Ministry waiting rooms were hateful places.

Draco had the sense that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement designed their own tiny, cramped waiting spaces to be even more odious than the average, since the only wizards who usually had reason to wait for an Auror's attention tended to be criminals or parolees.

People like Draco, for example.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glanced with disinterest at the stack of Witch Weekly magazines on the coffee table near his row of chairs, and firmly avoided the gaze of the only other person in the room, Magnus Jugson. He'd been a Death Eater as well, and avoided a more serious sentence through a combination of wealth, lack of notoriety, and the pretense of a serious injury that limited his mobility and apparently also addled his wits. Draco didn't buy it for a second.

After another ten minutes of waiting with nothing to show for it, Jugson's wavery voice cut through the silence. "Draco, m'boy, I wonder if you could-"

"I really couldn't," Draco drawled, crossing his ankles and folding his hands over his stomach, giving the impression of relaxation even if the reality was impossible.

Jugson fell silent again, and Draco ignored his churlish expression. This might be his last meeting with his parole officer, and Draco wasn't going to fuck it up by fraternizing with someone who he, at least, knew wanted to get the old crowd back together and kick a few muggles around.

Draco had never been a muggle-kicker, himself. His family avoided hefty trouble because of Potter's testimony, which gave his parents the freedom to spend most of their time abroad and put Draco just a notch above sly old bastards like Jugson in the new order of things.

"Parolee Malfoy." Williamson's voice echoed through the quiet of the room, and Draco stood, brushing out his robes and straightening his back. Williamson's office was momentarily connected to this door, and when their meeting was at an end he'd end up in the hall near the lifts. They didn't want ex-Death Eaters roaming the DMLE at will, after all.

He smoothed his sneer into a bland smile as he stepped into the familiar, sterile office and shut the door behind him. Williamson gestured to the wooden chair opposite his desk and otherwise ignored Draco as he flipped through his file. Draco sat and looked around, noting that the walls and floor were still grey, and that the desk still lacked any personal touches.

Williamson wasn't the worst parole officer. He wasn't the best, but he didn't have the kind of blind bias against Draco that he encountered more often in the general public. The last time they spoke, Williamson confirmed that Draco had completed all the requisite requirements for an early parole termination. Draco was hopeful that soon, instead of being a model citizen with a Ministry-appointed leech on his shoulder, he could be a model citizen from the quiet, solitary peace of the Manor.

"Your petition was denied," Williamson said plainly, sans greeting. He glanced up from Draco's folder and handed him a roll of parchment that likely echoed his summary. Draco took it with numb fingers.

"You said my case was a good one," Draco responded, unrolling the parchment without really thinking about it. Large red letters slashed across Draco's own neat handwriting: REJECTED. "What happened?"

Williamson leaned back in his chair and sucked at his teeth. "Politics," he said, gesturing vaguely. "Timing. I believe Doge's exact words were 'I'm not letting another Malfoy slip through my fingers.'"

Draco grit his teeth in frustration. The things he wanted to say in response to that weren't best spoken in front of one of the few, if tenuous allies he had in this godforsaken bureaucratic hellhole. He inhaled slowly through his nose before speaking again.

"How can I appeal?"

Williamson squinted at Draco for a few seconds, which Draco tolerated with a polite expression.

"You're not gonna win an appeal," Williamson told him, still tipped back in his seat very slightly. "Not as it stands. The public doesn't want to hear that the Malfoys are off the hook. It's only been a couple years."

Draco balled his hands into fists in the folds of his robes. "You're saying that despite my good behaviour, despite that I've submitted to all the invasive rules and restrictions of this probationary period without complaint, despite my genuine desire to simply live out the rest of my life as a law abiding citizen-"

"Yeah, nobody really buys that, though," Williamson interrupted. His blunt honesty was something Draco liked about him, Draco reminded himself forcefully. He appreciated it. He truly did. He clenched his jaw with enjoyment of it.

Rather than asking if Williamson 'bought' it, Draco pushed onward to the pertinent question at hand. "What shall I do to convince them?"

Williamson flipped through a few pages in Draco's file, frowned to himself, then leaned back again. "Two options as I see it. I think you qualify for parole termination, Malfoy, and that you deserve it."

Draco felt himself relax marginally at the answer to his unasked question.

"But?" he prodded, when Williamson didn't continue immediately.

"But you're gonna have to prove it to the people making the decision, and that's not me," Williamson explained, scratching his ear. "So like I said: two options. All boils down to the same thing, though, and that's making the public decide you're not so bad after all."

"Two options," Draco repeated, not liking how long it was taking to get to the point. Williamson only tiptoed around particularly nasty topics. "What are they?"

"Option number one is reparations," Williamson said. "For you specifically, it wouldn't be anything your family couldn't afford, but-"

"-but we both know it's not just about me," Draco said rubbing at the bridge of his nose with a finger and thumb. He knew exactly where this was going. "My father's reparations as well, then. How much?"

Williamson sat forward as though to flip through Draco's file again, then shrugged and didn't bother. "To satisfy the public and the Wizengamot? The entire estate."

"The entire..." Draco repeated, feeling quite faint. "You mean the property, surely."

"And the vaults, and the gold inside the vaults, whatever heirlooms your family possesses, and the clothes off your backs if they can manage it," Williamson enumerated. As usual, when he stated harsh truths like this, his dry, objective tone made it all sound a thousand times worse to Draco's ears.

Draco shook his head slowly. "Option number two."

"Option number two," Williamson repeated, his slow delivery causing Draco to look up. Impossible as it might be to imagine, Williamson seemed to think this one was worse. "Is a Requaero."

Draco stared at him uncomprehendingly for a long moment. "A Requaero?" he repeated, when he found his voice. "The Ministry hasn't honoured a Requaero in centuries."

"Just two," Williamson disagreed. "Largely because they've gone out of fashion. I doubt it'd be an issue considering what you'd be doing."

"You've come up with the subject of my quest already?" Draco asked, crossing his arms across his chest even as he lifted a skeptical eyebrow. "Have you packed my knapsack as well?"

"There's a reason Requaeros have gone out of style," said Williamson, an unusual note of humour in his usually matter-of-fact delivery. "Not much to quest for these days."

Draco paused, his eyes falling to the desk as he thought. It didn't take long.

"No," he said, rising to his feet if only to physically express the sheer rejection his body and mind felt toward the very concept. "Absolutely not. I will not."

A knock sounded on the front doors of the Manor the next morning. Draco pulled them open to find one of the older Weasleys standing stiffly on the portico, wearing rougher than usual Ministry robes and carrying, of all things, a knapsack.

