Draco threw the back door to the cottage open with such force that Andromeda jumped in her seat at the kitchen table. Her eyes widened when she saw the bloodied state he was in.
"What the hell happened?" she cried, getting to her feet. Draco marched past her without answering and headed straight for his bedroom. Andromeda quickly followed, "Where's Harry?"
"Don't know," he said shortly, throwing his hold-all onto the bed. "Don't care."
"Is he still out there?" she asked. "Is he hurt?"
"No more than I am," he spat, quickly shoving his meagre belongings into the bag.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Away," said Draco, staring fixedly anywhere but at his aunt. "Harry and I had a little chat and we both concluded that I'm not fit to be near anyone, so I'm leaving."
"Nonsense," she retorted. "Come back downstairs and we'll talk this out."
"There's nothing to talk about!" he shouted.
"You come storming into my house filthy and covered in blood without an explanation and announce that you are leaving, there's plenty to talk about," she snapped. "Stop packing your bag and look at me."
Draco threw his bag down onto the bed in frustration and turned to face his aunt.
"What happened?" she asked more softly.
Draco shrugged. "Potter and I did what we always do— we had a fight. This"— he pointed at his bloodied and bruised face —"is a pretty normal outcome to our spats. I'm surprised he managed to wait a whole five minutes before he pulled his wand on me."
Andromeda gasped. "He drew his wand on you? Does he know you're wandless?"
"Yes!" lied Draco, then admitted, "Perhaps I neglected to mention that the Ministry hasn't returned my wand to me yet. But he shouldn't have drawn it on me in the first place. He wasn't there to talk, he just wanted to fight."
"And you didn't?" Andromeda challenged. "Did you actually try to talk things out, or did you just antagonise Harry enough to make sure he'd draw his wand on you?"
"What does it matter? We all know how this is going to play out. I'm leaving before you can send me away," Draco stated, resuming his packing.
"What do you mean?" asked Andromeda confused.
Draco sneered. "Don't play coy with me. You let me stay here so long as it wasn't an inconvenience to you— I get that. But now Harry knows, and he's lost his shit over the arrangement we have, as I expected he would, and now he'll say, 'it's either me or him', and we both know that I'll never be picked over Boy Wonder. Honestly, Andromeda, I get it. It's fine. Just let me leave before it comes to that, I don't think I could stand to get sidelined for him again. It happened all through our school years and I refuse to let it happen again."
"Firstly Draco, stop packing when I'm speaking to you, it's rude," said Andromeda. Draco stopped packing and folded his arms, looking at his feet, still avoiding her gaze. "Secondly, obviously Harry hasn't said anything like that to me yet, he's probably gone home to clean up his own wounds. Third and most importantly, even if he did say something like that— and I doubt that he ever would —I'm hurt that you would assume that I would cast you aside so quickly. Being part of a family requires hard work and sacrifice from all parties, both you and Harry need to understand that. You both need to learn to bury the hatchet on this playground bullying nonsense that's been dragged out for far too many years."
"This is more than simple playground bullying, Andromeda," Draco snarled. "It goes way beyond that. I've done things...terrible, unforgivable things. I've been ignoring it for as long as I can, but I can't do that anymore. This latest confrontation has given me real clarity on that— I'm not a good person, Andromeda. There's no point pretending that I am."
"You're not a bad person, Draco," she intoned softly.
"I got Dumbledore killed," he said flatly.
"No, Snape—" she began, but Draco cut in.
"I know why he did it, but I as good as killed him; I was the one who got Bellatrix and the others into Hogwarts that night. And it's not just that night; I bully people because I enjoy it. I take pleasure in other people's misfortunes. I watched people getting tortured and killed and I did nothing. I want to hurt people who hurt me and the people I love, but I'm too much of a fucking coward to even do that. I'm a fucking Death Eater, Andromeda. Death Eaters killed your husband and daughter! I shouldn't be anywhere near you or Teddy. Potter said it himself, I'm not a good person. I'm no good for anyone— least of all you and Teddy."
