten mood all day. He’d been snapping at both of them all morning for various minor incidents, including one hissed reprimand directed at Draco for breathing too loudly. Harry wasn't sure why Snape had suddenly decided to go back to being his usual, bastard self, but he wasn't particularly happy about it.

 

Lunch was rather silent after Snape’s football ban. Draco seemed irritated, while Harry was being careful so he wouldn’t set Snape off. While he felt reasonably assured by now that Snape wouldn’t do anything like Uncle Vernon when he was angry, Harry still wasn’t in the mood to get yelled at or dumped with a pile of dirty cauldrons.

 

Snape cleared his throat and examined them closely. “Perhaps it would be good for the two of you to get out of the house for a bit.”

 

Harry looked up, interested. Given Snape’s behaviour, he hadn’t expected much interaction between them and the irritable Potions Master that day…

 

“Where are we going?”

 

Snape hesitated for a moment, and Harry got the impression he was struggling with whatever he was about to say. “The park. There is a travelling steam fair company who have set up a number of rides and other attractions.”

 

Despite himself, Harry’s face lit up. There was a funfair company that visited Little Whinging in the summer, and Harry had never been allowed to go with the Dursleys! Even when he wandered over to the park to look around by himself, Harry didn’t have any money to spend. All he could do was look longingly at the rides and enviously watch the other children who had the funds to enjoy themselves. Dudley was almost always around, too, which was certainly not desirable, since he’d always start up an impromptu game of Harry Hunting if he caught sight of him.

 

But a funfair he could actually interact with, and a lack of vengeful cousins wandering around the place and looking for excuses to beat Harry up? It sounded idyllic.

 

Draco seemed far less enthused. He opened his mouth, as if to protest, before abruptly closing it again. Harry was fairly certain he’d just barely bitten back some sort of insult about Muggles.

 

“Now, I have some important business to attend to this afternoon,” Snape said, “so the two of you will be unaccompanied.”

 

Harry sharply jolted upright. Had Snape seriously just said that? Was he really giving them permission to go out, especially alone?

 

Wasn’t he really worried about Sirius Black, though? Why had Snape suddenly decided to relax his rules? Considering the horrid mood he was in, Harry would have expected a clamp down on rules and regulations, not a whole new amount of freedom that neither he or Draco had even asked for.

 

Harry just about restrained himself from asking any of these questions, too worried that Snape would change his mind if Harry pointed out any of the obvious flaws in this plan. He really did want to get out of the house, after all. Being locked up in Spinner’s End was very boring.

 

“That sounds amazing!” Harry said happily. “When can we leave?”

 

“After lunch, when Draco has changed into his Muggle clothes,” Snape said, raking his eyes over the green robes Draco was wearing, which were still quite muddy from his and Harry’s aggressive take on football. “And Draco, I will remind you to behave while in the presence of Muggles, or -”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine!” Draco rolled his eyes emphatically.

 

“Watch it,” Snape said sharply, his nostrils flaring. “Your abhorrent behaviour in the past has thoroughly stripped you of the right to brush off my reminders. If you violate the Statute of Secrecy while under my care, I will be truly furious, so you’d better be careful.”

 

He and Draco both scowled at each other, and Harry once again wondered what could possibly be going on with Snape. He had spent the whole of lunch wielding his knife and fork like they were weapons, not cutlery, and he was still clearly in a bad mood, judging by his snarling face. If he was so angry, why on earth was he actually encouraging Harry and Draco to get out of the house and do something fun? Snape in a bad mood was a happiness vacuum at best! Very weird…

 

Of course, it turned out Snape wasn’t by any means eager about the situation, even if he was letting them outside. As soon as Draco had changed into Muggle clothes, he began to fill them in on his long list of rules.

 

“As you are both aware, Black is still at large,” Snape said, lacing his fingers together. “As Harry is most likely a target for his violence, the two of you have to be inordinately cautious today.”

 

“How would Black even know he’s in Cokeworth?” Draco asked, gesturing to Harry.

 

Exactly, he thought grumpily to himself. The world really had gone topsy-turvy when he was thinking about how much sense Draco Malfoy was making…

 

“Black may have his ways,” Snape said sternly. “After all, he is an extraordinarily dangerous man. Therefore, the two of you will keep your wands on you the whole time. Harry will also be carrying this so you can escape in case of an emergency.”

