Things between Harry and his friends remained frosty the morning after their discussion. Harry only exchanged a few terse words with Ron and Hermione as they made their way down to breakfast, where the looks on their faces only served to irritate Harry further. They were staring at him with a mixture of sympathy and concern that made his skin crawl.

 

  Harry wasn’t the only one not speaking, though. Ron and Hermione also seemed annoyed with each other, although judging from their sniping it was more to do with another Crookshanks on Scabbers assassination attempt. The three of them ate in near silence, all disgruntled. Harry was not particularly excited for a whole weekend of this…

 

  Harry had just about finished his food when he registered the sound of heels clicking on stone behind him. A throat was cleared. “Mr Potter?”

 

  He turned around and saw Professor McGonagall standing there. “Can I have a quick word with you in my office?”

 

  “Er - okay,” he said nervously, mentally raking through every possible thing he might have done wrong in the last few days to merit his Head of House’s attention.

 

  “You’re not in any trouble, just come with me.”

 

  The last time Harry had been summoned to Professor McGonagall’s office when he wasn’t in trouble he had needed to contend with the aftermath of the Dementor on the train, so that reassurance didn’t help alleviate his reluctance. Ron and Hermione both exchanged a look as he left the Great Hall, the first break in their silent treatment, which only worsened the sinking feeling in Harry’s stomach.

 

  Harry followed Professor McGonagall closely through the corridors and up a few staircases until he was once again inside her study. She gestured to the waiting chair next to her desk and settled across from Harry.

 

  “Now, Potter,” Professor McGonagall said, examining him over the top of her spectacles. “How are you?”

 

  “Um… fine?” Harry said hesitantly, completely nonplussed.

 

  “Are you quite sure?”

 

  “Yeah,” Harry said, furrowing his eyebrows. “Why?”

 

  “Your friends came to me this morning in some large amount of concern,” Professor McGonagall explained. “They seem to be taken with the impression that Professor Snape has been using his guardianship powers to mistreat you."

 

  Harry groaned loudly. “I told them everything was fine! Professor, they don’t know what they’re talking about -”

 

  “Needless to say, I still need to take their concerns seriously,” Professor McGonagall said with a frown. “I’d been meaning to check in with you, at any rate. I believe Severus told you the Headmaster instructed me to?”

 

  “He did, but I promise, everything is fine!” Harry insisted. “They have no reason to be worried.”

 

  “Nevertheless, I must ask,” Professor McGonagall said, looking slightly sympathetic. “I am painfully aware I may have neglected some of my duties towards you previously, and I refuse to do so again.”

 

  Harry sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “If I’m fine with him as a guardian, I don’t see why they can’t believe me.”

 

  “Miss Granger seemed to disagree,” Professor McGonagall said. “She was highly concerned, and mentioned you were complaining about him at length towards the start of term. She seems to think your current staunch defence of him is a result of your worries you’ll be returned to your relatives -”

 

  “That’s not true!” Harry said indignantly. “I mean - unless Snape sends me back I’m done with them, aren’t I?”

 

  He couldn’t help the hint of anxiety creeping into his tone. Professor McGonagall knew Snape reasonably well, so she might know Snape was planning to get rid of him or something -

 

  “You will not be sent back under any circumstances, Mr Potter,” Professor McGonagall said sharply. “Even if things with Professor Snape aren’t going well. You can tell me, you know, if you aren’t getting along.”

 

  “I mean - I was a bit angry at him at the start of term, but it was just over normal stuff, not because he’s abusing me or something!” Harry said, horrified. “Besides, people complain about their guardians all the time! Ron goes on about his mum and dad loads, and so does Hermione, and I’m not going to you about that and saying the Grangers and Weasleys are mistreating them, am I?” The anxiety was worsening into a chest-squeezing kind of panic. “Is Snape angry about something? Is that why you’re asking me about all this? Does he want to get rid of me, or -”

 

  “Don’t panic, Mr Potter,” Professor McGonagall said with a shake of her head. “I’m not accusing Professor Snape of anything. I’m simply asking a few questions.”

