Harry's POV

I woke up the next day to a pounding headache and an uncomfortable cold feeling all over, as if something warm had been next to me moments ago.

I groaned as I lay there, cursing myself for the alcohol I'd drank the night before. At the same time, I didn't regret it at all. It had been a good night, if a little fuzzy now.

I'd felt great at the time, I'd managed to keep away from the looming subject of the war, too. That had been an improvement.

I rubbed my hands over my eyes and stared again at the top of my four poster. For once, there had been no dreams. Nothing about the war, or the people I'd failed to save. I can thank the Firewhisky for that, it seemed that it had done its job well.

There was a spell to make hangovers more bearable, but as I lay there I couldn't for the life of me remember what it was.

I could hear the shower running in the bathroom, which meant that Malfoy was awake. I wondered what time it was, possibly around ten? What had woken me up so early? Usually, it'd be about one in the afternoon before I'd wake up after a night like that.

I picked up my glasses from the bedside table and stared again at the ceiling.

Ok, I had an entire weekend here, how should I spend it?

This would be a good chance to solidify the friendship Malfoy had agreed to. How could I go about it though? And what was the chance of him actually agreeing to anything in the first place? It was one thing to agree to be my friend, but another altogether to want to spend time with me.

Plus, he was a Malfoy. There was only so much I could expect from him. Kindness wasn't something near the top of my list when I thought about it.

I decided that it was worth a try. If he rejected me, fine. I wouldn't care that much. So what? I'd tried, there was little more I could do.

For some reason, I hoped against hope that he wouldn't say no. I frowned into space as I realised that. Why did it bother me so much? It really shouldn't, I didn't even particularly like him, I was just tired of us being at each other all the time.

Then again, why did this whole thing bother me so much?

I had hated Malfoy for years. I'd despised the sod, and then suddenly..... I hadn't.

I think I stopped hating him when he said that he didn't recognise me in the Manor. That would be strange in any other situation; usually if someone doesn't recognise you, it's not a good thing. I had been certain I was going to die. As if Malfoy would stand up for me! As if the fucker would suddenly have a change of heart and switch sides for my sake. The chances of that were minimal, I had accepted my fate.

When I'd looked into his eyes, blazing grey spheres that held conflict in the small flicks of blue across them, I had seen the glint of sadness there, the silent plea for forgiveness. I had been stunned when he'd defied his dad, right to his face. I knew fine well that he'd recognised me, I'd known that that was his apology. Draco Malfoy had switched sides.

Or, so I'd thought.

He'd still fought against me in the war. He'd still become a Death-Eater in the first place and helped kill Dumbledore. But, in the war, when he'd thrown me his wand, it had only encouraged my suspicions.

Malfoy wasn't acting of his own free will. Something was pushing him against me, shoving him at the dark, away from the light, towards Voldemort.

I suppose I couldn't really hold a grudge against him then, not if there was a chance he hadn't wanted to do everything he'd done.

There was so much history between us, none of it very good, nothing to be proud of. Was there a chance of turning everything around? If we both wanted to, I supposed so, but I wasn't very sure that Malfoy did want to. He hadn't seemed overly enthusiastic about calling a truce.

The door creaked open and - speak of the devil - Malfoy emerged, clothed in his pajamas with a towel around his head once more. He looked a bit dishevelled, eyes slightly unfocused. I guessed that he was still feeling the effects of last night, too.

As if summoned, a shock of pain snaked around my skull, making me close my eyes in a useless attempt to get rid of it. It disappeared a second or two later, fading to a dull throb once more.

I pushed the covers off, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. Even this small movement caused my vision to swim and blur around the edges. I really needed to remember that spell.

I looked up at Malfoy again as he sorted through a small pile of Arithmancy textbooks on his bed. The best way to ask him would be directly. I decided to just go for it.

"Hey Malfoy?"

His gaze never moved from his book and he continued sifting through various pages, seemingly at random. He looked frustrated as he flicked another page over, frown lines creasing his forehead. "What is it Potter?" He replied curtly, annoyance lacing his voice.

"D'you fancy a game of Quidditch?" The idea had just suddenly come to me. Why not Quidditch? It was something we both liked, a competitive sport, too. Plus, as eighth years we were no longer in the school teams, so why not have our own game?

At first I thought he wasn't going to answer. He went through the pages quicker now, face only darkening more. He sighed and stepped back, closing the book and giving it such a venomous glare I could swear the paperback quivered in his grip.

He fixed me with a look, as if debating something, then answered shortly. "Sure Potter. It will be fun to see you lose." He sneered, a smirk at the edge of his lips as he stepped away from the bed and began to search around it.

"In your dreams Malfoy, you couldn't beat me if I had my hands tied behind my back" I retorted with a grin. There was always such a spark when I argued with Malfoy, it wasn't the same as with Ron or Hermione. It was more of a challenge with the Slytherin, like I was defending my pride rather than just arguing. It was a rush of energy, it always had been.

"Hardy har har, Potter" he replied, frowning as he checked in a drawer at the side of his bed. I watched him in silence, wondering what he could be looking for.

By now, Malfoy had emptied every single drawer next to his bed, scanning through each one with increasing panic. I found myself staring at his back muscles as he moved for some reason I couldn't place. He looked kind of cute when he was frowning.