 

Snape reached into his pocket and handed Harry a long, thin plastic tube filled with clear liquid. Harry frowned, and held it up to the light. “Is this… a glowstick? What on earth…?”

 

“It’s obviously a Portkey, Potter!” he said exasperatedly. “Use some sense!”

 

Harry stared at him, baffled. “A what?”

 

Draco whipped around to face Harry, his face the picture of incredulity. “A Portkey, you dolt!”

 

“I don’t know what that is!” Harry snapped.

 

He scoffed. “You’re having me on!”

 

“Draco!” Snape hissed. “Don’t be rude. I believe you’re aware that Harry’s relatives are Muggles? They do not have the ability to use Portkeys, so Harry may really have not been exposed to one before.”

 

“Right,” Draco mumbled, his cheeks colouring. Harry thought it was unwise to point out that Snape had been irritated at him for not realising it was a Portkey just moments earlier.

 

“A Portkey is an enchanted object that can be used to magically transport the person touching it to a secondary location,” Snape explained, his scowl easing. “Typically, wizards use rather mundane objects you would expect to see anywhere - things that could blend in with everyday litter, so Muggles don’t pay much attention to them. In this case, a glowstick is appropriate, since they’re sold at the fair. Snap it and it will transport you to a secondary safe location. Only use this if you fear your life is in danger, is that understood?”

 

Harry nodded, carefully placing the glowstick in his jacket pocket.

 

“And finally, the two of you are to stick together at all times,” Snape said, his tone extraordinarily stern. “I don’t want you arguing and running off, or disagreeing about what you want to do, or separating because you’re unsupervised. The consequences will be utterly dire if I found out you've left each others’ sides - and believe me, I will know.”

 

Harry nodded and ran his fingers across the runes carved into his tracking bracelet. He genuinely forgot it was there, sometimes, but at times like these, he remembered how Snape had such omniscient knowledge over his location.

 

“Here’s some money,” he said, handing Harry some notes. “Draco, Harry will help you with prices and payments. Ensure you ask. I’ll see both of you in a few hours - be back well before dark, and do not leave the park and go elsewhere.”

 

“Bye, Severus!” Draco said, getting to his feet. Harry followed him, and the two of them stepped out of the front door together. Harry couldn’t help his shiver of anticipation as he walked over the threshold and out of the driveway. Even though Snape had just given him permission, it still felt wrong to exit the property.

 

Snape still didn’t seem entirely happy about the situation, though. He watched after Harry and Draco as they walked down the road for a very long time, eyes dark with worry.

 

“I’m glad we’re shot of him,” Draco muttered when they were out of earshot and around the corner. “He’s been in a horrid mood all morning!”

 

“I know,” Harry said. “I’m pretty surprised he actually sent us out, actually. He doesn’t do that when he’s in a good mood!”

 

“Right - mass murderers are out for your blood.” Draco paused for a moment, then rounded on Harry. “Come on, Potter, tell me! Why is Black after you?”

 

Harry frowned. “How should I know?”

 

“Don’t try and push me off!” Draco complained. “Severus clearly thinks Black’s after you, and he wouldn’t get so panicked for no good reason! What does that madman want with you? Stop lying and just tell me already, it’s killing me!”

 

“I haven’t got any reason to lie, you know,” Harry said a bit irritably. “I don’t have a clue why everyone seems to think Black is interested in me, specifically. Snape told me that it’s because I’m the Boy-Who-Lived, and he’s not happy about me killing Voldemort -”

 

“Don’t say his name!” Draco snapped, putting his hands over his ears. His face had drained of all colour. “Are you mad? Do you have a death wish or something?!”

 

Harry rolled his eyes and didn’t respond. After two years of being friends with Ron, he was used to the strange panic of Purebloods when he said Voldemort’s name. As the man in question had tried to kill Harry multiple times in his thirteen years of life, he was not particularly concerned about upsetting Voldemort by saying his name. What was he going to do, try to kill Harry? He already wanted to anyway!

 

After a moment of glaring, Draco continued on. “That’s really it? Are you serious? Don’t you have people trying to kill you every other year for vanquishing the Dark Lord? What’s the issue with him specifically?”

