Harry Potter was good at a lot of things. He was good at Quidditch, (decently) good at his studies, good at being fatefully loyal to his friends. Hell, he was the fucking savior of the wizarding world (twice), so he’s pretty good at that, too. But one thing Harry Potter was not good at was keeping secrets. Especially when they came from the soft mouth of Draco Malfoy.
Harry had returned to Hogwarts for his final year mostly at the urging of Hermione, who insisted that despite being the savior of the wizarding world, it couldn’t hurt to have a few extra qualifications for the future. He hadn’t necessarily been too keen to spend another year in the same place that still haunted his nightmares, but he realized that in the end, a part of him missed the castle; missed his home.
Arriving at Hogwarts for the last time as a student had been a surreal experience. There was, of course, still lots of damage left over from the war, but for the most part it had been the same place he remembered longing for summer after summer. And it felt fucking good to be back.
It felt a little less great to discover that all the returning eighth years were going to be placed in their own block of rooms separate from the typical house quarters. He wasn’t sure who was returning to finish their NEWTS besides Ron, Hermione, Dean, and Seamus. He soon learned during the feast, however, when the far more observant Hermione pointed out a few familiar faces at the surrounding tables.
“Is that…” he asked, eyes locked on the table at the other end of the hall.
He sensed Hermione nodding beside him. “It looks like Malfoy’s returned for eighth year as well. I don’t see any of his other cohorts, though.”
Once again, Hermione seemed to be right. Malfoy was sitting at the end of the Slytherin table, a few empty seats between himself and anyone else. Harry hadn’t seen him since he spoke at his trial, but he looked much worse now than he did then. He had lost the gel in his hair, and it was much longer than before, nearly reaching his chin. He appeared a great deal thinner, and although there was food on his plate, he didn’t seem to be touching it much. The circles under his eyes were much more pronounced, nearly mirroring Harry’s. His face was lacking the iconic Malfoy sneer, but certainly wasn’t displaying a typically positive emotion. Malfoy looked like someone just killed his puppy, though Harry had always characterized Malfoy as the type of person to laugh at that type of thing, rather than outwardly show remorse.
“What a fucking git,” Ron said from across the Gryffindor table. “What does he even think he’s doing, coming back here? I’m surprised McGonagall even let him.”
“He looks so alone,” Harry said, mostly without thinking.
Ron scoffed. “That serves him right, don’t you think?”
Harry shrugged and looked at Hermione. “He did save our lives,” he offered.
“Yeah, but he also tried to kill us quite a bit,” Ron countered, mouth full of food.
“Ron, can you not wait until you’ve finished chewing to talk?” Hermione asked, and Ron just rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, Harry, he does look quite miserable, but he was a Death Eater. That can’t really be ignored.”
“He didn’t take the mark by choice,” Harry argued, not quite sure why he was even arguing in the first place. This was Malfoy, after all. He’s supposed to hate Malfoy, not defend him to his best mates.
“But he still took it,” Ron countered. Harry turned his gaze to Malfoy once again, without really thinking about it. Suddenly Malfoy glanced up and made eye contact with Harry, and the dead puppy expression melted, replaced with a sneer that sent Harry tumbling back to their earlier years at Hogwarts. Harry released Malfoy’s eyes and turned his attention back to his fellow Gryffindors.
“Yeah,” Harry said in defeated agreement, even though the conversation had already shifted to something else.
***
After the feast, when the respective houses would typically retreat to their common rooms, McGonagall requested that all eighth year students remain in the Great Hall. The students all gathered in a clump near the professors’ table, waiting for the rest of the students to clear out.
“As you all may already know, all eighth years will be rooming in one common block of rooms rather than with your respective houses.” There were a few groans audible, mainly from Ron. “That said, here are your room assignments,” she said, passing around a pile with each pairing and room location. When Harry received his copy, he shot Ron a knowing glance, figuring they’d be undoubtedly rooming together. His heart nearly jumped into his throat when he read Neville’s name next to Ron’s rather than his, and scanned the list further to discover where he himself had been placed.
Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. It was right there, but he couldn’t believe it. Ron looked at Harry in horror. “Oh mate,” Ron said, sympathy heavy in his voice. “I’m sure we can talk to McGonagall. There’s got to be some sort of mistake,” he said, placing an arm comfortingly on Harry’s shoulder.
Harry just shook his head. “No, there’s no way this was a mistake. McGonagall’s obviously got some reasoning behind pairing Malfoy and I,” he said.
Ron scoffed. “Well, what the fuck could that even be? That you two need to make nice after trying to kill each other a bunch of times? Yeah, placing you two together seems like a rather nice way to get you to not A-K each other,” he ranted.
