Walk the Shadows

'No rest for the wicked, eh?'

A glint of humor showed in Snape's eyes. 'Indeed.' With a wave of his wand, and a few murmured syllables, the bubble disappeared and he was gone.

Harry puttered around for a bit, making sure – for about the tenth time – that he had everything he needed for his classes, down to quills and ink, since he'd had to get so much new after the Death Eaters took all his stuff. Of all his school things, and possessions, the only thing he really missed was the Marauders Map. It would have been very helpful . . . for avoiding people.

Oh, he knew he couldn't avoid people forever, and he felt a right idiot about it even now. But Snape had said – in one of their recent Tea Chats – that he didn't need to worry about such things. When he was ready, he would want to be in the company of others, and before then, he was allowed to be alone – or with a few select others – for as long as he needed. It was still very soon after the mess at Topsham, Snape said, and Harry was recovering more quickly than anyone could have hoped.

That had made him feel a bit better about hiding himself away. Especially when Hermione had echoed the professor's words last night, saying she was surprised he was dealing so well with everything that had happened. He hadn't wanted to talk about it at all, but Hermione said that was okay, too, and had not tried to hug him either, for which he was grateful.

For the next few hours after the test, Harry read, then ordered up dinner from the House Elves as he'd been told, then read some more. He would have liked to get in another ride on his Firebolt, but knew that Ron and Hermione were spending some . . . quality time together before the Feast, and afterwards, they would be too busy with Prefect duties. He didn't expect to see them tonight, or even tomorrow, probably.

Thus, the knock on the outer door around 7pm was rather startling.

Frowning, Harry put his book down, with a place marker in it, and rose to answer the door, wondering who it could be. Everyone should be at the Welcoming Feast now. He drew his wand, taking some comfort from the warm feel of it in his hand, and then opened the door.

Draco Malfoy stood on the other side.

A cold rage swept through Harry, and his hand came up, to point his wand at the other boy's chest, without him even consciously thinking about it.

Draco didn't move, and his hands were empty, but it still took everything Harry had to keep his wand hand steady. 'Potter,' Draco said. He didn't even sneer as he said it.

Harry's teeth were clenched, and he had to loosen his jaw before he could speak. 'What do you want, Malfoy?'

For the first time ever, in Harry's experience, Draco Malfoy looked . . . uncertain. But even as Malfoy opened his mouth and then closed it twice, as if searching for words, his cool gray gaze held steady. 'To see you. To talk.'

'I don't have anything to say to you,' Harry growled. 'Nothing!'

Draco nodded slightly. 'I know, but—'

'If you know, why don't you get out of here?' Harry's hand started to shake, and he wished he could blame it on after effects of the Cruciatus, but that was weeks ago. He gripped his wand tighter, held it higher, so it pointed at Malfoy's face, but Malfoy didn't flinch. 'Did you come to gloat? To laugh at me like your Auntie Bella? Or maybe you want to see what I looked like after your father's lovely tortures?'

If possible, Malfoy paled further, his almost white skin turning a sickly gray. 'No.' He swallowed hard enough Harry could see his Adam's apple bob. 'No, I didn't. You made my father a Squib.'

Harry lifted his chin. 'Yeah, I did.' He wasn't sorry either, not really, but he didn't think he needed to say that.

Malfoy nodded, and set his own jaw. 'Well I just wanted to tell you that he . . . he deserved it. No one,' he paused and took a slow breath. 'No one should have happen what they did to you, all right? It makes me sick just thinking about it. He deserved to lose his magic.'

Feeling like he'd been sucker punched, Harry stared at Malfoy. What the hell? Was he serious? It seemed so, but Harry was so confused he wouldn't be able to tell at this point. He had expected gloating. He expected laughter and jeers, like Bellatrix had done. He had not expected this.

'Will you be at classes tomorrow?'

Harry shook his head, still reeling.

'Right.' Malfoy gave him a tight nod. 'Well, I'll see you around.' He turned and started back down the hall.

Watching him walk away, Harry's mind spun with all the implications of what Malfoy had just said. Did his acceptance of his father being a Squib mean anything more than that? Was he equally as angry – or sickened – by what Voldemort had done? Would he turn away from all that now? Or was it just his own father's actions that horrified him? In a split second, Harry decided he didn't really care about all that, at least not now.

'Malfoy,' he called before the blond disappeared around the corner. When the other boy stopped and turned to look at him, Harry kept his face carefully blank of any emotion, matching Malfoy's expression, actually. He stared at the young Slytherin for a long moment.

Draco was not his father.

No more than Harry was James.

Snape had been able to get over his prejudice towards Harry, though it had taken something awful like the events at Topsham to make that happen. Was there any reason Harry should treat Malfoy like his father, if Draco was honestly making a break from the man? He couldn't imagine ever being friends with Malfoy -- there was too much history between them -- but the least Harry could do was not tar him with the brush he used on Death Eaters. If Malfoy was sincere – and he certainly seemed to be – then Harry owed him the benefit of the doubt.

Down the hall, Draco lifted an eyebrow impatiently, in a display so Snapish that Harry was immediately irrationally jealous. Maybe Eyebrow Moves was a special lesson they taught in Slytherin. Shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts, he said, 'Thanks . . . Draco. I'll, uh, I'll see you around.'