 

“Good bloody question,” Harry grumbled. “But either way, Snape’s doing my head in with all the paranoia.”

 

“I wonder if there’s anything more he’s not telling you,” Draco said thoughtfully.

 

“Probably - this is Snape. But he’s certainly not telling me, whatever it is.”

 

Draco’s shoulders slumped. “He won’t tell me either, and believe me, I’ve been asking… I even eavesdropped on him and Professor McGonagall while they were talking about it a few weeks ago, but I got caught before I heard anything useful.”

 

“What did you hear?” Harry asked, curious.

 

“Nothing that made sense,” Draco grumbled. “Professor McGonagall said something about you being friends with Black, which was weird. Severus noticed me listening in right after and made me scrub the laboratory floor for listening in…”

 

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “But I’ve never met Black before! How could I be friends with him?”

 

“Beats me.” Draco shrugged. “I must have misheard, it was all muffled. Anyway, Severus was furious with me for eavesdropping, so I’m fairly sure he’s refusing to tell me about Sirius Black out of spite, now. It’s ridiculous! He’s related to me, after all, so if anyone has the right to know, it’s me…”

 

“He’s what?” Harry demanded, whirling around to face him.

 

“Did you not know?” Draco frowned. “I thought everybody did. Everyone of my status, at least, since we’re all taught the lineage. My mother was a Black before she married my father. Sirius is her cousin.”

 

“Did she ever tell you about him?” Harry asked eagerly. “You must know loads!”

 

“My mass-murdering cousin isn’t exactly breakfast conversation, so no, I don’t know much,” Draco said with a roll of his eyes. “Mother did say to me once that she was surprised he had it in him, though. They all thought Sirius was a blood traitor, since he’s the only Black to ever sort Gryffindor. He’s just as Dark as the rest of them, as it turns out…”

 

That surprised Harry a little. He supposed it was a bit ridiculous to assume that all of Voldemort’s followers were Slytherins, but it still shocked him to learn a Gryffindor had joined his ranks.

 

Draco seemed fascinated by other matters, though. He was staring at Harry, obviously surprised. “Did you really not know that I’m related to the Blacks?”

 

“I don’t particularly care about your ancestors, shockingly,” Harry said shortly.

 

“But I know all of yours,” Draco said with a frown. “My parents taught me the whole Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

 

Harry was half-certain if he told Draco he didn’t have a clue what the Sacred Twenty-Eight was, his head might explode, so he simply said, “I was raised by Muggles, remember? I don’t know much about any of that stuff.”

 

“Odd.” Draco stared at him for a long moment. “You’re distantly related to the Blacks too, you know.”

 

“I am?” Harry said curiously. The only relatives he knew of were on his mother’s side of the family, and even that knowledge was patchy since Aunt Petunia hated discussing her parents. His father’s ancestors were a complete blind spot.

 

“Yep,” Draco said with a nod. “Your great-grandmother was a Black. She and my great-grandmother were sisters, actually.”

 

“So we’re related?” Harry asked, feeling a small surge of disgust that he tried not to show on his face.

 

“We are - I think we’re third cousins?” Draco said, furrowing his eyebrows with concentration. “Most of us old pureblood families are related in some way, you know. That does include you, even if your own blood status is - well…”

 

“I can’t believe you learnt all of this stuff,” Harry said, shocked. If this wasn’t Draco, he’d have actually admitted how impressive that level of memorisation was. It rivalled even Hermione.

 

“Any good pureblood heir does.” Draco jutted his chin out slightly.

 

After a moment of hesitation, Harry asked, “So… would you know my grandparents’ names?”

 

“Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, I’m fairly certain.” Draco turned to him, obviously surprised. “How can you not know that?”

 

“My aunt didn’t know them,” Harry said, which wasn’t even a lie. Not that she'd have told him about his magical grandparents even if they had been intimately acquainted, of course…

 

Fleamont and Euphemia. Harry stored that precious nugget of information away in the back of his mind, smiling to himself a little.

 

Draco was looking at him like he was a puzzle piece that wasn’t quite clicking into place. “You know, I keep forgetting that you’re Muggle-raised. Since you’re Harry Potter and all… well. It’s baffling.”