"Did you enjoy it?" asked Andromeda. "Watching people being tortured and killed?"
"No!" he decried. "That's not the point. The point is I let it happen."
"The point is that there was nothing you could do!" Andromeda stated, her voice rising. "You were in a nest of vipers, if you had spoken out or taken action against them then you and your parents would have been killed!"
"So I'm a coward," Draco concluded, his voice cracking.
"You're a survivor, Draco!" she cried. "You did what you could, what you had to do to survive."
Draco shook his head. "Potter wouldn't have done that. He would have done or said something, he would have fought back."
"You're not Harry though, are you?" she said more gently, shaking her head. "Most people aren't. And fewer still would want to be."
She took Draco's hands into her own and looked up into his eyes. "You did what you had to do, just like everybody else. Not everybody is a hero— nobody is expecting you to be. If you were to live up to everyone's expectations, you wouldn't amount to very much, would you?"
"No," Draco answered quietly.
"I don't care what other people think, they don't know you as well as I do," she said.
Draco shook his head. "You don't know me at all. There's no good in me, Andromeda. There's nothing good left for you to save."
"That's not true," she proclaimed forcefully. "You have good in you, I've seen it."
"All you've seen is what I want you to see," he drawled. "It's been an act. I've been preying on your good nature to secure a roof over my head and a hot meal."
"Stop lying," she chastised him sharply. "I know it's not been an act because I saw you!" she said, her voice choked. "I saw you that day. After Dora's funeral, I went back to spend some time on my own, and I saw you by her graveside."
Draco felt his stomach sink. Oh, god.
"You weren't supposed to see," he said weakly. "I know I shouldn't have been there..."
"If you hadn't been there, then you wouldn't be here now. Why do you think I got in touch with you in the first place?" Draco blinked. Andromeda continued, "I may have never met you before that day, but I knew who you were, even with your back to me— you look remarkably like your father. But there the similarities begin and end, in my opinion."
Draco frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Your father would never have felt guilt for the death of someone he'd never met, much less visited their graveside," she said. "Bad people don't feel remorse or guilt. They don't try to make amends. Bellatrix never felt remorse for anything that she did, she took pleasure in hurting others, even those she was supposed to love most. You're not like her, Draco— nor your father, nor Harry. You are your own person."
"I don't know if that's enough," Draco whispered. "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't even feel like I know who I am anymore."
Andromeda grasped Draco's shoulders and looked into his eyes. "You are Draco Lucius Malfoy and you have good in you. Even if you can't see it now, trust me when I say that I see it in you, every day."
She glanced at the hold-all on the bed. "No matter how far you run, you'll never outrun who you are. So you need to make a choice— what kind of person are you going to be? Are you going to keep running away every time someone disagrees with you, or when life gets too hard? Or do you have the strength and conviction to stand your ground? All people have light and dark in them, Draco, but giving up on yourself will snuff that light out entirely. The choice is yours."
Andromeda left without another word leaving Draco in his room to ponder what to do next. He looked at his hold-all with all his worldly possessions contained in one bag. Draco had always chosen the path of least resistance because he'd never felt strongly enough about anything to 'do the right thing'. He had never had to think about such things because his entire life had already been laid out before him; growing up he had always been so certain of everything. Now, all certainties in his life had been stripped away; his fears, insecurities and shortcomings laid bare. He didn't even know where he was going to be tomorrow. The uncertainty of it all was frightening and he felt like his life was a small flame engulfed in darkness and exposed to the elements of the world. One wrong move— the slightest breeze —would extinguish him entirely. There was nobody here to tell him what to do. Andromeda was his only guidance, and what she was asking was not easy or straightforward. He looked at the bag again, knowing he had to decide between what was easy and what was right, but he wasn't sure he had it in himself to do what she was asking.
***
It took a couple of days to persuade Harry to come back to the cottage, but eventually, Andromeda managed to convince him to try talking to Draco again. When he arrived at the Apparition point, he found Draco and Andromeda already waiting for him.