"Can I help you?" Draco asked irritably, tightening his morning robe around his shoulders and scowling at the elf who'd summoned him, standing just out of Weasley's line of sight. The elf bowed repeatedly and vanished, twisting her ears.

"As per Paragraph 182, subsection C of the Ministry Bylaws, I am the court-appointed witness to Parolee Malfoy's Requaero Probum, to ensure that the quest is enacted with due honor and virtue," Weasley recited, his shoulders thrown back and his nose in the air. It was his officious tone that allowed Draco to finally pinpoint which Weasley he was speaking with. He was the one who was Head Boy in Draco's fourth year.

Draco stared at him. "You have got to be bloody joking," he said. Weasley looked down his nose at Draco and adjusted his knapsack.

"I assure you that I am most certainly not," he said severely. "And your language will be noted in my witness testimony, Parolee Malfoy."

Weasley conjured a quill and parchment, which began scribbling away at his elbow.

"Right," Draco said, taking a breath and tacking on a charming smile. "If you'll just come this way," he hesitated, uncertain of Weasley's actual title within the Ministry and deciding to skip over it entirely, rather than inquire. "The parlour is quite comfortable, if you'll pardon my absence as I pack. I believe there'll be enough time to take tea before we go."

Weasley sniffed and nodded his assent, and Draco left him in the parlour as Maddy laid out an adequate tea service and inquired as to what else she could bring Master's guest.

"Bloody Ministry," he hissed to himself, storming up to his rooms and throwing the doors open. "Bloody Weasleys." He summoned a trunk and began throwing things at it. A house elf appeared and guided his choices neatly into place. "Of course it had to be a bloody Weasley!" He summoned a dragonhide knapsack and tossed it on the bed. "Bloody Potter. Bloody stupid famous heroic Potter." He paused and leaned against his desk, rubbing his face with both hands.

Williamson was correct that his options boiled down to poverty or Requaero. Draco railed against the notion with everything he had, but there was nothing else for it, except to spend the next ten years at the whim and under the scrutiny of the Ministry and its blind devotion to transient public opinion.

Two years were bad enough, and so here he was, packing his bags for a quest with a bloody Weasley to rescue Harry Potter from a fucking tower.

A fucking tower.

When Draco realized last night that this was going to be the way of things, he'd gone back to the Manor, poured himself a large glass of firewhiskey, and dug through a stack of old newspapers, gleaning everything he could about Potter's disappearance last year.

Disappearance was the wrong word. Every witch and wizard in the country knew his physical location, in a fucking tower deep in the Forbidden Forest. It was more that he wasn't coming back anytime soon, not without help.

Potter's Auror training had progressed to the point of shadowing real Aurors in the field when he and his senior partner encountered an unexpectedly powerful dark wizard, according to the Prophet.

In terms of the actual curses used, the details released to the public were hazy. In terms of results, Potter's magic apparently went haywire, in an explosive sense. No one could come too near to him without putting themselves at risk. Potter responded by locking himself up as far away from society as possible, for his adoring public's safety. They, of course, loved him all the more for his sacrifice.

Scholars and curse breakers (all Gryffindors, of that Draco was certain) had sought Potter out during his months of isolation, and to a one, they came back terrified, though their garbled accounts offered no firm details on what to expect when one arrived at Potter's Tower.

It made a wizard wonder why, exactly, the Ministry would think ordering Draco to bring him back would be any more effective.

He scooped up all the newspaper clippings pertaining to Potter from his desk and dropped them in the trunk along with a last few necessary items and a stack of books retrieved from the library that dwarfed the house elf who'd carried them in. Then he shrunk the trunk and fit it neatly in his knapsack, along with a small box that the house elves would keep stocked with his daily meals.

"Fucking Ministry," he muttered again as he changed into more appropriate robes for walking in a forest and holstered his wand. "Fucking Weasley." He shouldered his bag and stalked through the halls and down the stairs. "Fucking Potter." He threw the doors of the parlour open and gave Weasley a beaming smile and a courteous nod. "At your leisure. I hope I wasn't too long?"

Weasley had clearly been enjoying Draco's hospitality. All the biscuits were gone from the tray, and there were crumbs dotting the table. Draco firmed his smile and watched Weasley swing his knapsack over his shoulder, wincing as he missed the antique lamp by a hair's breadth.

Rather than answer Draco's question, Weasley said only, "Thank you for the tea," with what Draco viewed as a rather insincere expression, and followed him out of the parlor. Draco couldn't relax until they stepped outside, onto the part of the grounds where nothing was breakable and a mess was easily managed.

They didn't speak as they walked the length of the grounds. Draco even found himself thinking that it wouldn't be as bad as he'd thought, if Weasley could keep silent throughout the whole of the quest.

When they reached the gates, Draco glanced at Weasley. "Hogsmeade, then?" he asked, preparing to Apparate. Weasley cleared his throat, stopping Draco mid step.

"As a matter of fact," he said, managing to look down his nose at Draco again, despite only having half an inch advantage. "Hogsmeade is not our destination. Potter's Tower is a distance of forty kilometers from the village of Hogsmeade, and only twenty eight and a quarter from the Ministry-approved Apparition point which we will be using in accordance with the terms of your-"

"So no, then," Draco interrupted, his polite smile more of a grimace with teeth at this point. "If you'd just give me the coordinates, we can be off. I am so looking forward to this quest."

Weasley's expression frosted over. "Before I was interrupted, I was going to say that Potter's Tower is only twenty eight and a quarter kilometers from the Apparition point that the Ministry has approved for use by Parolee Malfoy and myself, Assistant to the Division Undersecretary of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Official Witness to Requaero Probum when said Requaero falls within the jurisdiction of said Department..."

Draco bit his tongue and tapped his foot through another minute and a half of self-righteous bureaucratic babble before the idiot finally mentioned the apparition coordinates. Without waiting for Weasley to even finish his sentence, Draco turned sharply and disappeared with a satisfying crack.

The coordinates were at the edge of a rocky cliff on the outskirts of a wild tangle of underbrush and tall grass that led to an even more wild and ancient wall of trees. Draco took a moment to be relieved that he'd worn his dragonhide boots.

Weasley cracked into the space to Draco's right and rounded on him with a kind of fury that reminded Draco briefly of his brothers.

"It is not within your rights to Apparate to any destination without the permission of the proper authorities, Parolee Malfoy!" he shouted, his face gone a splotchy red that clashed unattractively with his freckles. Draco took a short step back.

