Over the next few days Harry and Draco continued to straighten out the DADA room and Harry's apartment. Harry was going through old books to see if any of them were any good for his classes, trying the spells in them.

"Hey Draco. Watch this." Harry flicked his wand and cried, "Puniceus Draconus" Instantly, a purple haze emitted from his wand and congealed into a very fat dragon only about eight feet tall. It gave a wobbly roar, spit a small flame, and instantly vanished.

"What the hell good is that?" said Draco.

Harry shrugged and scanned the book. "It says it's for fourth years. I can't see that it's very useful."

"Fourth year. Who did we have in fourth year?"

"Mad-Eye Moody. Except that we really didn't. We had Barty Crouch, Jr."

"Oh that's right. 'Vigilance!' Git. Should have taken his own advice."

"Glad he didn't," Harry muttered, tossing the book into the bin.

Draco grew silent. "Yes. How could I forget? That was when Voldemort rose."

"Yup."

Draco watched Harry so long Harry got a little antsy. He glanced at Draco who wore a pained expression. "No one believed you, did they?" said Draco. "I read about it in the Quibbler, but…."

Harry could guess what Draco was reluctant to say. "But your father told you about it personally, didn't he?"

Draco lowered his eyes. "Yes. He bragged about how the Dark Lord cast the Cruciatus Curse on you and how…how you screamed. I remembered laughing." His face reddened.

Harry raised his brows and turned back to the book shelf. "Well. That wasn't a lie. I did scream. The curse hurt."

Draco pitched forward and said in a rush, "If I could take back every bad thing I ever did to you-"

Harry shrugged. This was getting into uncomfortable territory. "Surely not everything."

"But my father-and I-"

"Draco, just forget it. It's past."

"Don't you get it, Harry? It's not. It's never over. It's just as indelible as this sodding Dark Mark on my arm. I can't ever erase it."

Harry looked at Draco whose face was twisted with anguish. His heart cried out to him. He dearly wanted to take Draco in his arms. "You can. But it will take time. You're so incredibly different from those days, Draco. You've got to give it time."

They both fell silent and it was only a step in the doorway that roused them. They turned. Dumbledore was watching them. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No, sir," said Harry.

The old wizard smiled benevolently. "Harry. I told you. Call me Albus."

"I don't think so, sir."

Dumbledore chuckled. "All things in their time," he said. "Draco. I wonder if I may have a word with you."

Draco stiffened. You're not in trouble, Harry longed to reassure him. But Draco had many demons to conquer, not the least of which was his guilt for trying to kill Dumbledore.

Dumbledore took Draco aside but not out of the room. The old wizard pulled a rolled up parchment from his robes. "Draco, our potions master will not be able to come for some time but there are potions that need brewing before the term begins. If you could favor us with your brewing skills, it would be most appreciated."

Draco took the scroll. Clearly he never expected this. "You want me to brew these, sir?"

"Yes, of course."

"But-" He looked at Harry. "But Harry can probably do a better job than I can."

"I doubt that, Mr. Malfoy. Harry's potion grades were never as exceptional as yours."

Draco stared at the parchment. From where Harry was standing, it looked like a long list. "Well…if you want me to, sir-"

"Excellent! I give you complete access to the potions dungeon and to all its stores. There are many potion books there as well. Feel free to use them if you find the need to review." With that, he swept out of the room.

Draco looked up from the list and turned his eyes toward Harry. "These are some very complicated potions. I hope I remember how to do them. It's been a while."

Harry considered for a moment and then strode toward the exit. "Come along. I think I have something that will help you."

Draco followed and they soon found themselves on the seventh floor corridor next to a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Draco glared at Harry. Certainly the memories of the last time he was here must be playing in his head. "Why are we here?" he asked hoarsely.

"I need a place to hide things," said Harry distinctly, and the door suddenly appeared.

Harry grabbed the door ring but Draco balked. "I'm not going in there," he said.

"It's not that room anymore, Draco. It's now a storeroom. The cabinet was taken out and destroyed. You have to stop being afraid of your past sins."

"What do you know of it?" came the voice of the Draco Malfoy Harry knew from school. "You don't know the half of them."