Andromeda looked between Harry and her nephew. "You two ought to try exchanging words instead of fists this time."
Draco looked sheepishly at his feet and shrugged, "I am willing to try again if you are, Potter."
Harry looked at him suspiciously for a moment before giving a curt nod. Andromeda smiled and clapped her hands together. "Very good. Still, in the interests of safety, I'd rather you kept your conversation outdoors please, I don't want either of you blowing up the house."
Andromeda waved them off as Draco and Harry marched back out into the poppy field, coming to a full stop near the remnants of the exploded tree stump. Draco had his back to Harry, staring off down the sloping field into the woodland in the distance, not at all confident this little chat would go any better than their last.
"You punch a lot harder than I thought you could."
Harry was the one who finally broke the silence, trying to keep his tone light.
Draco glanced at him with a frown. "What gave you the impression that I couldn't?"
"Honestly, I figured you'd always rely on a wand to hurt someone instead of getting your own hands dirty."
Draco snorted. "Was that supposed to be a compliment?"
"Yeah, kind of. I'm not very good at small talk. Or compliments."
"Me neither," admitted Draco.
"Something else we have in common, then," Harry said, taking a tentative step towards him. He checked his watch and exclaimed, "Oh my god."
"What?" asked Draco.
Harry looked at him with a surprised expression. "It's been five minutes and we haven't killed each other."
"Hilarious," said Draco flatly, suppressing a smirk.
Harry's smile faltered and he asked, "Why didn't you draw your wand on me?"
Draco didn't answer immediately. His gut reaction was to tell Potter to mind his own fucking business, but he had promised Andromeda that he'd try harder. As much as it pained him to admit it, he shrugged and admitted, "The... uh... Ministry hasn't returned mine yet."
"The Ministry haven't returned your wand?" asked Harry incredulously. "But...the trial is over, you were acquitted of all charges. They don't have the right to withhold it from you."
"Don't look so surprised, Potter. I wasn't kidding when I said I had no friends, certainly none at the Ministry. They've been throwing all sorts of paperwork at me, trying to make it difficult for me to get it back. Bureaucratic bullshit in my opinion."
"So you fought me without a wand," said Harry. "I could have really hurt you."
"Maybe. But you didn't. The only casualties were the tree stump and that hideous shirt of yours."
Harry rolled his eyes. "My shirt isn't the real issue here, is it?"
"No," said Draco quietly, his voice hard. "I hate that I owe you, Potter. Helping me with...the fire. And with the trial. I want to be able to hate you, but I can't because you keep helping me even when I don't want you to. You're so fucking self-righteous, it's infuriating."
"You're not the first person to say that," Harry responded with a small smile.
"Well, that comes as no surprise," he muttered.
Harry sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, I know I overreacted when I saw you the other day. But you have to see it from my point of view— you of all people suddenly playing happy families with Andy and Teddy. It came as a bit of a shock to the system."
"Me of all people? Don't presume to know anything about me, because you don't. Not a damn thing," Draco returned fiercely, kicking the tree stump in frustration. "I've kept my head down since the trial, I've stayed out of trouble. I knew you wouldn't be happy when you found out about me staying here, but I thought...after what you said at the trial, about second chances, that maybe things wouldn't be as bad as they used to be between us anymore. Not friends, but not enemies anymore either. But then you came marching in here and started your shit with me. I thought maybe you helped me because you really believed I deserved a second chance. Now I realise you were just doing it for yourself, to save yourself the guilt of being responsible for letting me die. Well, some life you rescued me for."
Draco fell roughly onto the ground and sank his head into his knees. There was a moment's silence, then Draco jumped slightly as he felt a warm hand squeeze his shoulder.
"You're right, Malfoy," said Harry softly. "There's no excuse for behaving like I did, and I'm sorry. But we need to stop with the insults and the fighting. Please, I've already done enough fighting to last me a lifetime."