"I thought you were my witness," Draco said, aiming for reasonable and barely managing civil. "And you gave me the coordinates, doesn't that imply permission, er, Assistant Weasley?"

"Witness Weasley will be acceptable," Weasley bit out, still scowling. "And this insubordination will not benefit your petition for parole termination, Parolee Malfoy-"

"Just Malfoy is fine," Draco gritted out, stalking a few steps away from Weasley to search for a path into the forest.

"Parolee Malfoy," Weasley continued tenaciously. "I will have you know that as part of my duties as Witness, I will be making an estimation of your character and a cost-benefit analysis of the worth in allowing you your freedom after the completion of your Requaero Probum-"

There was no path. Draco snarled under his breath and cast a blasting spell at a patch of tall grass, forming a short trail and infuriating Weasley once more.

"That spell is not in your Ministry-approved lexicon," Weasley shrilled, snapping his own wand out to conjure up his notes, the parchment nearly ripping as the quill scribbled away furiously.

"Would you like me to cast lavare at the creatures we encounter in the forest?" Draco snapped, spinning around to face him head on. "Maybe all the werewolves really want is a bath, Witness Weasley. Or maybe you'll be doing all the work of this quest while I follow and observe?"

"A revised lexicon has been provided for the duration of your Requaero Probum, Parolee Malfoy," Weasley informed him, clearly just as infuriated with Draco as Draco was with him. It was small consolation, at least until he spoke again. "The revised lexicon in its entirety consists of one hundred and thirty three spells, twelve of which use is contingent upon the Witness's corroborative testimony that your life or mine was at risk at the time immediately preceding the casting of said spell, and that the spell, if appropriately cast, would be effective in reducing the danger to the Witness or yourself-"

Draco stared at him. His wand dangled from his fingers as Weasley went on and on, and in a small corner of Draco's mind, he pictured lifting his wand and stupefying himself, or maybe Weasley.

"The first spell in your revised lexicon is abrire, unrestricted use." The scroll that just appeared in Weasley's hands unfurled further. "The second spell is accio, restricted insofar as you may not summon any objects that are forbidden as per your probationary contract with the Ministry. The third..."

Draco's fingers twitched. Definitely Weasley.

When the twenty-second spell in Draco's revised lexicon turned out to be diffindo, Draco turned around and began severing grass in a straight line toward the forest. Apparently this was acceptable to Weasley, and he followed Draco, continuing his recitation in a clear, carrying voice. Draco wanted to tell the great idiot to shut up, but decided that he'd rather deal with whatever Weasley's voice attracted than with the shouting match and quill scratching that would certainly follow.

They reached the treeline and Draco paused, gathering his wits about him and readying his wand. The Forbidden Forest was malevolent enough near Hogwarts, where it at least gave the appearance of being pliable to the will of wizards. If this was the designated Apparition point, then a dozen wizards or more had been through here in the past six months. The land here looked as though it hadn't been touched by a wand in centuries.

"Spell number thirty is ennervate, unrestricted use," Weasley continued, blandly immune to the disquieting sense of being watched that prickled at the back of Draco's neck as he peered through the trees.

He firmed his grip on his wand and stepped into the forest, alert for the slightest sound. The scent of cold, damp dirt and moss filled his nostrils. Weasley trotted right in after him, having reached number thirty three.

Only a hundred left, Draco thought, and had the mad desire to laugh. Maybe he would accidentally push Weasley into a Devil's Snare.

With none in sight, Draco set his wand in his palm instead and whispered, "Point me."

As the wand spun in his hand, Weasley halted his recitation and skimmed ahead on his list. "Number ninety four, Point me, unrestricted use," he allowed, and Draco's mouth shifted into the shape of a smile, his eyes hard and fixed on his wand as it pointed due north.

"This way," he said, and set off toward Potter's Tower, Weasley in tow.

"Where was I?" Weasley asked rhetorically. "You'll want to hear the rest of your lexicon... ah. Spell number thirty five is expelliarmus, restricted emergency use only against a hostile aggressor, with corroborating testimony from the Witness..."

Weasley finished his recitation of Draco's lexicon as the sun reached its height in the sky. Nothing had attacked them thus far in spite of Weasley's best efforts. Draco would gladly thank Merlin for small mercies.

They fell into a silence, which Draco cherished. He kept his wand in hand as they walked, picking their way through dense underbrush and exposed roots, and sometimes detouring around dangerous looking patches of weed. Weasley finally drew his own wand, and let it dangle loosely at his side as he followed at a distance of about five feet. To be out of striking distance in case something attacked, Draco assumed uncharitably. As though the creatures in this forest would distinguish between which of them was a Ministry-approved chew-toy.

All of Draco's senses were on high alert. He'd hated going in the forest as a student, and as an adult with a much better idea of the horrors of the world, he liked it even less. His eyes darted to every twitch of a leaf, every glint of sunlight off a patch of dewy grass. His ears categorized every snapping twig or rustle of branches as either his and Weasley's doing or a portent of death, and held the wind under the highest suspicion.

A foreign sound came to his ears. He spun on his heel, a hex ready on his tongue, only to discover that Weasley was humming. An old Celestina Warbeck ballad, as a matter of fact. Weasley gave him an odd look. Draco's shoulders tensed and he turned back around, filled with indignation. 'I will win back my life on my own terms,' he thought forcefully, biting his tongue as he recited what he thought of as his 'Parole Mantra'. 'I will force the Ministry to admit that they cannot defeat the Malfoys. I will be happy and they will despise me for it, and that will make me even happier.'

The song Weasley was humming was 'You Stole My Cauldron But You Can't Have My Heart'.

"I think a break for lunch is in order," Draco declared loudly. He looked around. They weren't exactly in a clearing, but then, there hadn't been any clearings. There hadn't been any paths either. Just unbridled, stubborn flora and skittering, unseen fauna. Where they stood was as good a spot as any for a short rest.

"That's not for you to decide," Weasley sniffed. He peered at their immediate surroundings. "But this will do."

Rather than responding, Draco transfigured a chair from twigs and leaves (inanimate Transfigurations were grouped into one category and listed as number fifty on Draco's spell lexicon, restricted, of course, to objects not suited to bludgeoning Weasley into silence). He shrugged his knapsack off his shoulder and sat down to tug out his food parcel, hoping for something exceptionally filling.

Weasley transfigured his own chair and settled down with some kind of sandwich from his battered knapsack. Draco set his dish to hovering at table height in front of him and started to eat the pot-au-feu provided by his house elves, cooked rare to his preference. The quality of the food went unappreciated, as his attention was still on the forest around them in case of an attack.