 

  “Er - right,” Harry muttered, staring at the ground. He felt his cheeks heat up. “Sorry.”

 

  “Have a biscuit.” She handed over the tin. Harry selected a ginger newt and nibbled on it, still feeling rather annoyed and worried.

 

  “Professor Snape is not going to ‘get rid of you’, as you put it,” she added. “That’s not what this is about. I’m following up on the concerns of Granger and Weasley - nothing more.”

 

  Harry huffed. “There’s nothing to follow up on. They’re being stupid.”

 

  “Your friends are just worried about you, Potter,” Professor McGonagall said chidingly. “This all comes from a place of care, not spite.”

 

  “Well if they really cared, they wouldn’t be trying to screw up what I have with my first decent guardian!” Harry said crossly. “They seem to think I’m an idiot or something, but if Snape was still being horrible to me, I’d honestly say something!”

 

  “Would you?”

 

  “Yes!” he insisted. “I promise! But he’s actually really good, professor, you saw in the summer! He sorted out all of my clothes, and dealt with all the stuff with the Dursleys, and he actually talks to me, you know? About my mum, and about me, and he wouldn’t do that if he still didn’t like me. We really are getting on. If he was still mistreating me, I’d jump at the chance to get away, wouldn’t I?”

 

  “And has he stopped badmouthing James?” Professor McGonagall asked severely.

 

  “I wouldn’t like living with a man who badmouths my father,” Harry said firmly. “The only one of my parents he talks about is my mum. It’s honestly okay, professor. Things are fine, I promise!”

 

  Professor McGonagall gave him a thin-lipped smile. “Well, that’s very good to hear, then. I’m pleased you both learned to get along. I did try to reassure Granger and Weasley of Severus’ character, but I’m sure you can understand why your friends would be concerned despite that.”

 

  Harry sighed, since he still thought they were being a bit ridiculous.

 

  “Nothing is going to come of this, Potter,” Professor McGonagall added. “I simply had to check in after such accusations were levelled. You understand that, don’t you?”

 

  “Yeah,” Harry said wearily. He remembered Snape going on about ‘duty of care’ and a bunch of other stuff when he’d found out about the Dursleys, and supposed this fell under that umbrella.

 

  “Very well. That will be all, then,” Professor McGonagall said. “Perhaps you should go and reassure your friends. I did my best to allay their fears, but I’m sure such things may be better received from you.”

 

  “Alright, I will,” Harry said, pushing his chair back. Truth be told he was just planning to have a go at them, but Professor McGonagall didn’t need to know that.

 

  “Oh, and Potter?” Harry paused and turned around to look at Professor McGonagall. Her face had suddenly grown rather drawn. “For… for what it’s worth, on the night your parents died, I did my best to persuade the Headmaster that your relatives were unfit to raise a magical child. I was unsuccessful, but I did try.”

 

  “Oh.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck and stared at her for a long moment. “Don’t worry about it, professor. I don’t have to see them again, anyway. It’s fine.”

 

  “All the same, I… I wish I’d done more,” she said tightly.

 

    I wish you had, too. Harry pushed the bitter thought away and shook himself. There were at least a dozen people who deserved to be blamed before Professor McGonagall for him staying with the Dursleys, and most of them were far less apologetic than the woman sitting in front of him. At least she’d tried something. And, he thought, she’d helped Snape lots with actually getting him away from Privet Drive on the paperwork side, hadn’t she?

 

  Harry couldn’t find a shred of anger in him.

 

  “It’s fine,” he said again, opening the door. “Er - bye, professor.”

 

  As he left, he didn’t miss Professor McGonagall dabbing her eyes with a hanky.