Draco forced himself to look up into Harry's face. All throughout their school years, their verbal sparring had gone back and forth much the same way— Draco would tease Harry until he exploded in righteous indignation, and then Draco would keep pushing his buttons, delighted to elicit such a visceral reaction from him. Sometimes it would end with him getting a punch in the face (usually from Granger), but it was a risk worth taking just to see Harry's eyes bulging furiously at whatever it was that Draco had said or done that day. It had amused him to no end for five years. Then of course the Dark Lord had returned, and teasing Harry was the furthest thing from his mind. Looking at Harry now though, he didn't see the boy who looked ready to pick a fight. He just looked exhausted, defeated.
"I..." choked Draco, then mumbled, "I'm sorry too. For blowing things up."
Harry sighed, running a hand through his already messy black hair. He looked out into the distance with a faraway look in his eyes. He reached out and with a very tender motion touched the heads of the poppies, letting them run across his hand.
"In Flanders fields the poppies blow," he began quietly, his emerald eyes dark and distant, "Between the crosses, row on row..."
"What are you talking about?" asked Draco confused. Harry sat down next to Draco, shoulder to shoulder, still looking out at the expanse of delicate, vibrant red flowers all around them.
"Do you know the story of the poppies in Flanders Field?" asked Harry. Draco shook his head. Harry continued, "At the end of the First World War— um, I'm not sure what involvement wizards had in it."
"Not much," shrugged Draco, "We tend to try and avoid involving ourselves in Muggles' petty squabbles. But I have read about it."
Harry nodded and continued, "At the end of the war, the devastation that was left behind was the likes of which had never been seen before, every sign of humanity had been swept away. The woods and roads and houses had vanished, villages turned to rubble, and the fields of France were wastelands of nothing for hundreds of square miles. They thought that with that amount of damage, with that amount of death, nothing could ever grow there again. Then against all the odds, new life began to grow there again. Flowers." He gently brushed his hands over the heads of the poppies, causing them to bob and sway, "Poppies began to grow, blood-red flowers in the place where so much blood had been spilt."
"What's your point?"
"The point is that even after it seemed that all was lost, life would go on. That even though the ground was shattered and poisoned, there was a chance of renewal. The War— our war —has taken something from everyone, you included. Even though it doesn't seem possible yet that we can move on and rebuild our lives, the possibility remains that we can."
"Things will never be the way they used to be," said Draco hoarsely.
"No, they won't," Harry acknowledged. "But something new can grow in its place. I think even people like you and I can make something good out of what's left. Even if not for ourselves, then for others like Teddy."
"People like you and I?" said Draco with a small laugh. "You and I are nothing alike."
"I think we have more in common than you might think. I know how it feels to have the papers hound you night and day, deconstructing and analysing every aspect of your life without giving a shit how it affects you or anyone else around you. People don't even know you and they still see fit to pass judgement on you."
"I think we're both guilty of doing that," mused Draco. "To each other."
"Yeah, probably."
"You know, I always thought you enjoyed all the attention."
Harry gave a hollow laugh. "Yes, I remember you teasing me mercilessly every time my name made an appearance in the Prophet."
Draco hesitated before admitting, "In truth, I was always a little jealous of the attention you got. I spent so long wishing I was in your shoes, gallivanting about doing heroic deeds, getting fan mail. I thought it all sounded like marvellous fun."
"It was nothing like that," said Harry darkly.
Draco nodded. "I know that now. I can't believe I used to wish it was me getting my name in the paper. Looks like I finally got my wish."
Neither of them spoke for a long time. They remained sitting shoulder to shoulder, then Harry crawled on his hands and knees to sit crosslegged in front of Draco.
"Malfoy, I know apologies aren't going to make up for all the things that we've done to each other, but maybe it would help to clear the air a bit if we took turns apologising for some of the things that we did. It might help us move past whatever this is between us."
Draco pulled a face and retorted, "I don't think partaking in a budget psyche session is going to fix all of the issues that we have, Potter."
"I know that, but there's no harm in trying. I promised Andy I'd talk things through with you, so let's do it. We should at least try and put things to rest once and for all."