Weasley's wide eyes were what gave Draco his first hint that they were no longer alone. He gripped his wand tightly, but before he could stand, something with hot breath nudged at his shoulder. He shouted and stumbled away from his chair and to his feet, wand trained on what turned out to be a thestral enthusiastically finishing his lunch.

The reptilian horses were as disconcerting as they had been the first time Draco ever saw one. He kept well back as several more emerged from out of the trees and nosed at Draco's food.

"Right," he said after long, tense seconds of watching the thestrals and deciding that they were more interested in his lunch than in either of them. He turned to Weasley, who was still seated, and without preamble, shouted, "Do you want us both to die here?"

Weasley's eyes widened again, then narrowed. "You might wish to reconsider your tone, Parolee Malfoy," he said, standing up and brushing off his robes. The bloody quill and parchment came out again, but Draco pushed onward.

"My tone is utterly irrelevant if you don't bother to alert me to potential threats!" Draco responded, one hand flying up to indicate the thestrals. Two were licking his plate clean and another gnawed on his fork thoughtfully, shining white eyes fixed on their argument.

"I am the Witness to your Requaero Probum, not your assistant," Weasley declared. "I am not here to do the heavy lifting whilst you stroll at ease along the path I forge, Parolee Malfoy, and any assistance I do offer will be seen as a mark against your ability to complete your task without a genuinely honorable wizard's assistance!"

Draco wanted nothing more than to hit him right in the face, an impropriety he'd picked up from Weasley's younger brother and Potter himself, who they were ostensibly on their way to rescue. The irony of it would be lost on Weasley if Draco really did break his nose, and it was that knowledge that allowed Draco to keep his fists to himself.

"I am not asking you to take the lead or complete the quest," Draco said instead, speaking through clenched teeth. "I am asking you to take an interest in your own continued well-being by perhaps speaking up when you see a threat!"

"The Ministry classification of thestrals is currently in committee," Weasley informed him with a superior, dismissive glance. "The original XXXX rating is being contested, and therefore their threat level is unconfirmed."

Draco mouthed wordlessly at him, doing his best not to actively splutter in the face of Weasley's unapologetic insanity. Instead, he spun on his heel and marched away into the trees, his chair snapping back into a pile of twigs as he passed and startling one of the younger thestrals, who attempted to take a bite out of his leg in retaliation.

"Bloody buggering fuck!" Draco exclaimed, leaping away and clutching at his thigh, which was now bleeding. "Stupid fucking evil dragon-horse bas-"

"Equanimity is easily broken by the slightest of inconveniences from a creature not expressly classified as a dangerous beast," Weasley declared, apparently having decided that verbal confirmation of what he was writing was just the thing Draco needed. "Possesses a decidedly unvirtuous foul mouth, in addition to a rather quick temper..."

"You have no idea," Draco muttered to himself as he limped away, Weasley at his heels. The thestrals followed until Draco realized they were after the blood still dripping sluggishly from his thigh. By the time they backed him into a tree and started nosing and nipping at his leg, he'd made up his mind. Thestrals deserved the XXXX rating. Not that the Ministry would take his opinion into account.

"I don't believe episkey is in my lexicon," Draco said in a parody of calm, using his wand to nudge one of the larger thestrals back as it licked the blood from where it'd trickled down to his knee. More appeared, drawn by his wound. "I'm requesting a special dispensation, Witness Weasley."

Weasley watched him from the other side of the thestrals. Draco heard a ripping sound and looked down with some alarm, only to find that one of the thestrals had taken off with a sizable portion of his robes from the knee down. "I'm requesting that right now, Witness Weasley," he said through gritted teeth.

"Usually I would be required to submit your petition for approval, Parolee Malfoy," Weasley told him, speaking with what Draco felt was deliberate and malicious torpidity. "But taking into account the respectful nature of your request, I will use my authorization as Witness to allow it, in this singular instance."

This Weasley was the worst Weasley, Draco decided as he cast first episkey, then lavare to remove the blood and thestral spit from his leg and robes. He longed for Ron's casual hatred, or Weaslette's Bat Bogey Hex.

Weasley looked as though he expected Draco to express some kind of gratitude. Draco would have preferred to tie him to a tree and leave him for the thestrals. Instead, he set his wand in his palm again, intoning, "Point me."

He adjusted their course and continued to push through the underbrush as though Weasley wasn't with him at all. Sure enough, the scritching of a quill accompanied Weasley's trampling footsteps as they carried onward.

They managed to avoid any creatures more dangerous than the average saber-tooth fox until the sky began to darken, though there was a bit of a mix up with some grindylow lobbing poisonous toadstools as they attempted to cross a rather treacherous river.

Draco had hoped they would make it to Potter's Tower before dark. The worst of what the Forbidden Forest had to offer tended to be nocturnal, and Draco doubted he'd sleep well with any number of bloodthirsty creatures sniffing around his tent.

Unfortunately, they had another ten kilometers to walk by his own estimate, else he would have pushed onward. Instead, he kept walking until he found a small area sheltered on one side by an boulder taller than Draco. They could set up camp there for the night.

He said as much to Weasley, who sniffed and walked in a short circle, kicking at the uneven ground and peering suspiciously at a nearby bush. "I think we should keep walking," he said. "This spot is less than ideal."

"We're in the Forbidden Forest and the sun is setting," Draco pointed out, already opening his knapsack to reach for supplies. "We need to set up a warded perimeter, light a fire, and erect our tents before anything finds us."

Weasley walked a few feet into the forest on his own as Draco stood next to the boulder, still holding his knapsack and watching him wander off with growing frustration. After a moment, he called back, "I think that if we just kept walking a bit further, we'd-"

It turned out that Weasley did have some notion of self-preservation. Draco hadn't really believed it up to this point, but apparently even the Assistant to the Undersecretary of Bollocks knew to shut up when he heard rustling and clicking from just beyond their line of vision.

"Come back here," Draco said, his voice low and deliberate. Weasley complied without complaint, putting his back to the solid stone behind them and raising his wand. They stood together in the gathering darkness, waiting.

The clicking and rustling grew louder, and Draco realized it was coming from more than one direction just moments before the first spider struck by leaping down at them from the treetops. Its body alone was bigger than the two of them combined, and each of its eight legs reached for them.

Weasley shouted and cast a shield spell around himself. The boulder was shaped in such a way that he could huddle at the base of it and have some shelter from attack. Draco's list of acceptable spells fled his mind, and he cast diffindo at the spider's underbelly. It split open just enough to spatter blood all over the two of them. The spider's legs scrambled against the dirt and the boulder as it pushed itself away, and a new one replaced it, snapping at them with its pincers.