 

  Harry made a beeline from the office to Gryffindor Tower, and practically barked the password at the Fat Lady. As he stormed into the Gryffindor common room, blood fizzling with anger and lingering worry, he saw Hermione and Ron both sitting around the fireplace, discussing something in low tones. Clearly, they’d stopped giving one another the silent treatment. Ron and Hermione quickly noticed him stalking towards them and winced in unison.

 

  “What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” Harry demanded.

 

  “Harry -” Hermione started.

 

  “No!” he growled. “You don’t get to defend yourselves! You had no right to do that, no right! I told you things were fine, and you should have believed me instead of running off to McGonagall!”

 

  “We were just worried about you, mate!” Ron protested. “I’ve seen the horrible stuff you put up with in Surrey, and I didn’t want that to keep happening to you because I know what Snape’s like! You deserve better than that!”

 

  “He’s changed!” Harry said angrily. “Did that ever occur to you?! I wouldn’t put up with this if he was still the same old greasy git, I’m not stupid! You two are, apparently! Don’t you think Professor McGonagall knows all about this already? She was involved in all the stuff with getting me away from my relatives, and she approved me living with Snape! If you start whispering in her ear that Snape’s awful to me, you could screw up my actually decent relationship with my guardian! How could you do that to me?”

 

  “We weren’t doing it to be mean, Harry!” Hermione said. She was on the verge of tears. “We just couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t tell us about this before if there wasn’t something bad happening!”

 

  “Because this is all really hard for me, alright?” Harry said, crossing his arms. “I’m still trying to work out my own feelings about all of this, because it’s all so new and strange. I didn’t want to deal with all that and deal with you guys’ thoughts on Malfoy and Snape because I was worried you’d make it all harder, which I was obviously right about!”

 

  “It’s just weird, mate!” Ron insisted. “So fine, Snape’s changed. That’s hard enough to believe on its own, but Malfoy? He hexed me just last week for absolutely no reason, don’t you remember? Why would you actually want to live with someone who treats people like that?”

 

  “Snape doesn’t let him do that stuff,” Harry said quickly.

 

  “That’s not what I’m talking about!” Ron said, his voice growing louder. “You’re choosing to spend time with Malfoy, now, and that’s not normal for you! Has he brainwashed you or something? Are you forgetting what his dad did to my sister?”

 

  “Draco isn’t his father!” Harry said furiously. “That’s not fair!”

 

  “Oh, so he’s Draco now?” Ron’s voice was growing dangerous.

 

  “You don’t know what he thinks about Lucius Malfoy!” Harry hissed. “I do, and he’s never defended what his father did! It’s completely unfair to blame him for things he wasn’t even responsible for -”

 

  “And what about the things he’s done, Harry?” Hermione said in a shaky voice. “Are you forgetting that he does think Purebloods are superior to Muggleborns like Lucius? Are you forgetting how he called me a Mudblood?”

 

  Harry jolted back slightly at the look of utter hurt on Hermione’s face. Something twisted uncomfortably in his gut.

 

  “He said to our faces that he hoped the Basilisk killed Hermione, Harry!” Ron added. His ears had gone a deep red. “How could you be friends with someone who treats her like that? She’s meant to be your friend!”

 

  Harry felt like the air had been knocked out of him. He knew all the horrible things Draco had done the last two years, of course, but hearing them spoken aloud like that made them sound all the more terrible.

 

  “Maybe it’s easier for you to forget, Harry, but when you’re the Muggleborn he’s said all that stuff to, it sticks a little more in your head,” Hermione said in a quavering voice.

 

  “I do remember,” Harry said, his throat tight. “He’s said all that same nasty stuff about my Muggleborn mother, Hermione, I haven’t just forgotten. You both know perfectly well that I hated him, but I can’t anymore, not after what I saw this summer. It’s just so hard to explain to someone who wasn’t there to see it, but he’s changing.” 

 

 “Really?” Ron said, his voice dripping with scepticism.