Harry sighed. He was about to reply when he felt a hand make contact with his arm, not very gently. He turned around to find Malfoy standing behind him, obviously having made his way over from the other side of the group of students. “Look, I’m not happy about this either,” he started, “but I’ve already talked to McGonagall and she refuses to amend the arrangements. So we’re stuck.”
Harry sighed. He really, really, didn’t want to be an arse to Malfoy, who did, despite all of Ron and Hermione’s arguments, save his life. If Harry had died then, he wouldn’t have been around to defeat Voldemort. So, in a way, Malfoy had helped save the wizarding world, too. And that wasn’t really something you can blame a person for.
“Guess we have to make the best of it, yeah?” Harry asked cheerily, putting out his hand for Malfoy to shake. As soon as he did, he remembered declining Malfoy’s handshake all those years ago and instantly regretted offering his hand now. He regretted it even more so when Malfoy just sneered and walked away, barely muttering a statement of agreement under his breath.
***
Harry stood outside the door to his room, having stalled his arrival as long as possible, and finally pushed open the door. Walking inside, he was surprised to find it empty. Malfoy’s trunk was right next to Harry’s just inside the door, so he hadn’t even been to the room to claim which bed he wanted. Harry sighed, flopping down onto the bed closest to the window. Maybe Malfoy had decided to go home and forgo finishing his last year at Hogwarts. Then he’d have a room all to himself, and-
He was cut off from his thoughts when the door swung open, a stone faced look on Malfoy’s face as he sauntered in. He grabbed his wand and pointed it at the green and silver trunk, moving it effortlessly to the end of the unoccupied bed.
“Malfoy,” Harry said, sitting up. He ignored him, continuing to unpack a few books onto the desk in the corner. “Malfoy,” Harry said, louder.
Malfoy sighed and slammed a book down on the desk, turning around to face him. “What is it you want, Potter?”
Harry found himself shocked that he didn’t have an answer. “You don’t have to ignore me, you know,” he said instead.
“Well, would you rather I throw rose petals at your feet and proclaim my undying love for our Savior?” Malfoy asked, his gray eyes storming. Harry cringed at the title. He couldn’t stand being being thought of as someone above everyone else. He really wasn’t all that special. The wizarding world just kept fluffing him up to be more than he was.
“Fuck, of course not, but if we’re gonna be living together we ought to get along at least,” Harry said.
“And how or why would we do that? You hate me,” Malfoy said, turning back around to unload more of his books.
“I don’t hate you, Malfoy,” Harry said. “You saved my life.”
“That doesn’t just erase years of hatred, Potter.”
Harry sighed again. “I don’t think I ever really hated you, at any point.” Malfoy didn’t respond, so Harry spoke again. “Sure, you were a fucking git and you obviously hated me, but I never actually hated you.”
Malfoy turned around to face him again, frustration obvious on his face. “It wasn’t hatred, you moron. It was jealousy. I wanted everything about you. I wanted to be you. I wanted the glory you held so carelessly, or I wanted to be surrounded by it, by you. But you’d obviously hated me from the moment you laid eyes on me, so I knew I couldn’t ever have that. But it didn’t stifle the jealousy. So, no, Potter, I didn’t hate you. I wanted you.”
Harry swallowed. “Oh,” he said simply.
Malfoy moved to sit on other bed. “I don’t understand how you don’t have the urge to jump on me and murder me with your bare hands. That’s what I would do if I was you.”
“I don’t,” Harry replied. “I used to want to, sometimes, but now, after the war, it’s like I just don’t have that type of fight in me anymore.” Harry lifted his eyes from the hem of his shirt to meet the gray ones of the boy sitting tentatively across from him. “Like in sixth year, I used to not be able to stand you. Before that, as well, but especially then. But now I look at you and I don’t feel that way at all. I have no desire to fight with you anymore. There really wasn’t a point before, and there isn’t now.”
“It doesn’t bother you that I’m a fucking Death Eater? That Voldemort lived in my house?” Malfoy looked ashamed more than anything, his face of stone long gone.
Harry just shook his head. “You were a Death Eater,” he corrected. “And not by choice.”
Malfoy just shook his head and laughed lightly. It was an odd sight, Malfoy with anything other than a sneer on his face. “You’re such a fucking Gryffindor, Potter.”
Harry grinned at that. “Damn straight, Malfoy.” He almost got a hint of a smile in return.
“So we’re okay?” Malfoy asked. “You won’t try to A-K me in my sleep?”
Harry smiled again. “Nope. Just as long as you don’t.”
Malfoy stood up. “Then I think we have a deal,” he said, putting out his hand.
Harry took it.