 

“Look, we’re here,” Harry said quickly, gesturing to the park ahead of them, desperate to steer the topic away from his relatives.

 

It was an exciting thing to behold. Harry had walked past the park with Snape and Draco when they’d gone to Tesco on his second day here, and it had been a largely empty field containing nothing but a couple of tattered football nets, adjoined by a slightly depressing and neglected children’s playground. Now, the green had been covered with all sorts of funfair rides and food stalls. They were old-fashioned in style, and all were painted in metallic reds and golds. Harry smiled to himself at the Gryffindor colours - Draco was probably disgusted by the lack of green and silver.

 

Harry could spot a ferris wheel and a carousel amongst a number of small-scale rides that had been set up, as well as a few game stalls. Children were excitedly shouting and running around, while parents gathered in clumps at the corners and watched with smiles.

 

Draco, to Harry’s shock, looked utterly fascinated as opposed to the look of revulsion that Harry had been anticipating. Draco stared at the ferris wheel for several moments with his mouth hanging open slightly before he turned to Harry and hissed, “How do Muggles have ferris wheels? They don’t have magic!”

 

“They make them work with electricity,” Harry explained. He wondered where wizards stored their ferris wheels, since Draco seemed to actually know what they were. Maybe Harry could visit it sometime in the wizarding world.

 

Draco frowned. “You and Severus say that for everything!”

 

“That’s because Muggles use electricity for pretty much everything.”

 

“You’d think that someone would be able to tell me what it actually is, then,” Draco grumbled.

 

Harry shrugged. “I’m not an expert in science, so I’m really not sure. Anyway, do you want to try it out?”

 

Draco hesitantly stared up at the ferris wheel for several moments before his expression changed to a look of firm resolve. “You know what? I think I would like that. Let’s go!”

 

Harry grinned. He paid the attendant - Draco watched on with a puzzled frown as the man handed over their change - and the two of them joined the back of the queue. They were quickly loaded onto the ride.

 

It took some time for everyone to be loaded on, and eventually, Harry and Draco’s bench ended up at the top of the wheel while the people below were secured. Harry pointed out over the roofs stretching out before them to the horizon, where the abandoned factory was clearly visible. “Do you reckon we could see Snape’s house from here?”

 

“Possibly…”

 

It was rather windy at the top, and the carriage began to swing back and forth with a slight screech. Draco clung to the lap bar and stared at Harry with wide eyes. “Harry, er - this is safe, isn’t it?”

 

“I think so.”

 

“You think so?” Draco demanded, face going white. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

Harry snorted. “Are you scared of heights or something?”

 

“I’m a Quidditch player!” Draco snapped. “Obviously not, you knobhead!”

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry said quickly. “But yeah, it’s safe. They inspect these things all the time, I think.”

 

“Can these inspectors be trusted?” Draco demanded loftily.

 

“Yup. Muggles wouldn’t go on them if they couldn’t be.”

 

Draco continued to look vaguely sceptical, like he doubted the intellectual discretion of the other Muggles on the ride, but Harry noticed he just about managed to relax by the time the ride concluded. He still looked rather relieved to be free of the ferris wheel, though.

 

“What next?” Harry asked eagerly.

 

“No more of those just yet,” Draco said a tad faintly. Harry pulled a face, but remembering Snape’s instructions about sticking together, couldn’t do much about his refusal. It wasn’t too big of a problem, though; there were plenty of other things to do on the ground.

 

They both had a few goes on the high striker, where Harry was immensely irritated when Draco managed to hit the bell before he did. The other boy crowed about it incessantly and held it over Harry’s head until he threatened to take the hammer to Draco next. After, they took a trip through a funhouse full of oddly shaped mirrors on every wall that twisted and distorted their features, and Harry was vindicated when Draco smacked headfirst into his own reflection. He teased Draco all the way to the hook-a-duck, a game that ended up being largely unsuccessful when they hauled up the lowest possible point scores, so all they managed to win were two small lollipops. They finally ended up stalling near a claw machine, which Draco became very obsessed with.

 

“Draco, those things are rigged,” Harry said for the third time as the toy Draco was attempting to lift fell through the claw’s pincers once again. “Just give up already.”