"You're not really going to let me do this by myself, are you?" Draco shouted, his voice going high with panic as Weasley cast another shield and hunched further against the boulder. "What kind of Gryffindor are you?"

Three spiders surrounded their position, cornering them against the boulder. Their legs scrabbled against the stone as they tried to gain purchase. As Draco spoke, one of the spiders shifted just so, and its pincers caught him on his shoulder. He cried out and huddled down, clutching at his shoulder with his good arm and using the injured one to point his wand. "Defodio!"

The spider went flying and hit a tree, landing on its back and staggering to its feet before rejoining the fray.

"You have all the resources you require," Weasley shrilled, clasping his arms over his head. "I am under strict orders to provide no assistance, Paro-"

"I have five offensive spells!" Draco shrilled right back. "Five! Do you want to die here, Weasley? Ariania Exumai!"

The nearest spider flew back and landed on all eight feet, clicking wildly and advancing on Draco again without pause. He aimed his wand and shouted, "Locomotor Mortis! Stupefy! There, that's all of them! I do hope you consider our lives to be risk right now, or that Leg-Locker Curse is really going to do me in at my next hearing!"

Neither spell had an appreciable effect on the spiders. Draco counted eight at this point. He aimed his wand at one of the long, hairy legs waving near his head and cast, "Diffindo!"

The leg was severed neatly, and Draco felt a surge of triumph. The spider's cry of pain sounded almost human, and Draco ignored it in favor of taking aim once more.

"Diffindo! Diffindo!" The spiders gathered in a tight knot around them, presumably to stop Draco from casting that spell again. He forced himself to ignore the copper stench of blood and the damp, cloying scent of the spiders, and put all of his power behind his next curse. "Ariania Exumai!"

All eight spiders were sent flying in a clump of tangled legs and pincers. Draco and Weasley had about five seconds to breathe, and Draco used those seconds to take aim before the spiders could detangle themselves and regroup. "Defodio!"

The clicking was joined by what Draco would usually qualify as screaming, if it wasn't coming from spiders. It was a horrible sound. He'd killed at least one of them, from the look of it. An uninjured spider hoisted the pieces of the dead one above its head with two legs and fled.

That left another six to deal with, and Draco doubted they'd give him a chance to catch them off guard again.

"Weasley!" Draco said, glancing quickly to his left in time to see him strengthening his shield spell. "You really are just going to sit there, aren't you? If you aren't going to help, I'm going to use real curses!"

"I have orders!" Weasley bawled as he hid his face in his knees. "And I will make note that you violated your parole if you do! You'll be in Azkaban the second we leave this forest!"

"Diffindo! I hate you! You are the most useless idiot I have ever met! How are you even still alive?" Draco shouted at him. Another spider got close enough to take a swipe at Draco's ribs, and he cowered back against the boulder. "Er, scourigify!"

The cleaning spell certainly caught the spider off guard, though it didn't do much to stop it attacking.

"Accio rocks!" Draco shouted. They barrelled satisfyingly into the spider's side, knocking it into the others. "Depilato!"

He had expected a hair-severing charm to be about as effective as the scourigify, but the spider fell back, twitching and spasming alone in the dirt. Its pincers clicked wildly. Draco stared at it, wondering if he'd cast the wrong spell by accident.

"Depilato!" He cast again, on a different spider. Sure enough, hundreds of small hairs severed themselves from the spider's body, and it gave all appearance of panicking. This one attacked Draco more ferociously, catching his wand arm and nearly severing a vein.

Draco yelped, pulling his arm in against his chest and switching his wand to his other hand. "Depilato totalus!"

This time, all the tiny hairs detached and the spider threw itself into convulsions, clicking and skittering away into the forest, even banging into a tree in a burst of uncoordinated panic.

The other spiders chittered and clicked amongst themselves, hovering several feet away. It looked to Draco like they were making a decision about what to do with him, and he wanted to be involved. He pushed himself to his feet, one arm still cradled against his chest.

"Depilato totalus!" he shouted again, aiming his wand at the group of them. They flinched back out of range. Draco brandished his wand threateningly, and that seemed to do the trick. The last of the spiders fled into the trees, leaving Draco bloodied and panting, and Weasley cowering.

Draco gasped once and fell back against the boulder, sliding to the ground and only hyperventilating a little. After a long period of silence where he and Weasley caught their breath and came to terms with not being dead, Draco finally spoke. "We need to set up a warded perimeter, light a fire, and erect our tents before anything else finds us."

"Yes," Weasley said faintly. He shifted, finally lowering his wand, and looked sidelong at Draco. "This spot works." He hesitated, but eventually added, "I like this boulder. This is a nice boulder."

Draco did his best to heal his wounds, but even if he was allowed the full use of his magic, he didn't know how to heal cuts as deep as the ones he'd sustained. Instead, he bandaged them awkwardly as Weasley cast warding spells to seal them away from the creatures that would inevitably be attracted by all the blood spilled in their little patch of forest. Those weren't included in Draco's lexicon, and Weasley hadn't argued his request for quite possibly the first time on this miserable hike.

Warding finished, Weasley came over to where Draco still sat, propped up against the boulder. He peered at Draco, then nodded to himself and turned back around, tugging his knapsack open.

"Satisfied I'm not about to keel over and die?" Draco called to him, weary and irritable. He wanted to sit right where he was for the rest of the night, but watching Weasley set up a tent and disappear inside reminded him that there were better options available.

He pushed himself to his feet, eyed the perimeter Weasley had created for them, and hobbled over to the center.

"Incendio," he said, aiming at a single stick that lay there. Fire started, he wandered around the small area, kicking other sticks into a pile on top of the first one. He swayed as he hovered over it, waiting for the flames to catch further and instead watching them begin to die. He sighed. "Incendio," he cast again, then abandoned the whole mess. If it burned, it burned.

Struggling one-handed with his knapsack, he managed to retrieve his trunk and find the tent that was bundled in with his clothing and the rest. He levitated it to an empty patch of dirt and roots. "Erecto," he muttered, watching it spring into shape with a dull, emotionless gaze.

Once that was finished, he levitated his trunk and knapsack inside with him, dropped them haphazardly to the floor, and climbed into bed. He barely had time to pull the covers over himself before he passed out.

Draco woke the next morning feeling awful. He stumbled out of bed and immediately stubbed his toe on the trunk he'd left sitting in the middle of the room.

"Shit," he muttered, eyes squinted against the cold morning light streaming in from the door flap. He knelt down and fumbled blindly through his trunk for his potion pouch.

