Harry bit his lip, then nodded. “If Draco wants to take the potion, I’ll take it as well,” he conceded. “I don’t want to be unfair.”
They all turned to look at Draco, then, who was standing quietly, holding the vial in his hand. The light was bad — Harry could only see the light color of Draco’s hair, part of the outline of his chin, and didn’t realize until Draco lifted his head entirely and looked straight at him that he was smiling. “You know,” he said, “I’ve really had enough of antidotes, myself.”
And his set his vial on the desk, next to Harry’s.
Snape looked at Draco with a sort of frozen horror. “You cannot be serious, Draco,” he said.
But it transpired that Draco was quite serious, and so was Harry. They stood their ground while Snape blustered at them, which was somewhat difficult, and while Dumbledore looked at them with thoughtful concern, which was more so. Eventually Snape seemed to wind himself down into silent glowering, and Dumbledore stood up, drawing his traveling cloak over his shoulders.
“Very well,” he said. “You’ve made your decisions, and I respect that.”
“Thank you, Headmaster,” said Harry, with some relief.
Draco said nothing, but Dumbledore touched him lightly on the shoulder as he passed, and said something quietly to Draco, something Harry could not hear, but Draco smiled faintly, and nodded assent. And as Dumbledore passed Harry, he put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, and said, so quietly that only Harry could hear him, “And may that be the first of many wise decisions you make from this moment on, Harry Potter.”
Snape, who had been gathering up his things, including the two vials, stalked after the Headmaster without a word — until he reached the doorway. He paused there and spun around, fixing Draco with a sharp look.
“I shall keep the potion on hand,” he said, “in case you change your mind, Draco.”
“Thank you,” Draco said politely. He had always been polite to Snape. “I don’t think I’ll be wanting it, but thank you nevertheless, Professor.”
Snape shook his head slowly, his narrow mouth twisted angrily. “So you are content, then,” he said darkly, “to be, from this day on, Harry Potter’s shadow? Is that all you want?”
Draco turned to look at him. His hands were clasped at his back, the window with its great Malfoy crest just behind him, and perhaps he looked to Snape much as his father, at his age, might have looked — but there were lines of humor around his mouth that Lucius had never had, and a certain quiet self-understanding in his eyes that all Lucius’ years had failed to give him.
“I am content,” he said. “Isn’t that enough?”
Snape frowned, and stalked out of the room without another word, slamming the door behind him.
“I don’t think he likes you much,” said Draco.
“Yeah,” said Harry. “I used to be on his bad side. Then I thought I was edging more over towards the good side. Now I think I’m right back over on the bad side again.”
“You never mastered the art of sucking up,” said Draco. “That’s always been your problem.” He looked around and shuddered. “I hate it in here,” he said. “And I never did finish breakfast. Back to the kitchen?”
“In a second. There’s something I wanted to ask you,” said Harry. “I was going to ask you before, but we got sidetracked.”
Draco, halfway to the door, turned and looked at him curiously. “What is it?”
“You said you were still going to travel around the world,” said Harry.
“That you hadn’t changed your plans.”
Draco shook his head slowly. “That’s true.”
“I was wondering if you’d mind if I came along with you. I’ve never seen the world at all, not outside England. Unless you count nearly starving and freezing while hunting down the Dark Lord, which I don’t.”
Draco started to smile. “You want an upgrade from ‘half-drunk staggering through the chicken coops of Eastern Europe in the middle of winter’?”
Harry shrugged. “I want to see what there is out there to see. And I want to see it with you.” He paused. “I can’t think of anyone better.”
Draco’s beginnings-of-a-smile had become a real smile. He looked lit up from within, as if someone had lumosed a light on inside him. “I’m leaving in a week, you know,” was all he said. “Do you think you can be ready by then?”
“I could be ready by tomorrow. What the hell’s it going to take you a week to pack?”
“Are you joking? I have to see my tailor and have clothes made up — traveling clothes, and then I have to plan my course, you know, there’s more to it than just sticking pins in a map. And there’s gagdets to buy — you can come with me tomorrow to Diagon Alley, there’s this new Wizi-Photo gadget I just have to have, it takes pictures, and memorizes directions so you’ll never get lost, and it makes soup — not very good soup, but they’re still working out the kinks, I think. And —“
“I take it this means, yes, I’m allowed to go with you?”
Draco came up short on that, and smiled. Almost a grin, really, if Draco Malfoy could be said to do anything quite as outre as grinning. “You saved the world,” he said. “You might as well see what you saved.”
In the end, Harry was glad for the week in between the wedding and their departure. The guests left the Manor slowly; the Weasleys went back to the Burrow the next day, but Ron lingered behind to have some time with Harry and Hermione before they were separated. Blaise stayed as well, and she and Ron were often to be seen strolling the grounds together.
Blaise was clearly in owl contact with Ginny, though she said nothing about the notes she received; Draco got only a blank postcard with a seaside vista on the front, but he laughed when he got it and folded it away in his pocket.
Hermione sat on a chaise outside and studied for her course in Cornwall while Ron, Draco, Blaise, Harry,