 

“But I was so close that time!” Draco hissed, pressing his face close to the glass wall and squinting at the prizes below. “I just need a few more turns…”

 

“You’re going to spend all the money!” Harry complained.

 

“Half of it is mine,” Draco said, crossing his arms. “Come on, I’ll let you have the prize when I win it!”

 

“No.”

 

“Please, Harry, I don’t know what the coins mean! Give me a hand!”

 

“Only if you agree to let me teach you what the coins are,” Harry decided.

 

Draco huffed. “Fine.”

 

“It’s really not that difficult to figure out yourself, the numbers are literally on the pieces…”

 

A few painful minutes later (Harry grouchily thought Snape owed him a huge favour for suffering through teaching Draco the difference between a twenty pence coin and a fifty pence piece) the claw machine was loaded with coins, and Draco at last found luck. The claw held fast and dropped a prize.

 

“Finally!” Draco laughed as he bent down to retrieve his reward.

 

“You only had to bankrupt us for it,” Harry muttered, feeling around in his considerably lighter pockets.

 

“Have it, then,” Draco said with a shrug, pressing a keyring into Harry’s hand. “Why don’t we get some food? I’m starving…”

 

He began to walk in the direction of a stall selling fish and chips, but Harry remained frozen in place, the screams and shouts of the funfair dying into a dull drone around him.

 

In his palm was a small keyring of a stuffed monkey.

 

Suddenly, Harry was transported back to his five-year-old self, watching Aunt Petunia place a toy monkey far out of his reach while she scowled down at his crestfallen face. His chest hurt in the same way it had that day.

 

“I do wonder what they did with the War Orphan’s stipend…”

 

That stuffed monkey he’d wanted couldn’t have cost more than five pounds.

 

Someone grabbed the crook of his elbow, and Harry flinched rather violently. He jerked his head up from the keyring and saw Draco staring at him rather worriedly. “What’s your problem?”

 

“N-Nothing,” he stammered, shoving the monkey into his pocket. Out of sight, out of mind. The sting of the memory was harder to press down, though.

 

“Get a move on, then!” Draco said impatiently. “I don’t want Severus to storm over here and kill me for abandoning you to get blown up by Sirius Black. Come on…”

 

Harry followed him to a queue, where they each bought a styrofoam container full of steaming hot chips, drenched in salt and vinegar. They sat together on the grassy verge to eat, and watched the people milling about. After a few minutes, Harry glanced to the side and noticed Draco was staring at him with a slightly strained look on his face. He frowned. “What?”

 

Draco hesitated for several moments, and stared at the grass. “Pot - Harry. I…I know I have no right to ask you this, considering everything but - but please. Don’t tell anyone about my, er… my reaction to Pansy’s news the other day.”

 

Harry’s mouth fell open - not from the request, but from Draco’s tone. He sounded apologetic. He’d said please. Something about the desperation in his voice made Harry’s heart seize, and he quickly said, “I wasn’t going to.”

 

Draco gave him a dubious look, and Harry pressed on. “Look. While we’ve been with Snape, I think both of us have seen things about each other that we wouldn’t want people at Hogwarts to know.” The bruises. “Do you know about mutually assured destruction?”

 

“Of course,” Draco said loftily. “It’s the idea of attack deterrence because an attack on either side would result in the complete annihilation of all parties.”

 

“Well, it’s like that,” Harry said. “I won’t tell anyone about your personal stuff because you know too much about me that you could also tell everyone at school, and vice versa. Even if we don’t trust each other I think we can trust that we don’t want any of our personal stuff getting out.”

 

Draco looked visibly relieved at that statement. “Good point…”

 

“And for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have said anything anyway,” Harry added. “It would just be the wrong thing to do.”

 

Draco looked at him for a long stretch, and snorted. “You can be annoyingly decent, you know.”

 

“Care to reward my annoying decency with another go on a ride?” Harry asked, finishing his last chip and licking the salt off his fingers. “I want a go on the carousel.”

 

“I knew you had a Slytherin side buried somewhere,” Draco muttered, throwing their empty containers into a nearby bin.

 

“I nearly got sorted into Slytherin, you know,” Harry confessed as he started to walk over to the ride queue. Draco abruptly grabbed onto his arm and whirled him back around. His mouth was hanging open, and he seemed lost for words.