Draco was still uncertain this would work, but finally, he relented. "Fine. But you start."
"Okay," Harry took a deep breath. "I'm sorry for how I behaved the other day."
"You've already said sorry for that."
"I know, but I really am sorry," said Harry sincerely.
Draco shook his head. "You need to apologise for something else before I take my turn. Something you've not apologised for yet."
Harry rolled his eyes, but remembered something else, he said, "I'm sorry that I said your mum looked like she had dung up her nose whenever she was with you."
Draco snickered. "Okay, that's a start. Well, I suppose I'm sorry for the Potter Stinks badges, but I thought they were quite funny."
Harry sighed. "I'm sure you did. Okay, I'm sorry I thought you were Slytherin's heir in our second year."
Draco burst out laughing. "You honestly thought I was Slytherin's heir?"
"Well, you seemed like the most obvious candidate at the time!" said Harry defensively. "All your talk about Mudbloods, and you were in Slytherin and—"
"Alright, alright, forget it. I'll take it as a compliment," Draco waved his hand dismissively, then continued in a more serious tone, "I'm sorry for calling Granger a Mudblood."
"On more than one occasion," Harry reminded him.
Draco pouted a little. "Yes, perhaps I did say it on more than one occasion..."
"Well I don't think that really counts, Malfoy," he argued. "You need to apologise to Hermione for saying that, not me."
"Fine," sighed Draco, rolling his eyes. "Then I'm sorry for all the stories I made up to Rita Skeeter about you in our fourth year. I realise now how humiliating that must have been."
"How observant of you, Malfoy," said Harry sarcastically. "Alright, I'm sorry I broke into the Slytherin Common Room in our second year and tried to trick you into telling me who the Heir of Slytherin was."
Draco looked aghast. "You did what?"
Harry bit his lip and said innocently, "It's when I thought you were the Slytherin heir. We were trying to extract information from you."
"How did you even get into the Common Room?"
Harry's face broke out into a mischievous grin. "Ron and I used Polyjuice Potion to disguise ourselves as Crabbe and Goyle, then we bumped into you and you let us in."
"You sneaky bastard," breathed Draco, sounding suspiciously impressed. "You made Polyjuice Potion in your second year?"
"Hell no," Harry laughed. "Hermione did."
"Of course she did," assented Draco, shaking his head in disbelief. "I never even noticed. I'm more impressed than annoyed at that, Potter. Pulling stunts like that, I'm surprised you weren't in Slytherin."
Harry smiled knowingly but said nothing. "Your turn again."
"Alright, I'm sorry I tried to prank you dressed as a Dementor in our third year."
Harry laughed. "Yeah, sorry I shot you in the face with a Patronus charm and made you shit your pants."
"I probably deserved it."
"You definitely deserved it," Harry chuckled.
Draco's smile faltered and he shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry I stamped on your face the last time we were on the train to Hogwarts."
Harry nodded curtly. "Apology accepted. And I'm sorry for spying on you that day."
Draco hesitated before saying in a small voice, "I'm sorry for what happened to Dumbledore."
Harry felt a lump in his throat and he suddenly found it difficult to speak. He looked Draco in the eye— silver-grey on emerald green —both tired, weary, and aged beyond their years. Draco was looking at Harry with a look bordering on desperation.
Harry nodded and choked, "I forgive you."
Draco's eyes welled, and he quickly turned from Harry's piercing gaze, sighing a tired, ragged breath. The exchange of apologies went on for a long time. They laughed at the sillier infractions and spoke solemnly about more serious altercations between them. Getting it out in the open did seem to clear some of the air between them. As the sun began to set they slowly walked back to The Mill, their conversation turning to Quidditch. Despite all of their differences growing up, it had been one thing that both men had remained passionate about.
"That's what I wanted to be when I was young," admitted Draco. "To play Quidditch professionally."
"Really?" asked Harry keenly. "What team do you support?"
Draco felt his stomach do a small flip at how excited Harry was to hear something about him, something normal that didn't have anything to do with Death Eaters and war.