 

  “I wouldn’t put up with him if he wasn’t!” Harry said, despair creeping up on him. “You guys are my best friends, not him! I wouldn’t put up with Draco if he was still that same stuck-up arsehole he’s always been, especially if he still thought the same stuff about people like Hermione. He’s had a massive shock this summer, and he’s getting better!”

 

  “I just don’t see it,” Hermione said, turning her face away.

 

  “But because I’ve been so close to it, I do!” Harry insisted. “You can’t unlearn all this stuff overnight, but I know he doesn’t believe it anymore because I’ve helped argue him out of it myself, actually! Even if you aren’t seeing it I am, and I promise he’s changing. As my friends, can’t you just trust me?”

 

  Harry knew he sounded desperate on those last few words, but he couldn’t help himself. He suddenly felt like his friendships with Ron and Hermione were balancing on a knife’s edge, and the prospect of losing them absolutely terrified him.

 

  And Ron and Hermione didn’t respond instantly. They just looked at him. Harry didn’t think he could bear it if they said no to his question, but couldn’t bring himself to stay in the common room to actually hear the dreaded words leave their lips.

 

  But as Harry fled, he felt just as miserable as he would have if he had stayed to hear their answer. After all, they distrusted his knowledge of Snape enough to go running to McGonagall… who was to say they trusted Harry enough to believe him when he said Draco wasn’t the same anymore?

 

  Their silence was an answer in itself.

 

 

---

 

  Harry avoided the common room and contact with any other humans for the remainder of the day. Moping around the castle seemed like a far more desirable activity, at any rate, so he drifted between deserted parts of the castle in a cloud of despair. Even a few laps of the Quidditch Pitch on his Nimbus 2000 didn’t make Harry feel any better. The only time he surfaced was to go to the Great Hall for meals. Even though Harry felt far too miserable to eat much, he knew Snape would note his absence and start asking nosy questions he didn’t want to answer.

 

  Even though Harry was staunchly determined to defend Snape, as weird as that was to do, he was absolutely not blind to the man’s flaws. Harry knew that Snape was a vindictive person, and if he found out Harry was fighting with his friends because they’d complained to McGonagall about him, he was worried Snape would get angry with them and do something mean in lessons. No, he couldn’t talk about this with the man.

 

  It surprised Harry that he wanted to, though. Really wanted to, in fact. Snape was surprisingly good at helping Harry out when he got himself into an emotional mess like this.

 

  Unfortunately enough, it simply was not an option. Harry was left to mull over his problems by himself, and to contemplate the significance of what he’d just done.

 

  Had he just chosen Draco Malfoy over his friends?

 

  Harry wasn’t particularly keen to do that. Even if he sort of liked Draco now, and enjoyed his company, Ron and Hermione were his best friends, and held his loyalty far more than Draco did. And worst of all, they’d both made very valid points. Draco had done horrible things. He’d called Hermione a Mudblood, for God’s sake!

 

  And even though Draco was starting to change, he still got very awkward around Muggles. He’d still made fun of Ron’s robes for no reason just last week. He’d apologised to Harry for being a bully, but never Hermione for what he’d done to her.

 

  And even if Draco needed someone, Harry just couldn’t let that slide!

 

  So, after a restless night, Harry thought he might as well tackle the problem head on and go down to see Draco, like he’d promised Snape. At any rate, Harry hadn’t really spoken to another person for an entire day by Sunday morning, and was starting to feel a little lonely. A chess game couldn’t hurt…

 

  After breakfast, he headed straight for the dungeons. As a rule, Harry tried to avoid the domain of Slytherins wherever he could help it, so he wasn’t very familiar with the winding corridors. It took him forever before he found Snape’s office again, and the painting of the cobra that stood to the left of it.

 

  Harry stared at the sleeping snake and hesitated. Even though Snape had told him that he was allowed to come into the quarters as he pleased, it still felt weird to actually do so. Harry was just in the process of steeling himself to open the password when the cobra squinted at him.