His words spoken in such a low timbre caused a chill to ripple down Harry's spine. "I'm certain you're right. But I'm also certain that you wouldn't be here if your past weren't being forgotten. Come on. Let's go in."

Harry opened the door, no longer worrying if Draco were behind him. He searched down the rows of cast off debris and almost tripped over a cache of Professor Trelawney's empty sherry bottles. When Draco swore behind him and kicked a bottle out of his way, Harry smiled. "You know the last time I was here, I had just cast that cutting curse on you in the boy's bathroom. Remember?"

"Yes I do," said Draco tightly. "That was very Dark Magic, Potter. I didn't appreciate it."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I didn't know what the spell would do."

Draco grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him back. "Wait! You cast a spell on me not knowing what it would do?"

"It said it was for one's enemies."

"You could have killed me!"

"I know." He turned a smile on Draco. "And I said I was sorry. Do you see me moping over it?"

Draco looked askance but Harry had reached his destination. He found the old cupboard with the bust and the wig and opened the door. Inside, hidden behind a broken cage, was a book Harry had secreted nearly four years ago. Advanced Potion-Making. And on the bottom of the back cover were the words scrawled in a long-ago hand: "This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince."

Harry handed it to Draco. "The notes in the margins are most useful, but don't try any of the spells on someone unless you check them out first."

"What's this?"

"I think this should belong to you. I stumbled upon it in my sixth year."

"Who's this Half-Blood Prince git?"

Harry smiled. "That's your favorite potion's teacher when he was a student."

Draco's face froze. He stared at the book again. "Snape?"

"Right in one. It certainly helped me get through potions, but watch out for those stray spells."

"He invented the one that you-"

"-nearly killed you with? Yeah."

Draco held the book reverently. "Thanks, Harry."

"You're welcome. And good luck. Dumbledore wasn't fooling. I won't be able to help you with your potions. I'm just not very good with them."

Draco nodded, but didn't seem to hear. He followed Harry out of the Room of Requirement and walked slowly toward the potions dungeons.

* * *

Draco took a long time assembling his ingredients. He marveled at how well stocked the potions cabinets were and got a chance to look into the normally locked cabinets full of dangerous or forbidden ingredients. He couldn't quite believe that Dumbledore trusted him that much to allow him such uninhibited access.

There were fifteen potions to brew in all. He certainly didn't have to do them all at once but he wanted to get started on the more complicated potions in case he needed to scrap them and start over, though very rarely had Draco ever had to do that with a potion.

He set up five cauldrons and took special care in the first kettle. It felt strange being in the potions dungeon without Snape, and he gave his favorite teacher a wistful thought. If it hadn't been for Snape and his complete and utter devotion to Dumbledore, it was possible that Harry Potter never would have succeeded in slaying Voldemort. But Snape had implanted himself so deeply amongst the Death Eaters, had disguised so well his deception, that he was able to save Draco's life several times. Snape knew, if no one else save Dumbledore, that he was on a suicide mission. Some said it was remorse for having a hand in getting the Potters killed, and some say that he regretted his choice as a Death Eater, and some even said he wasn't a Pureblood and didn't really believe in the Pureblood philosophy (Half-blood Prince, Draco thought. Perhaps that says it best.). Whatever the reason, Snape was a true hero, though very few knew it.

Draco chopped the pods and ground the dried eel eyes into a fine powder and added them to the cauldron. Immediately the potion turned a bright orange, just as it was supposed to do. He smiled. It had been a very long time since he had brewed a potion. A very long time. There was a swelling in his heart that was something like pride and gratitude. And there was something else. Some of it was reserved for Harry Potter and it gave his heart a bit of a pang. He wondered about it briefly, but then he concentrated on stirring his potion for exactly the requisite amount of rotations.

For hours, Draco was immersed in his potions, walking from one cauldron to the other and peering in. The room smelled of that familiar potion smell, a mixture of rotten eggs, burnt toast, and honeysuckle. Draco inhaled deeply. He didn't realize how much he had missed it all.

"Ready to go?"