 

“You’re lying!” he shouted when he recovered his wits.

 

“It’s true!” Harry laughed, freeing his arm. “The Sorting Hat said I’d do well there, actually.”

 

“Why didn’t you get sorted into Slytherin, then?” Draco demanded.

 

“Er - dunno. Guess the hat just decided I’d do better in Gryffindor.”

 

Harry thought it probably wasn’t best to say he’d specifically requested anywhere but Slytherin, in large part because of Draco and his general prattishness.

 

“It was probably for the best,” Draco decided. “If we’d shared a common room and a dormitory, I think there’s a high chance we would have killed each other by now.”

 

“You’ve got that right,” Harry agreed, thinking of the tense atmosphere of the last few weeks. “Hurry up and get in the queue with me!”

 

“Fine, fine…”

 

Draco began to trail behind Harry as he headed straight for the carousel.

 

“Do me a favour, Harry,” Draco said.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Tell Severus you almost sorted Slytherin, and let me be there when you say it.” Draco smirked. “He’ll have a brain aneurysm.”

 

Harry chuckled. “I bet he would.”

 

“What is this thing you’re dragging me on, then?” Draco asked. He stared at the carousel, looking mildly alarmed. “Why have the Muggles stuck poles through horse corpses?”

 

Harry turned to him in horror. “They aren’t real!” 

 

“Really?”

 

“No way!” Harry said quickly. “It’s all mechanical, they’re made of metal! They move up and down and stuff, look. It’s more electricity.”

 

Draco watched closely as the carousel started. He looked utterly perplexed. “I just don’t get it. What’s the point?” 

 

“It’s just fun!” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “It doesn’t need to have a point! Just wait and see…”

 

---

 

“So?” Harry asked, as they stepped off the ride. “Any good?"

 

“It wasn’t an entirely worthless experience,” Draco admitted rather reluctantly. “It was sort of like riding a broom, but slower.”

 

“Will you try more of the rides, then?” Harry asked.

 

“I suppose,” Draco agreed. “If I’m being forced to live like a Muggle, I might as well partake in some of the more enjoyable activities, as well as the menial.”

 

Harry tried to hide his grin as they headed over to a faster-looking ride. Draco had just referred to something Muggle as enjoyable. Something about that was immensely satisfying.

 

“Are there no funfairs in the wizarding world, then?” Harry asked curiously.

 

Draco shook his head. “We have a couple of the same games and the ferris wheel, as I mentioned, but not much else."

 

Harry whistled. That was really quite strange to him.

 

“Well, let’s make the most of this one, then,” he decided.

 

Harry was also making up for a lot of lost time that night. Every single ride he went on felt like a great big middle finger to the stupid Dursleys, who would be irritated to know he was having any sort of fun. While Harry didn’t know how you were supposed to make up for the childhood you’d missed out on so long after the fact, at last getting to experience these things did help to ease a bit of the sting, strangely enough.

 

“So, what’s that pink stuff?” Draco asked, pointing at a young boy holding onto a stick of candyfloss.

 

“Candyfloss. Want some?"

 

“What is it?” Draco asked a little nervously.

 

“Just sugar, I think,” Harry said. He’d never actually had any himself, but Dudley seemed to enjoy it. “Let’s go buy some.”

 

Ten minutes later, a wide-eyed Draco was staring at the remains of his candyfloss in awe. “Now that is a Muggle thing I can get behind.”

 

“It is pretty good,” Harry remarked, smiling to himself.

 

“I can’t believe Honeydukes hasn’t patented this yet!” Draco said, clearly shocked. “It’s incredible! Can you buy this anywhere else? I have to ask Severus to get some!”

 

“He probably hates it, you know,” Harry said. “Miserable git that he is. He definitely won’t buy it.”

 

“I’ll wear him down,” Draco announced.

 

Harry sat back with a satisfied sigh, but his shoulders slumped slightly as he noticed the gradually pinkening sky. Snape had specifically ordered them to be back before dark, and sunset was drawing ever closer. And, shockingly enough, he’d just had a day out with Draco and had immensely enjoyed it.