"Should label these better," he mumbled to himself as he scratched at his jaw and stared at two vials of unidentifiable red liquid. Usually he could tell by colour and scent, but his head was scrambled this morning.

He took both into the small bathroom and left them on the counter as he started the shower and peeled off his makeshift bandages, wincing as he ripped the newly forming scabs.

After scrubbing every bit of dirt and blood and spider gore off of his skin and out of his hair, Draco felt a little better. He stood in front of the counter again, staring at the vials, then shrugged to himself and downed both. One was going to be a Blood Replenishing potion and the other was Pepper-Up. It didn't really matter.

On his way back through the bedroom, dressed, re-bandaged, and feeling much more lucid, he grimaced at the bedsheets, which were stained and bloody in patches. He waved his wand to strip them from the mattress and levitated them behind him as he left his tent. Weasley's was still standing next to his own, and Draco watched the entrance as he immolated his sheets.

When no Ministry-appointed redheads emerged by the time Draco finished his task, he went back inside and sat down to breakfast. About halfway through his eggs benedict, Draco heard shuffling and the crackle of magic from outside. He took one last bite, wiped his mouth with his napkin, then stood to go see what Weasley was up to.

"It is eight o'clock, Parolee Malfoy," Weasley said when he spotted Draco. He'd already taken his tent down.

"So?" Draco asked, watching as he stuffed it back into his knapsack.

"My hours are from eight am to five thirty pm," Weasley explained. "You're back on the clock."

"We're doing this quest within the Ministry's hours of operation?" Draco asked, gaping. "You must be..."

Weasley's impatient expression told Draco that he was most certainly not joking. He threw up his hands.

"Of course," he said, turning around and storming back into his tent. "Of course we are, what was I thinking? How absolutely daft of me." He vanished his breakfast with a snap of his wand, then summoned everything back into his trunk. Back outside, he tore down the tent with two flicks of his wand and had everything packed up neatly in his knapsack in under a minute.

Weasley had already dropped the wards, so he cast point me and stormed off in the right direction. The parchment and quill were out again, he noted with a satisfying eye roll.

It was only another couple hours to Potter's tower, and Draco spent it listening to Weasley stroll along, humming as though he were on a short jaunt in the countryside.

The sight of a spire rising up through the trees in the distance was profound. Draco was almost pleased, until he remembered that Potter was up there. Soon he'd have two Gryffindors to plague him.

When they reached Potter's Tower, Draco was surprised to step out of the trees and onto a bed of moss. The tower was situated in the center of a clearing, and as Draco looked more closely at the ground, he began to realize why the forest might have allowed it.

"Oh good, you'll fit right in," Weasley said, though there was a note of alarm under the scathing words. More snakes than Draco had ever seen in one place slithered and wriggled in a heaving mass at the foot of the giant stones that comprised the base of the tower.

Keeping to the treeline, Draco circled the clearing, wide eyed. Not only did the snakes surround the tower entirely, but there was no entrance. Just one window, all the way at the top.

He circled the tower one last time, frowning, then stopped below the window. "Hello?" he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Hello! Anybody up there?"

The tower continued to loom silently. Draco scowled and took a step back as one of the snakes split off from the group and took an opportunity to hiss and snap at his shoe.

Draco waited another couple minutes with nothing to show for it, then began to grow impatient. He found a sizeable rock on the forest floor, hefted it with a small frown, and then chucked it at the tower, aiming for the open window. "Oi! Potter!" He missed his mark and went hunting around for another rock, chucking it as well. He was closer to the window that time. "Hey! Potter, wake up, you stupid wanker!"

Draco could see Weasley lurking at the edge of the treeline, shaking his head. He suspected the quill and parchment were about to make an appearance, but Weasley just didn't understand how he and Potter worked.

"Potty! Hey, Scarhead! Grotty Potty! I'm ringing your bloody doorbell, here! Hello!"

"I thought I was having a nightmare," said a voice. Draco craned his neck to see Potter, his arms resting on the windowsill as he leaned out to get a better look. "But no. Draco Malfoy is really standing under my window, calling me childish nicknames and throwing rocks."

"You answered," Draco pointed out, offering Potter a winsome smile as dropped his newest rock without complaint. "And not a single person exploded. I call that a victory for England."

Potter's eyebrows pulled together, and he disappeared from view.

Draco waited five minutes. When Potter didn't return, he took a deep breath and began to shout: "He's the hero of the hour, he's the Saviour of the world! With eyes of fearsome jade, bearing Gryffindor's mighty sword! Oh, the evil and the Dark flee before his noble wand, for the Chosen One will smite the-"

Potter reappeared at the window. "What in the bloody hell is that you're singing?" he yelled over the end of the last bit of verse.

"Don't you like it?" Draco asked, blinking innocently up at him. "I heard it in a pub a few weeks ago."

"I hate it," Potter said, back to leaning on the windowsill.

"There's more," Draco told him, folding his hands neatly behind his back. "You haven't even heard the chorus yet."

"Oh Merlin," Potter said, the horror clear in his tone. "Go away, Malfoy."

"No," Draco said simply. "I walked all this way to see you, Potter, and you aren't even going to offer me tea and a biscuit?"

"Right," Potter said, giving him a strange look. "That's true. What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to save you, fair damsel," he said, grinning widely. Potter showed him two fingers and disappeared back into his tower again. Draco took a deep breath.

"Ohhhh," he sang, drawing it out for a bit longer than necessary. "Potter, Potter, raise your lager, Potter saved the world from slaughter, thought for sure I was a goner, till the day that I met Potter-"

"IF YOU PROMISE TO STOP-" Potter bellowed, once again interrupting Draco right in the middle. He did stop, tilting his head expectantly. Potter cleared his throat, looking rather disgruntled. "And not start singing again," he continued, leaning further out the window. "Then you can come up."

"I promise," Draco said obediently, and watched Potter vanish once more. This time, he waited maybe a minute before a broomstick came sailing out the window in a freefall.

He summoned it to himself and glanced at Weasley, who had started toward him, clearly intent on coming along for the ride. "Nope," he muttered, though he knew Weasley couldn't hear him. It hardly mattered.

He kicked off from the ground and twisted in a tight circle to avoid the forest, ignoring Weasley's sudden shout. He grinned, Potter's Firebolt 1500 banking neatly as he swooped over the writhing pile of snakes and circled the tower on ascent.

He reached the solitary window after a few loops and rolls that might have appeared gratuitous to uneducated eyes such as Weasley's. Potter leaned against the wall next to the window, listening to Weasley's shouted demands for Draco to return to the ground with an expression that neatly mirrored Draco's own amusement.