 

  “Save me from meandering children!” he complained irritably, rising up and flaring his hood. “In or out, boy?”

 

  “Er - in, sorry,” Harry said. “Ashwinder.”

 

  The snake looked shocked, which allowed Harry to learn that snakes could even look shocked, but the portrait swung open before he could comment further. Harry walked up the short set of steps and heard music being played. Harry had never once heard Snape listen to music at Spinner’s End, so it was a bit disconcerting to hear the distant sound of piano keys tinkling as he made his way into the main quarters.

 

  When he emerged, Harry realised that the music was actually coming from the upright piano near the fireplace, and Draco was playing it. Harry hadn’t had any idea he knew how to play the piano, let alone as well as he was doing now. His fingers seemed to fly across the keys, and he was so focused on the sheet music in front of him that he didn’t notice Harry had entered the room for over two minutes, when Harry took a step forward to get a better look. Draco obviously noticed the movement and jumped violently, his hands banging against the keys with a discordant bang.

 

  “Merlin’s beard, you scared the life out of me!” he said indignantly, pressing a hand against his chest. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

 

  “Sneak up on you? I could have come in dressed like a clown and you wouldn’t have noticed!” Harry said. “You were too focused. I didn’t know you could play the piano!”

 

  “I have many skills I doubt you know about,” Draco said haughtily. “I can also speak fluent French and Italian, I can waltz, and I have enviable calligraphy. But yes, I’m something of a musician. Severus doesn’t keep a piano at his house, so I didn’t have as many opportunities to play this summer as I would have liked. I’m awfully rusty.”

 

  Harry shrugged. “Sounded good to me.”

 

  “Yes, you. An untrained ear.” Draco sneered slightly. “That isn’t the high praise you think it is.”

 

  Harry scowled. “If you’re going to be all moody, I guess I’ll just go back up to Gryffindor Tower and -”

 

  “Wait!” Draco said quickly. “Don’t. Er - please…”

 

  “For someone who boasts about all his fancy etiquette training, you really hate saying please and thank you,” Harry remarked.

 

Draco glared at him. “Perhaps I should send you back to Gryffindor Tower.”

 

  But he got to his feet and fetched the chessboard anyway, albeit with a number of muttered but half-hearted insults aimed at Harry.

 

  “I’m assuming Severus told you all about me moving in here?” Draco said bitterly as he sat down on the sofa.

 

  Harry shifted his weight from foot to foot awkwardly.“Er - yeah. He mentioned it.”

 

  “If I wasn’t enough of an outcast as it is,” Draco muttered, taking the chess board out of its box. “He’s promised I don’t have to tell anyone where I've gone, at the very least. It’ll probably get out anyway, but at least it buys me a few days…”

 

  “I won’t tell anyone, at least,” Harry promised, taking a seat on the other side of the sofa.

 

  “Good.”

 

  He finished setting out the chess pieces, and both of them quickly fell into the usual back-and-forth bickering they had upheld during the summer. Harry had missed this more than he’d thought while they’d been fighting, and felt a strange sort of contentment settle over him. This was so good and easy…

 

  But the fact that he had even missed this at all made Harry’s insides churn uncomfortably. He couldn’t help but feel like he was betraying his friends by even being here after what he, Ron and Hermione had discussed yesterday morning. After the things Draco had said, especially to Hermione, how could he sit here and be friendly to him? Why did Harry even want to?

 

  His inner turmoil must have really shown on his face, because even Draco noticed. He frowned at Harry. “Are you alright?”

 

  “Yeah…” Harry leaned his head on his elbow and looked at Draco for several long seconds. “Just thinking about stuff, I suppose.”

 

Draco watched Harry expectantly. He clearly knew Harry had more to say. Harry bit his lip before suddenly blurting out, "I need to know what you think about Muggles."

 

  Draco's eyebrows furrowed. “Sorry, what?”