 

A whole day with Draco, where he’d willingly interacted with the Muggle world with nary an insult. Harry was reluctantly coming to realise that maybe - just maybe - Snape was telling the truth when he said Draco was changing. Harry didn’t quite know what to do about it, or what to do about the fact that a Draco who was less focused on constantly degrading Muggles and Muggleborns was quite good fun. He had to keep reminding himself that Draco was also Malfoy, the nasty boy he knew from Hogwarts.

 

The two people were becoming more and more distinct in his mind.

 

Suddenly, Harry noticed an orange glow at the very edge of the fairground, where a small group of people had gathered.

 

“Hey, Draco, can you see that?” he said, pointing to the rising torrent of flames. “A bonfire! Let’s go have a look.”

 

Harry was almost halfway to the bonfire when he realised the sound of footsteps on the grass behind him had stopped. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Draco was frozen in place, the reflections of the firelight flickering in his wide grey eyes. He started to slowly take a few steps backwards before completely sprinting in the opposite direction.

 

Harry muttered an oath under his breath and started running after him, remembering Snape’s vaguely threatening instructions about sticking together. Draco was surprisingly fast, and it took him a good couple of minutes to catch up with the other boy when he finally stopped running and leaned heavily against a tree far away from the Muggles, gasping for breath.

 

“What are you doing?” Harry asked when he finally caught up. “Why did you -”

 

“Just go away, Potter!” Draco shouted.

 

Harry suddenly felt as though a heavy object had smacked into his chest. He stumbled back several steps before he lost his balance and fell to the ground with a thud. He grimaced and struggled to get his breath back, since the force of the impact had winded him a little, and gingerly lifted himself from the ground to try and see Draco. He had slid to the grass by now, although he was facing away from Harry and staring pointedly at the tree in front of him. His shoulders were heaving up and down with rapid breaths.

 

He hadn’t touched Harry, but that forceful shove had almost certainly originated from Draco. Harry wasn’t the only one struggling with occasional bouts of accidental magic, it seemed.

 

And as he got to his feet and started to slowly walk towards Draco, Harry realised Draco’s chest wasn’t heaving from the exertion of running. No, he seemed to be panicking. He was practically hyperventilating, actually.

 

Harry’s mind suddenly flashed back to a couple of weeks ago, when Draco had gotten into that explosive argument with Snape and started throwing things, or the shouting, crying breakdown he’d had just two days ago. After everything that had come out about the Dursleys, Harry often forgot he wasn’t the only one living at Spinner’s End who was grappling with some serious issues. No, Draco certainly had some significant problems of his own, even if Harry didn’t know the precise details of what they were…

 

So, he was rather hesitant and slow as he approached Draco, not quite sure what the right thing to do was. Harry intentionally took heavy footsteps so Draco knew he was approaching. The other boy didn’t look up, though.

 

“We can go back to Spinner’s End, if you’d like?” he suggested quietly.

 

“Fine,” Draco said in a tight voice. He got up from the ground and rubbed a hand across his face, intentionally not looking at Harry. “I’m sick of this Muggle nonsense, anyway.”

 

Somehow, the comment didn’t anger Harry like it usually would. Perhaps it was because of the hollowness behind Draco’s words, or the pinched, unhappy look of his face as he finally turned back to Harry. He knew Draco’s dignity mattered to him quite a lot, and certainly didn’t think it was right to start an argument with Draco when something was so clearly wrong with him, so Harry didn’t respond to the mean-spirited comment. They walked through the fairground in silence and emerged into the quiet streets beyond.

 

They were halfway to Spinner’s End when Draco suddenly wheeled around and glared at him. “Don’t you dare ask me about it.”

 

“I wasn’t going to,” Harry said with an intentionally casual shrug. “I’m not Snape, you know. I don’t have to drag every secret of your life out of you.”

 

“Good.”

 

Harry was, admittedly, dying with curiosity about the situation, but Draco had been very good about not asking prying questions when Harry had had his various minor freakouts over the last few weeks. He felt obligated to extend the same courtesy. It had been the bonfire that had triggered the incident, that Harry was certain of. Draco had been happy and laughing up until he’d seen that. It was like a switch had gone off.

 

But why?

 

Draco certainly didn’t want to provide him with answers. They walked back to Spinner’s End in perfect silence.