"Potter," Draco said, dropping the pretense of mockery entirely as he adjusted his grip on the broom. Now that he was within striking distance, he was reminded forcibly of the rumors of Potter's uncontrollable magic.

"Malfoy," Potter said, making no move to invite him inside. "I hear you brought a friend."

"I brought a Weasley," Draco corrected, glancing over his shoulder. Weasley held the quill in hand and was sitting under a tree, the rage in each slash of ink on parchment clear even from a distance.

Potter frowned and leaned out the window again to look. "You brought Percy," he said, looking back at Draco with open bafflement.

"Oh, is that his name?" Draco asked, tilting the broom up slightly so he could rest his chin on his arm. "He said to call him 'Witness Weasley.' I didn't ask questions."

"Witness... Weasley," Potter echoed. His eyebrows pulled together. "I'm lost."

"His actual title is something like 'Assistant to the Undersecretary of Something or Other," Draco said with badly hidden disdain.

"Of the Ministry of Silly Walks," Potter finished absently, still watching Weasley. Draco stared at him.

"I don't think so," he said. Potter flashed a grin at Draco, then nodded out the window again.

"No, really, watch," he said, and Draco tilted the broom around to see.

Potter looked straight down at the snake pit and hissed something unintelligible. Draco gaped at him, then at the snakes. As one, they rose up and became worryingly dragon-shaped. Weasley shouted in alarm, scrambled to his feet, and galloped back into the forest, quill and parchment forgotten.

"There, see?" he asked. When Draco continued to gape, he shrugged. "I just told them to scare him. He'll come back, I promise. Now, what are you doing here?"

"I'll explain if you let me come in," Draco offered, gathering his wits quickly. "I won't even ask for tea again, I promise."

Potter sighed. "I have tea," he said, turning away from the window. He walked to an open hearth in the middle of the circular room and waved his wand at the kettle hovering over it. "Just come in, Malfoy. And give me back my broom. I'll even share my biscuits."

Draco flew through the window and landed, looking around and eventually just propping the broom up by the window.

"I swear Weasley hasn't let me finish a proper meal since we started this bloody quest," he said conversationally, taking a couple steps away from the window. Potter's Tower consisted of a large, circular stone room with the window at twelve o'clock, the bed at six, and a small table and a couple chairs scattered between five and three. Nine o'clock was what must function as a kitchen, backed up to a set of circular stairs that led upward.

"You're on a quest," Potter repeated, ambling over to the cabinets and work surface that formed the suggestion of a kitchen and pulling together a mismatched tea service. He floated it over to the table and let it drop with a clatter. "What's that got to do with me?"

"I should think that much is obvious," Draco said, approaching from the other side. They stood there with the table in between and stared at each other.

Potter broke the silence first. "I'm not going anywhere, if that's what this is about," he said, crossing his arms.

"I know, I know," Draco said, taking another step toward the table and snagging a biscuit. "Dark wizard, evil curse, must protect the wizarding public," he said, and took a bite. "It's all astonishingly noble, if you like that sort of thing."

Potter watched him eat his biscuit with an odd expression. Draco swallowed the last bite and sighed.

"And of course, you do," he allowed. "But I really am here to help, Potter. The Ministry sent me to see if we can't do something about your little, er... prematurity issue."

"My-" Potter cleared his throat, blinked a couple times, then cleared it again, flushing faintly. "My- what? Excuse me?"

"You know, with your magic," Draco said, waving one finger in the air and making an illustrative sound that went something like: 'vrrrrrr-spoosh!'

Potter's expression shifted to incredulity. "What is the Ministry telling people about what happened?"

Draco smiled a private little smile and carried on. "Just that your magic is wild and untameable and that you've shut yourself away in a tower to keep your devoted fans safe," he explained, watching with fascination as Potter's expression contorted. "You seem to have some control over it, though," he pointed out, going serious as he realized the truth of his words. "How bad is it, really? If we're to find a counter curse, I'll need to know exactly what's going on."

Potter sighed and dropped down into a chair, scrubbing his hand through his hair. "You won't find a counter," he said, picking up a teacup and twisting it in his hands.

"You don't know that," Draco disagreed, taking Potter's unspoken cue and sitting down across from him. He plucked the teacup neatly from his hands and began pouring. "I hate to sound like I'm bragging, but the library at the Manor is full of all sorts of rare Dark Arts texts. It's entirely possible that I could find the answer where none of your other champions had the resources to look."

Potter lifted his head, glaring. "The Ministry sees it that way, do they?"

Draco met Potter's eyes directly. "No, the Ministry thinks you'll do to me what you did to the rest, and then they'll have their excuse to toss me in Azkaban."

"So, what?" Potter asked, resting his chin on his arms, still frowning. "They're forcing you to be here? I thought your family were pardoned. I testified at your bloody trials myself."

"For which we are eternally grateful," Draco allowed, pushing Potter's tea toward him when he didn't seem to have noticed. Potter looked at it with surprise. "Mother sends her love from France. But we weren't pardoned entirely, Potter. I'm still on probation. This whole..." He waved one hand expansively and took a sip of his tea. "This farce was my parole officer's idea, to redeem our name once and for all."

"Or to get you sent to Azkaban," Potter prompted, reaching for his tea.

"I think that's Weasley's plan, at least," Draco said darkly. "Or whoever sent Weasley here. He's exactly like a... what's that thing that muggles have? Automatons? Bit like a golem?"

"What?" Potter asked, straightening in his seat as he thought. "You mean a robot?" He started to grin. "Yeah, Percy's a Ministry-bot for sure."

"I know you like Weasleys, Potter," Draco said, leaning in slightly. "But at risk of offending you further, I'm going to tell you right now that I despise him. He hums when he walks."

"He doesn't like me much either," Potter said, leaning back in his seat now, taking a long sip of his tea and looking amused. "And I did just set my snakes on him. No offense taken."

"Well, good," Draco replied. "Now, about that curse-"

"Malfoy, I'm not going anywhere," Potter said, all amusement vanishing. "Leave it."

"I won't," Draco said, setting his tea down more sharply than he'd intended. A few scalding drops spilled onto his fingers and he ignored them, eyes fixed on Potter. "You send me away from here without some kind of accomplishment, and Weasley will see me sent to Azkaban within the week for violating my parole. He's been taking notes on every little thing I do since we started this bloody quest."

Something that might have been guilt flickered across Potter's face, but the next words out of his mouth belied Draco's hope. "Why is that my problem?"