Harry's voice scared him out of his wits and on instinct he whirled, wand at the ready. And as soon as he saw the look on Harry's face and looked down at his own hand, he instantly dropped the wand. It clattered on the stone floor.

"You startled me," he gasped.

Harry only raised his brows, leaned down, and picked up Draco's wand. He said nothing as he handed it back to him. "Sorry," he said. He turned to the table with its row of bubbling cauldrons and examined each one. "I wonder why the potions master wants these particular potions."

Draco shrugged, glad Harry made no mention of his wand faux paux. "Who is the new potions master? Is it Slughorn again?"

"No. Slughorn said he retired for good this time. I don't know who it is. But it is certainly a strange collection."

"There's even odder ones on the list. Look." He showed Harry the scroll Dumbledore had given him.

Harry looked it over. "No rhyme or reason to it, is there?"

"Some are quite dangerous." Draco scratched his head.

"Are you at a stopping point?"

"Not yet. You go on ahead. I'll catch up."

"Okay. I'll put something together for dinner when you get home."

Draco glanced sidelong at Harry. "Home? That's very domestic, Potter."

Harry made a crooked smile. "Well, I am the perfect little husband."

"Well just don't forget: I'm not your wife!"

"Oh, I haven't forgotten. Drakey-kins."

"Don't call me that!" he yelled after him. But Harry had disappeared through the door in a burst of laughter. "Potter!" Draco shook his head and under his breath he said, "Ponce."

Hours passed and Draco nursed his potions. Like a miser over his gold, he was reluctant to let them alone. When he finally checked a clock, he saw it was one in the morning. "Shit!" He turned off the flames, secure that they could all cool till the next day. And for once, he was truly excited about returning to Hogwarts.

He hurried to Harry's study, jumped into the fireplace, and yelled, "Harry's flat, London!" and in an instant he was there. When he stepped out, there was Harry, asleep in the wing chair, a spell book lying open on his chest. His glasses sat askew on the bridge of his nose and his mouth hung open slightly and he was breathing heavily.

Draco stopped and looked at him. He wanted him to be awake. He wanted to share his excitement with him. And then he realized Harry must have been waiting up for him. He smiled. Had Harry always been this nice? Had Draco never noticed because he was told to mistrust him? Of course. Being Voldemort's enemy, Harry was beneath notice. Well he noticed him now. Draco shook out his head. He didn't mean it in that way. He noticed how thoughtful Harry was, that was what he meant. How funny and how companionable. Harry was a great guy. And he looked somewhat like a little boy when he slept, with his hair all unruly like it was and his rosy mouth poised as if to say something. Even his glasses made him look younger, more vulnerable, more attractive-

Draco frowned and went to the kitchen. Harry had left a plate for him. There was some sort of chicken dish with pasta. Draco took out his wand, heated the food gently, and tucked in. He raised his eyes occasionally to the sleeping Harry while he ate and when he finished he put the plate gently into the sink and whispered, "Nox," and the lights went out. He sidled over to Harry, reached out, and gently shook his shoulder. "Hey Harry."

Harry snorted and sat up. His glasses nearly fell off his nose and Draco chuckled softly and put them right. "Go to bed, Harry."

"What time is it?" he asked blearily.

"Nearly two."

"And you woke me up to tell me to go to bed?"

"You don't want to sleep in the chair. Now come along." He dragged the sleepy Harry up, linked arms with him, and escorted him to his room. Harry sat on the edge of his bed and slid over.

"Are you tucking me in?"

"Very nearly." He took Harry's glasses off his face and set them on his side table. Harry crawled under the covers and snuggled his head into his pillow.

"'Night, Draco."

"Good night, Harry."

Draco stood over him a while as Harry fell instantly asleep. The blue shadows of the room cast Harry's cheek half in shadow, half in soft pastels. His cheek was smooth and it was hard to believe any sort of beard would grow on it. Draco's gaze followed the line of that smooth cheek down to perfectly formed lips that looked violet in the dim light from the streetlamp shining resignedly through the gauzy curtains.

He looked at those lips a long time before he sighed to himself, turned, and left the bedroom.


On to Chapter Seven
"Old Friends"

Back to Chapter Five
"Hogwarts from the Ashes"

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