 

 

  “And Muggleborns,” Harry added.

 

  Draco stared at him, nonplussed. “I don’t even know what that means! It’s a pretty broad question, isn’t it?”

 

  “Actually, I think you do know what I mean!” Harry said with a scowl. "Do you still think Muggles are scum? Do you still wish all Muggleborns dead?”

 

  “When did I ever wish Muggleborns dead?” Draco demanded.

 

  “Last year!” Harry hissed. “Are you forgetting the Chamber of Secrets? Did it slip your mind how you said you hoped the Heir would kill someone next, and how you wanted it to be Hermione?”

 

  Draco’s face grew horrified. “I never said that in front of you!”

 

  Harry abruptly realised that Draco had said that to him when he and Ron had Polyjuiced as Crabbe and Goyle and cringed. That was not something Harry wanted to discuss right now. He managed to save face by retorting, “I don’t see you denying it! And are you forgetting that ‘you’ll be next, Mudbloods’ comment when the Chamber got opened?”

 

  “Look, I - I didn’t actually mean it!” Draco protested. “I didn’t understand what I was saying, not really!”

 

  “But that doesn’t change the fact that you did say it, Draco!” Harry hissed. “Look, I’ve danced around the topic all summer, but I can’t anymore, okay? You’ve always made it very clear how much you hate Muggleborns, and at the end of the day, my best friend is a Muggleborn. My mother was a Muggleborn, and I’m a half-blood myself! I need to know if you still think those things.”

 

  Draco was silent for a moment, his eyes wide. “I… I don’t think I do.”

 

  “You don’t think you do?” Harry asked, arching an eyebrow. “Not exactly a vote of confidence.”

 

  “I don’t believe it anymore, alright?” Draco hissed. “I can’t! I know it’s all a stupid lie, I know Granger is smarter than me, and she’s a Muggleborn, so how can all Muggleborns be magically incompetent? And then Severus goes and explains that a Muggleborn witch, of all people, was capable of stopping the Dark Lord with powerful blood magic that let you deflect the Killing Curse! And to top it all off, it turns out all the most powerful wizards are half-bloods! The Boy-Who-Lived is one, and the Headmaster, and the damn Dark Lord himself! So yes, clearly blood doesn’t affect magic, and I was wrong, okay? I admit it! I just didn’t know any better!”

 

  Draco’s cheeks had flushed a deep pink by the end of his rant, and he fell into sullen silence. Harry, despite his reservations, just knew that Draco was telling the truth. The look of utter mortification on his face was enough.

 

  “I believe you,” Harry said quietly.

 

  “I bloody well hope you do, because I’m not saying all of that again,” Draco snapped, folding his arms and staring at the floor.

 

 I guess all of Snape’s lectures actually do have an effect, Harry reflected. He doubted Draco could have worked all this out without significant input, and he'd personally witnessed some of Snape's talks about equality. The man could be insistent.

 

  “Is that why you were so upset when you heard about what your dad did?” he dared to ask, the pieces finally coming together. “Because you understand now?”

 

  Draco nodded, his eyes oddly dull. “To see he did all of those things to people - he’s a murderer, Harry! Not just that, he tortured people, and he followed a maniac Dark Lord over made-up nonsense! And I want to hate him, but - well, he’s still my father, you know?" Draco sighed and slumped back into the cushions. "Look, I know your father’s a bloody war hero and all, but you must get it a little. Do you ever want to hate your horrid relatives but then get stuck on the good memories?”

 

  Harry had to think about that for a moment. There really wasn’t much love lost between him and the Dursleys, since they’d always resented ever being stuck with him and made their feelings truly known…

 

  But the world wasn’t split into good people and bad people, and the Dursleys had been capable of the occasional kindness, fleeting as it was.

