Harry awoke from a very pleasant dream he couldn't quite remember, but it had caused a physical reaction that made his mouth curl up in a smile. Then his nose inhaled something delicious coming from the direction of the kitchen and he snapped open his eyes. What the--?

Then he remembered Draco.

He sat up and sniffed. Definitely something cooking. And it smelled good. He grabbed his glasses from the side table, tossed the covers aside, and trudged out of the bedroom. He rubbed his head and tried to plaster his hair down as he had done thousands of times before with as little success.

His eyes widened. There in his kitchen stood Draco Malfoy cooking breakfast-the Muggle way! He rubbed his eyes under his glasses and looked again. Nope. Not his imagination.

"Hey, Draco," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Draco stiffened and turned his head only halfway. "You sleep late enough. Must be nice."

Harry ignored the growl. "What's that you're at? Smells good. Am I allowed to have some?"

"French toast. And you weren't kidding. There's nothing here to eat. Tea's there, though." He gestured with the spatula and Harry eagerly dived for the pot and a mug.

He held the warm mug in both hands and inhaled the tangy aroma. Draco said nothing as he continued cooking and flipped the French toast from the pan onto a plate and slid it toward Harry. Harry looked up at Malfoy and grabbed a fork. "You having some?"

"I already ate. Some of us have to get up early and make a living."

Harry grumbled and dug in, chewing on the sugary, golden bread. He smiled. "It's good," he said with his mouth full.

"Yes, amazing the things you learn when you have to."

Draco watched him eat and Harry felt a little uncomfortable until Draco sat on the chair and drank his tea.

"Going to look for another job today?"

"Have to, haven't I," Draco said sharply. "There're other tea shops."

"Well," said Harry, shoveling in the last of the toast, "you can stay here until you get back on your feet."

"No, thanks. You've got enough fame without sainthood being attached to it."

"Why are you being stubborn about this? Look, the Daily Prophet will be here soon and you can check the classifieds."

"Nope. I need the Times. No wizard or witch would ever hire a Malfoy. I've tried that. Why do you think I was working in a bloody Muggle shop? Because I liked it?"

"Oh. Then the Times it is." Harry murmured something and the London Times appeared on the counter.

Draco sneered. "Do you have to show off?"

Harry was taken aback. "I wasn't showing off. Look, I refuse to apologize for using magic in front of you. It's your own tough luck you're in this mess."

"That's right. So I'm off, then." He sped toward the door but Harry felt a hard lurch in his chest and headed him off again.

"Wait, Draco. You don't have to do this alone. I'll help you."

"I don't want your help."

Harry stepped back. "Of course not. Why should you want help? Aren't you doing just brilliant on your own? Well. There's the door. Because that's just what I'd do; turn my back on free lodgings and board; say 'sod it' to someone's helping me get a job. Don't need it, that's me."

Harry stomped to the wing chair and hurled himself into it, stretching his long legs out in front of him. He crossed his arms over his pajama-clad chest, and stared out the window. Draco was infuriating. Harry didn't know if he was madder at his stubbornness or all the old feelings flooding his chest. Having Draco so near and not being able to do anything about it probably wasn't a good idea. Wouldn't it be better just to let him go?

But another part of his mind kept pleading, hoping he would stay.

Draco grabbed the doorknob, turned it…then stopped. "You on a mission or something?" he said to the door. "Is this the Malfoy Project, or what?"

Harry didn't look at him either. "Okay. Maybe it's a little guilt. No one bothered to see what happened to you. And even though you made my life miserable at school you were still a big part of it. I should have seen to it that you were all right."

"I'm not your responsibility, dammit! Voldemort was! I was tossed aside like any Death Eater. No one should care what happened to me. I wouldn't have."

Harry watched the sun crawl up in golden lines on the windows across the street. "I wonder something. Why didn't you…I mean. They broke your wand and all, but surely you could have-" He shook his head and finally turned toward Draco. "You could have easily become the new Voldemort. Why didn't you?"

Harry didn't know what he expected. Draco could have thrown his head back and laughed that so-familiar-laugh he was used to from Hogwarts. He could have raged. But what he didn't expect was the look of utter horror blossoming on his face.

"You think I wanted that? After what he did to my parents? Do you think I want to be anything remotely like that?" Harry startled, thinking fleetingly of his wand in the other room. Draco suddenly rushed toward him and pushed up the sleeve of his left arm. It was quite faded but the evidence of the Dark Mark would never go away completely. Draco would be reminded forever what he had done, more so than any stint in Azkaban could do. "Do you see this! I did this to myself. I killed my parents, Harry. My stupid, stupid ego. I nearly cost Dumbledore his life and I most assuredly got my favorite teacher of all time killed. And in the bargain, I nearly plunged the Wizarding and Muggle World into a living hell. So why in the name of all that is good and holy would I ever want to be anything like that sodding lunatic?"

He was breathing harshly, eyes blazing. His hands curled into fists. Harry hoped Draco believed his own words because he could feel the raw magic emanating from him. He wasn't sure, but he thought he sensed the room tremble slightly with it. No, if Draco had really wanted to, he wouldn't need a wand.

Harry swallowed and slowly stood. He felt a little underdressed for the emotions in the room. "I see. Well. I didn't know." Harry's words seemed to awaken Draco from his tirade and he took a deep breath and visibly relaxed. Harry ventured a hand to Draco's shoulder and was happy to see he wasn't rebuked. "All the more reason to lend a hand, then, don't you think?"

Draco stared at Harry, locking his gaze with him. Harry remembered so well looking into those eyes. Any glare from Malfoy had never boded well, but maybe this time it might be different.