"Because I will haunt you for the rest of your natural life," Draco said, lowering his voice and narrowing his eyes.

Potter did not pretend to be impressed. "Malfoy, they're not going to kill you," he said, rolling his eyes.

"They may as well, and you know it," Draco snapped. "I'll use my weekly owl to send you updates, how's that? 'Hello again, Potter. This week Azkaban took my last memory of flying. I'm going to tell you all about my favorite Latin tutor in this letter, before I forget her too. She used to take me on walks in the garden when we-'"

"Merlin, Malfoy, that's not funny. Stop it," Potter said, reaching a hand out toward Draco as if in defense.

"I didn't say it was, and don't think I won't do it," Draco threatened. Potter looked quietly horrified, and Draco's expression softened. "Honestly, Potter, I just want to help. Do you know anything about the curse at all?"

Potter huffed and stared down into his teacup, looking mutinous and vaguely distressed. "You're really going to make me do this, aren't you?"

"If 'this' includes letting me try to fix you," Draco ventured cautiously, "Then... yes."

"There's nothing to fix," Potter muttered. Draco blinked, then pasted a polite smile on his face.

"Run that past me again?" he asked. Potter shifted in his seat, glancing up at Draco from under his fringe.

"I said there's no curse," Potter repeated. Draco could see a flush rising on his neck.

"I see," Draco said, carefully arranging his teacup at a precise angle to the edge of the table. "So the story about the Dark wizard-"

"He didn't curse my magic to become uncontrollable," Potter said, watching Draco's hands as he clenched them into fists on the table. "But I will kick you out if you try to hit me, Malfoy," he added quickly, his face reflecting a combination of anxiety and embarrassment.

It was just as it had always been, Draco realized, his blood boiling.

If Draco wanted to isolate himself in the Manor and spend his days in genteel solitude away from those that despised him, it was seen as suspicious and antisocial. But when Potter shut himself up in a bloody fucking tower in the middle of the most dangerous nature preserve on the planet for no good reason, he was lauded as a hero. Again.

"Right," Draco said, and took a deep breath. Giving Potter another broken nose would definitely land him in Azkaban. "Then what exactly are you doing out here?"

"There's no need to shout," Potter said, his shoulders shifting defensively. "I really can't go back. It would be putting people in danger, that part's true."

"I'm all ears," Draco bit out.

"He didn't curse me," Potter said, swallowing hard. "I... killed him."

Draco's eyebrows went up. "You killed him?"

"Yes." Potter clutched at his teacup tightly enough to break it. "I wasn't supposed to. He was going to escape and I cast- one of the curses they told us about in training and... and I didn't realize it would..." He looked up and seemed to realize who he was talking to, all the blood draining out of his cheeks at once. "Fuck, Malfoy, what are you even doing here?"

What a good question. Draco bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep his expression neutral.

"One would think that you would have learned better from the first 'accident'," he said, his tone blank. "Unless-"

Potter followed his line of thought impeccably, his eyes gone overlarge behind his glasses. "Don't say that," he begged, leaning forward slightly. "Please don't say that."

If he couldn't say that, he'd say nothing, Draco thought, turning his head and looking around the spartan tower Potter had banished himself to.

Potter dropped his head into his hands, elbows on the table, and spoke so quietly that Draco had to sit very still to hear him. "But this is how it starts, isn't it? It never bothered me during the war at all. I never killed anybody, but I hurt people and I never even felt bad about it."

"This is how what starts?" Draco ventured, his eyes snapping to the top of Potter's head, uncertain that he wanted to hear the answer.

"I always knew I was in the right," Potter continued, his voice heavy with something Draco quailed to define. "I cast Unforgivables and excused it because they were just Death Eaters and they deserved it and I thought I was better but..." He rubbed his eyes with his palms and pushed his fingers into his hair, his glasses knocked entirely askew. "He thought he was better, too, didn't he?"

The lines of Potter's shoulders were rounded with defeat, and Draco stared as he spoke. A part of him wanted to stand up and flee the tower, figure out his parole on his own. This was a charge more daunting than he'd been prepared for. Let Potter wallow in his conviction that Draco had come to rescue a damsel and found a monster. A simple counter curse wouldn't fix this.

But Draco couldn't just leave.

He took a deep breath, unprepared to plunge into the deep end of Potter's neuroses and taking a running jump anyway. "You think you're going to become another Dark Lord," he summarized. "Because you had to do nasty things to nasty people during the war, and because you don't know how to read a bloody spell description before you cast. Is that what you're saying?"

Potter lifted his head, meeting Draco's eyes with tenuous focus. "I killed someone," he said, shaking his head. "And I didn't care about doing nasty things to those people, Malfoy, I was glad to-"

"If you're going to be an Auror, you occasionally may have to kill people," Draco pointed out, pushing the tea tray aside and leaning in. "That's what you signed up for. And if we all have to mourn hurting the people who hurt us, no one's ever going to get over the bloody war. You would never have won it in the first place."

"Malfoy, I almost killed you!" Potter said, dropping his hands to the table and leaning away from him. "If Snape hadn't been there-"

"Yes, that's true," Draco sneered. "I remember it clearly. And then you saved my life several times after that. I feel that gives me the right to tell you to get the fuck over it."

Potter stared at him. Took off his glasses and cleaned them on the sleeve of his robes. "Get..." he echoed faintly, sliding them back onto his nose.

"Get over it," Draco confirmed, nodding once. "I have, for the most part. I've accepted that you're an idiot that needs someone to hold his hand through anything more complicated than basic arithmetic, and obviously Granger was busy when you found that spell..."

Potter's eyes were overbright. He looked like he might cry, a little. There was a small smile in there too, though, so Draco hoped he would manage to restrain himself. "Fuck off," he said, dropping his head into his arms on the table and leaving it there.

Draco picked up his teacup again and took a sip, aware that his hands were shaking slightly.

"D'you really forgive me?" Potter asked, his voice muffled. Draco shook his head and set his teacup down, disconcerted by how still Potter held himself as he waited for an answer.

"Yes, of course," he said, feeling a smile curve his mouth as Potter visibly relaxed. "But you have to do one thing for me, in return."

Potter lifted his head and looked at Draco, his eyes wide and green. "Okay," he said, and waited. Draco extended his hand across the table, palm up.

"Come down out of this tower with me," he said. Potter's expression flickered, his eyes darting away over Draco's shoulder to the sky outside the window. His gaze came back to Draco, and there was prurience there, and apprehension.

Potter looked down at his hand, then covered it with his own. "Okay," he said again, and when Draco beamed at him, he smiled back.