 

  When Harry was quite small, before his accidental magic had become obvious, Aunt Petunia would sometimes pat him on the top of the head when he did something to her satisfaction. Occasionally, Uncle Vernon would broker a business deal or receive a raise, and it would put him down in a good mood. He would bark out, “Good lad!” and give Harry a gruff nod while Harry served up dinner, puffed up like a proud peacock. Dudley sometimes forgot to bully Harry, and would include Harry in his games for brief stints when there no one else was around to play with him.

 

  The Dursleys weren’t complete monsters. They were people, capable of occasional pangs of conscience, and they honestly hadn’t cared enough about Harry for their singular purpose in life to be tormenting him. They had it in them to be briefly nice.

 

  But unlike Draco, he didn’t feel conflicted about his dislike of the Dursleys. The acts of kindness made the cruelty hurt more, because Harry knew they were capable of love. They simply couldn’t bring themselves to share it with him, and that was wrong. Making them emotionless monsters simplified how horrible everything they’d done to him was.

 

  But Draco was looking at him with some desperation, so Harry did his best to put his honest conflicted feelings into words to try and alleviate his obvious misery.

 

  “I sort of understand. I don’t have any other family, you know? My aunt’s all I have left, and I can’t change that, even if I wanted to." Harry swallowed, hard. Bitterness burned like bile in the back of his throat. "And my aunt and uncle did raise me from a really young age. Like, I know Snape says they n-neglected me, but Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had to do certain stuff to look after me, or I wouldn’t have made it this long. Sometimes I remember how Aunt Petunia must have fed me before I was old enough to do it myself, and she had to hold my hand on the way to school when I was too little to know not to run in front of cars."

 

  Harry trailed off, a harsh burning in the back of his eyes. Aunt Petunia was the closest thing Harry had to a mother, and as much as he hated her, he still wished Aunt Petunia had it in her to treat Harry like a son. Harry knew she was capable of love - Dudley proved that - so why wasn't he worthy? Did she care about him? She'd taken him in - that meant Aunt Petunia didn't want to see him dead, at the very least. Were the brief kindnesses or moments of care, like her reluctant, pinching grip of his four-year-old hand on the way to school, Aunt Petunia's twisted form of love?

 

  "I know Aunt Petunia resented everything she had to do for me, but she still did it," Harry said, voice faltering. "Even if she didn’t want to, she still took me in because she knew I might die without the blood wards, and I don’t know what all of that means to me, but it shows she cared the tiniest bit, and it just makes everything more complicated.”

 

  Harry stared at the floor after he said that, because Draco's face was so clearly full of pity and he couldn’t bear to look at it. His chest ached.

 

  Harry didn't want to want this. He shouldn't give a damn about the opinion of the woman who had locked him in a cupboard for ten years.

 

  But Harry did.

 

  “Families are hard,” he said softly.

 

  Draco shuffled up next to Harry, so close their arms were touching. They sat in silence for several moments, neither of them knowing what to say.

 

  “Things are different in my situation in a lot of ways, but there’s some stuff we have in common,” Draco said, his voice so low it was practically a whisper. “My father’s a war criminal. He murdered people, he tortured people, he did so many horrible things - but I didn’t see that at home, you know? He never treated me the way he treated all of the Muggleborns he hates. I know he loves me, and he would defend me to the bitter end, and he was certainly far better to me than your aunt and uncle were to you. But… well, sometimes, I wasn't sure if he liked me all that much, especially when I didn't do something to meet his approval. He could be really harsh…”

 

  Draco hesitated before ploughing on. “When I was very young, I had a stammer. I would be speaking, and I’d get this awful twisted feeling in my chest, and I couldn’t get the words out. Father hated it. He would shout at me, sometimes, for embarrassing him in public, or he’d tell me to get over it, and he’d say the most horrid things to me. I think he thought I’d learn to buck up, but it just made me get even more tongue-tied, and the cycle went on.”

 

  Harry turned to look at him, horrified. “Draco… I had no idea.”