 

Snape opened the door to let them in just as Harry had raised his hand to knock. He had a strange knack for sensing when they were nearby. Either that, or he’d been stalking their location through Harry’s tracker. Snape raked his eyes up and down the two of them, before they gradually settled on Draco’s haggard face. He crooked a finger. “You. Come with me.”

 

Draco scowled. “I don’t need -”

 

“With me,” Snape said firmly. He reached out a hand, placed it on Draco’s shoulder, and steered him into the living room. As the door clicked shut, Harry decided to take himself upstairs. He shrugged his jacket off, sat back on the bed, and took the keychain out of his pocket. He squeezed it in the palm of his hand, the cool glass of the eyes pressing into his skin.

 

It wasn’t quite the one that Aunt Petunia had torn from his hands in the supermarket that day when he was five years old, but every time Harry looked at it, he felt a strange stirring sensation in his chest. Something about finally being given this object that had been so harshly ripped from him when he was young felt oddly meaningful.

 

Harry would never understand why that particular memory of the supermarket stung the way it did. The Dursleys had done much worse to him, after all…

 

It was quite a long time before someone came upstairs. It was Snape, alone, features devoid of emotion. By now, Harry had gotten quite good at recognising when his face was particularly blank, signifying that he was Occluding. Odd - Snape normally only started using Occlumency when Harry was frustrating him, or when he was discussing something about the Dursleys…

 

“Is Draco okay?” he asked

 

“Yes, but he wants to be alone,” Snape said. “Apart from that incident, did you two enjoy yourselves?”

 

“Yeah.” Harry smiled and glanced down at the keychain in his hand.

 

When he looked back up at Snape, the man's expression had completely shifted. Snape’s Occlumency had slipped, and the look on his face was one of deep pain, drawing his lips into a thin, unhappy frown. His eyes were downcast and oddly dull. When he noticed Harry watching, Snape shook the expression from his face so quickly Harry was half-certain he'd just been imagining it.

 

“Would you like to make dinner?” he asked.

 

“Er - we ate at the fair,” Harry said, nervousness rising up in him. Was that not allowed? Had he done something wrong?

 

“And filled up on sweets, I suppose,” Snape said, giving him a knowing look.

 

“They were selling chips at a stall and we ate there too, so…”

 

“If you find yourself hungry later, you are to help yourself to something in the kitchen, understood?”

 

Harry nodded, relieved it didn’t seem like he was in trouble.

 

Despite that, Snape was still looking at him really strangely. Even though his face was blank, there was something odd stirring under the surface as he watched Harry that he couldn’t quite put a finger on.

 

“Is everything alright, sir?”

 

Snape opened his mouth, then hesitated. That, more than anything, was incredibly peculiar. Snape was many things, but he was not a hesitant or doubtful person from what Harry had seen of him. Snape always knew what he wanted and what to say. This was completely and utterly out of character, and it set Harry’s teeth on edge.

 

In the end, Snape simply shook his head. “It’s nothing. I’ll be downstairs if you need something.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Snape stared at Harry for a very long moment, eyebrows knitted together, before he pulled the door closed. Harry frowned to himself, staring at the place where the man had been standing moments before. Despite what Snape was claiming, he knew something wasn’t quite right here. Anxiousness seemed to worm its way into Harry’s gut. Maybe it was all related to Draco, and the strange fit of panic he’d had earlier? That sort of made sense…

 

But Harry didn’t think that was quite right. No, Snape had been watching him. There was something going on. Harry just got the unshakeable feeling the man knew something he didn’t want to let onto quite yet.

 

---

 

A few hours later, Harry was woken from a sound sleep to someone shaking his shoulder. He blearily opened his eyes, only to jolt back when he saw Draco’s face mere inches from his own. Harry opened his mouth to shout out with alarm, but Draco clapped a hand over it.

 

“Shh!” he hissed. “You’re going to want to come with me - the Headmaster is downstairs right now, talking to Severus, and you can hear them from the landing. I think they’re having some kind of argument!”

 

Harry pushed himself up, snatched his glasses off the desk next to his bed and jammed them onto his face. “Really?”

 

“Yes,” Draco whispered, “and they’re talking about you. Come with me, now.”