His face took on a dreamy sort of expression when he spoke, "I always wanted to play for the Wimbourne Wasps. The strip colours are atrocious, but the club is fantastic. I had it all planned out— get on the school team, graduate, and hopefully get picked for the reserve team, and eventually take over as Team Seeker. The dream of course was to play for England at the World Cup."
His smile faded and he shrugged. "Of course, my father wasn't keen on having his son become a sportsman, even if it was at a professional level. It was unbecoming of the Malfoy heir to be a common athlete. He planned on me doing something more befitting of the family name— a job at the Ministry. Something diplomatic, Merlin knows what. Of course, that's as likely to happen now as me being on the England Team."
"You were always a great flier, Malfoy," Harry assured him.
Draco laughed softly. "Good, but not good enough. You were always better. So what about you? Now the war's over you can do pretty much anything you want. Are you going to be a Quidditch star? An Auror? Minister for Magic?"
Harry shrugged non-committedly. "Honestly, I haven't got a clue. I, uh, never thought I'd get this far, so I didn't give it much thought."
"Well, what do you want to do?" Draco persisted.
Harry gave him a lopsided grin. "I think you're the first person to actually ask me that— what do I want to do? Thank you."
"I can empathise with having your life planned out for you without being consulted about it. So what do you fancy doing with the rest of your life?"
"You want an honest answer?" asked Harry. He threw his head back and closed his eyes, grinning widely, "I just want some peace and quiet. A cottage in the countryside, a couple of dogs, maybe a couple of kids, and someone to share it all with me. No press. No adventures. Just peace and quiet."
"How domestic," quipped Draco and Harry punched his arm lightly, smiling. "So until you achieve domestic bliss, what are you doing for the time being?"
"Taking a well-earned break from saving the world." Draco rolled his eyes and Harry continued, "I've been helping the Ministry out with court testimonies for the most part. It's pretty time-consuming, but it's not going to last forever. Once that's all wrapped up, I'm going to enjoy a slower pace in life."
"A slower pace? Merlin, Potter, you're only seventeen," drawled Draco.
"It's been an action-packed seventeen years. Right now I just need some sleep."
It was a strange sensation, spending time with one's childhood enemy, both struggling to find their place in the world. It made Draco feel a little better that he wasn't alone in his predicament. When they finally reached the back door of the cottage again, Harry turned to Draco.
"I think when we step back into the cottage, we start on a clean slate," he suggested. "Agreed?"
Draco hesitated. "Potter. I don't know how long we'll be able to keep this up for. It just seems inevitable that we'll be at each other's throats."
"Maybe, but we won't know if we don't try. Today has already more than exceeded my expectations— neither of us are dead or grievously injured."
Draco chuckled. "I suppose that is progress, of sorts. Okay, Potter. Let's see how long we can refrain from killing one another. I give us to the end of the week before we start throwing punches again."
"How much do you wager?" asked Harry.
"Shall we say a Galleon?"
"Deal," Harry said with a grin, then added tentatively, "And in the spirit of clean slates, maybe we should start it by being on a first-name basis."
Draco slowly nodded. "That would be acceptable."
Harry held out his hand. It shook ever so slightly, but Harry's face was set with determination. Draco looked at the hand and was immediately reminded of his first train ride to Hogwarts, when he had extended the same hand of friendship to Harry, only to have it rejected. It had been humiliating, and more hurtful than he could imagine. A small part of him wanted to swat the hand away to finally have his revenge. But another part of him had secretly wanted this all along, even after he'd declared Harry his sworn enemy and bullied him mercilessly. Even after they'd hurt each other over and over again— this was all he'd ever really wanted. Harry's friendship. Draco took the hand into his own and squeezed it hard, never wanting to let go. Harry's hand was warm, the skin on his palm felt calloused but smooth. He felt a tight knot he hadn't noticed in his chest loosen, and Harry gave him a lopsided smile.
"Friends?" he asked.
Draco nodded. "Friends."