"If you're so bound and determined to be my savior then have at it," he said flatly. He pushed his sleeve back down and instead of going to the door, he returned to the kitchen where he commenced cleaning up.

Harry smiled. He ducked his head so Draco wouldn't see it and trudged back toward the bedroom. "I'm going to wash up," he said, and admonished himself for the way his heart was pounding in his chest.

* * *

When Harry emerged clean and dressed, Draco was sprawled on the sofa looking through the Times. He looked up when Harry entered the room. "There's a few tea shops looking for help. I'll go down there today and check them out." He tore the paper with the adverts, folded it, and stuffed it in his pocket.

Harry sat on the edge of the wing chair. "You surely don't want to work in a tea shop all your life."

Draco scowled. "My plans got scratched."

"I assume you don't just mean becoming a Death Eater."

"You've got a one track mind, you know that? Of course not! I had other plans before…all this."

"What, then?"

Draco stiffened. His fingers curled tightly over his thighs. "If you must know, I wanted to be a barrister."

Harry couldn't help it. He burst out laughing but the look on Draco's face told him it was a mistake.

"Something funny, Potter?"

Harry stopped abruptly and shook his head. "No. I wasn't laughing at you, Malfoy. I just think it's perfect for you. You'd scare the hell out of the other's clients."

Draco slowly smiled. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

"You still could. Course Muggle schools take a long time and a lot of money-"

"I don't want to be a Muggle barrister! What the hell good would that be? I want to be a wizard barrister. That's where I belong. But…I guess not."

"Maybe you just need to prove yourself again. Find an advocate in the Wizarding world."

Draco stared at Harry. "And just who are you suggesting? You, perhaps?"

"Maybe. Look. I have a lot of work getting ready for classes and only one more month to do it. If Hogwarts hired you for the rest of the summer-"

Draco stood, his whole body stiffening. "I'm not going back there."

"Just talk to Dumbledore-"

"I'm not talking to him! I never want to face him again!"

"Maybe you should. He already forgave you. If he hadn't spoken at your trial they would surely have sent you to Azkaban."

"Well maybe they should have. I never asked him to speak for me."

"Draco, it's decent money. You'd get back on your feet. And maybe get your wand back."

He shook his head, all his silent ruminations buried deeply and only coming through at the throbbing of a vein at his temple.

"You'd just be helping me. No one else would be there, except for a few other teachers. Not many. It would really help me out." Draco said nothing. He stood in front of the sofa, poised to run, his hands in perpetual fists. "Well, think about it. I've got to step out for a bit but I'll be back in an hour. Don't go anywhere. We'll talk about it when I get back. Okay?" Harry looked at Draco over his shoulder when he reached the door.

The Slytherin hadn't moved.

* * *

Draco heard the door close and breathed a sigh of relief. It was so much work trying to be civil. What the hell was the matter with Potter? Why was he treating him so nicely? He, of all people, shouldn't be doing that. Draco knew he didn't deserve it. Potter meant well, but how could Draco ever go back to Hogwarts? He'd blasphemed the place somehow. Corrupted it with his foul deeds. It seemed so long ago now. He'd been so proud of himself getting the cabinets to work and he knew Death Eaters would be coming through, but he didn't imagine they'd bring Greyback. He had felt such triumph at it, felt he had wanted to destroy Hogwarts. But so much had happened since, that he couldn't recollect the feelings. It seemed all his years at Hogwarts were lived by rote-someone else's script. His father's maybe? He just did as he was told; thought what they told him to think. What had been so wrong with that? Well, if he had thought for himself just once, he might have been able to talk his father out of serving Voldemort-

He shook his head. No. That was foolish. His father was so entrenched he could never get out. Draco only wanted to please him. Getting the mark a year earlier seemed the way to do it, except that he remembered his mother's face when the Dark Lord had put the mark on Draco's arm. Draco had turned to her during the painful procedure. He thought she would have a look of pride-something like his father would feel back in Azkaban once he heard, but all he saw was stark fear. Looking back, he realized that that fear had been for Draco. He realized it too late. Then, once in the inner circle, it was far too real. Everything was about death and mayhem. Draco hadn't counted on that. He had only been thinking of the pranks at the World Quidditch Cup, not of killing, of seeing the faces of those who were killed. Wizards, witches, Muggles. They all bled the same. Their bodies were just as white and broken when they lay still and lifeless on the pavement.

Voldemort had been angry that Draco failed his mission but Draco also knew the Dark Lord had expected him to fail. He thought Voldemort would be more willing to help and cultivate him, but he understood at that moment that Voldemort's agenda only included Voldemort. He didn't care how many Death Eaters died and in what ways, even if he killed them himself. He watched his mother die, and once Lucius was freed from Azkaban he watched him die as well. Draco, too, would have been killed if Snape hadn't spirited him away. He understood too late about Snape. They all had.

He raised his hand and wiped the sweat from his face. It was a nightmare that wouldn't end. He couldn't get the images out of his mind. He might as well be under the Dementors' care for all the good it did him to try to forget.

And now here was Harry Potter-the last man on earth who should give a damn-and he was treating Draco like an old friend down on his luck.

Suddenly Draco looked around the cozy flat. He had to get out of here! He felt suffocated. He had to leave before Harry came back. He strode to the door but just as he reached for the knob, the fireplace whooshed and someone flooed into the room.

He turned and came face-to-face with another nightmare.


On to Chapter Three
"Old Rivalries"

Back to Chapter One
"Shadows from the Past"

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