 

  “Well, my mother took me to a Healer behind his back, and I managed to stop,” Draco said dully. “But what I’m saying is, sometimes Father’s tolerance of me wore thin when I didn’t live up to his expectations. He was outraged when Granger outdid me in first year, you know. Malfoys should always be at the top, and they certainly shouldn’t be beaten by Muggleborns. He didn’t speak to me for a week after the results came in, and he went on and on about it for the rest of that summer. It sometimes felt like he only liked me if I behaved exactly how he wanted, but his expectations could be completely impossible to live up to.”

 

  Harry, who had witnessed Lucius Malfoy berating Draco in Borgin & Burkes last year, winced sympathetically. He’d never actually connected the dots and realised that perhaps Draco’s dislike of Hermione could be connected to his harsh father.

 

  “And then the cherry on top is the house.” Draco scoffed. “I know he probably thinks he was protecting all of us by doing it, but he burnt my home down with me inside to destroy evidence and save his own damn skin! My mother barely got me out in time, and I lost everything I owned, and I can’t Floo or even be near fire now because it freaks me out, and it’s all his fault! I shouldn’t have to hate my own father, but he’s making it pretty bloody difficult for me not to!”

 

  The bonfire incident during the summer abruptly made more sense to Harry. Sympathy stirred in his chest, and he reached out a hand and briefly squeezed Draco's shoulder.

 

  Draco huffed and leaned his head back, shutting his eyes. “You’re right, Harry. Families are hard.”

 

  Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “Draco… why are you telling me all of this? It doesn’t seem like the kind of stuff you’d normally tell me, of all people…”

 

  Draco gave him a pained look. “Because I knew you’d understand. And you do, see? I think it helps to talk about these things, sometimes.”

 

  Harry gave him a thin smile. Shockingly enough, for the first time, he felt very grateful that Draco had overheard that conversation between Snape and Dumbledore. He still couldn’t quite imagine a situation where he’d have opened up about the Dursleys to the other boy, but after circumstances had forced his hand, it had changed things for the better. Draco understood more about Harry, and he was even starting to open up in return, which evened out their footing.

 

  And Harry had an abrupt and realisation - no, a paradigm shift. He didn’t know what he’d been doing to try and rationalise what he and Draco had over the last few weeks, but it wasn’t out of some kind of misplaced pity because he didn’t have anyone else, or because Snape was forcing them to get on.

 

  Harry just genuinely liked Draco.

 

  He had seen personal things of Harry’s life and had actually been respectful of it. Because they’d both had such a dreadful, tumultuous time over the summer in such close proximity to each other, they’d bonded. It was impossible to help. Seeing each other so emotionally vulnerable had made them closer.

 

  So Harry did want to spend time with Draco. He wanted to be friends with him, simply because he had grown to care about Draco, as weird as that might sound to Ron and Hermione. He understood Draco far too intimately after what they’d been through to just give up on him during a fight, just as Harry wouldn’t give up on Ron and Hermione if he got into an argument with one of them for doing something stupid.

 

  And, Harry realised with a sudden blaze of determination, he wasn’t going to lose his friendship with Ron and Hermione now, because he cared too much about everyone involved to let this blow up. He’d find a way to show them Draco had changed, make up with them, and Harry wouldn’t be forced to choose between his two best friends and Draco. He could find a happy middle ground, and sort out this rift, and things would settle down. Harry wasn’t afraid of hard work.

 

  But for now, Harry turned to Draco and smiled. "I really missed you."

 

  A mixture of shock and happiness flashed across Draco's face. "You did?"

 

  "Of course!" Harry, feeling slightly vulnerable and embarrassed, added, "and I missed thrashing you at Monopoly most of all."

 

  Draco scoffed. "I knew Gryffindors were thick, but this is really something else. You never beat me, Potter!"

 

  "Oh yeah?" Harry asked, arching an eyebrow. "Bring it on, Malfoy."

 

  They stayed hunched over the board for hours, and Harry felt the happiest he had all weekend.