'He's not cute. Stop that' I chided myself, focusing instead on the still-growing pile of books on his bunk. How could anyone own so many books? Even Hermione would be impressed by the mountain of literature spread across the dark green covers.

There were even some muggle volumes I could see, which was surprising in itself. Malfoy was still throwing more books on the bed with increasing speed, frown only deepening.

I couldn't contain myself any longer, I had to know what he was up to.

"Malfoy, what in Merlin are you doing?" I asked, perplexed.

He didn't look up, but answered as he skimmed over a book titled 'Freezing Charms: An In-Depth Discussion.'

"I'm trying to find this year's Potion manual. If you would kindly shut your ugly mug Potter I could maybe get on with it" he snapped.

Maybe it was just me, but I got the feeling that he was annoyed by my question. I'm not sure why, I was only trying to help.

I looked around the room, to places that Malfoy had yet to ransack and were still devoid of the clutter that was growing around his bed.

In between our beds sat a single book. Its cover was black, etched with neat cursive that I couldn't read from where I was sitting. I stood up and retrieved the book, smirking as I did so.

'Advanced Potions Manual With Diagrams.' Something told me that that was what he was after, it was the only place he hadn't looked already.

"Malfoy, I found your stupid book!" I shouted across to him, watching with amusement as he stood abruptly, eyes locking onto the volume in my hand.

Wordlessly, he came over and yanked it from my grasp, sifting through the pages and nodding to himself as he turned on his heel and walked away.

Ungrateful git!

Surely he could say thanks, at least. I scowled at him, still standing there. Maybe it was a bit childish, but he didn't need to be so horrible.

He chose to ignore me as I glared at him, either that or he wasn't paying attention. He did look absorbed in whatever it was he was looking for in the book.

"Malfoy, what in Merlin's tits was so important about that daft thing?" I asked, annoyed at him. I wanted him to know that I was annoyed, so I didn't even attempt to keep my voice neutral.

He gasped theatrically, placing a hand on his chest "Potter I'm hurt, this is no 'daft thing'! This is one of the rarest, most prized Potion's manuals in the world! But, of course, you wouldn't know that." He waved his hand at me dismissively and delicately traced one finger down the page, stopping below a small, neatly drawn diagram half way down.

He sounded almost like Hermione when it came to books. I hadn't expected that, Malfoy had never struck me as a bookish kind of person, but then again, I barely knew anything about him.

I knew some things, such as his favourite colour and everything else I'd found out the day before, but apart from that, I knew next to nothing at all. After seven whole years at school together, we were still practically strangers. I suppose that came from being enemies,  you're hardly interested in their favourite subject.

But that was the past, this was now, this was a new year with everything else behind us. I didn't want to dwell on what we had been, I wanted to think about what we could become.

I wasn't very good at that though; letting go. I still hadn't let go of the war, even though it was supposed to be in the past too, and far behind by now, out of mind.

And yet every night, I was still haunted by those images. By the blank, sightless faces of everyone I'd failed to save, everyone who'd died in order for me to succeed.

I still panicked whenever I saw someone in the school with their head bowed, mistaking their pointed hat and black robes for a Death-Eater's hood. I still jumped when I saw light coming out of another classroom, waiting for the cry of pain from someone within, poised to rush to their aid, anticipating the sight that would await me.

These weren't things I had been expecting.

Before all of this, I never paid a single thought to after, in fact, I didn't really think that there would be an after for me, which I suppose in itself was pretty fucked up.

I also hadn't expected to notice so much about Malfoy, to see his eyes as dazzling and nice. That had also come out of nowhere, and I still wasn't really sure how to react.

I felt the said eyes upon me suddenly and realised that I had zoned out completely, again.

Malfoy had raised one eyebrow at me, the book now closed. He was standing where he had been the last time I had looked up. It could have been a minute ago, ten maybe for all I knew. When I zoned out like that, whole periods could go past and I would be oblivious for half of it. This time, I guessed it hadn't been that long.

As my eyes refocused, I locked eyes with the so-called 'Slytherin Prince' narrowing my gaze to put him off asking questions.

It didn't work.

"I asked you a question, an answer would be nice, preferably this side of the century." His eyes sparkled with amusement, a comforting normality, his lips turned upwards in the edges of a sneer.

"Sorry, I wasn't listening, what did you say?" I asked. I hadn't even registered that he'd spoken, which was a bit frustrating.

He rolled his eyes and then spoke again. "Really Potter, I thought you would have had a longer attention span than that. I said, what time were you proposing for our game of Quidditch?" There was something almost like hope behind the words, although that was hidden behind the famous 'snobby prick' mask that Malfoy seemed to wear constantly.

I ignored the insult and answered the question with a grin that I was surprised to find wasn't completely forced. I bit my lip as I thought for a moment, it was more of a habit than anything. "How about noon? On the pitch, obviously." I said, unable to stop the smile that was spreading across my face.

Malfoy nodded, his cheeks tinged red, probably because he'd just been in the shower, I hadn't really been looking at his face, so it could have been for all I knew. I had been keeping my gaze on the enchanting qualities of his eyes.

'Enchanting?' I decided not to dwell on that.

I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. I had two and a half hours to get ready then, good, that was more than enough time. I couldn't wait to beat Malfoy, that would be more satisfactory than anything.