They both lay in their chairs, eyes wide and frantic. Malfoy had his head in his hands, shuddering, while Harry felt as though lying on the ground might be the only thing that would stop the world spinning.

"That wasn't quite how I remembered it," Malfoy said after a long pause where they both slowly ceased shaking.

"Sorry," Harry said quietly. "I - I think they're worse the second time around."

"Makes sense," Malfoy said. "Without the physical pain of your connection to distract you, you're left with only The Dark Lord's emotions, which are a little intense." He drew his head up from his hands slowly. "There was a man who could probably have benefited from a few anger management classes."

Harry snorted. He looked at the floor, and wondered if Malfoy would let him live it down if he just lay there for a while. Looking up, he saw that Malfoy appeared to be contemplating the same thing.

"Firewhisky?" Harry suggested.

"Finally, you have something intelligent to contribute," Malfoy said, standing up. "Lead the way."

Harry poured them two glasses at the kitchen table and sat down. Malfoy sat down and knocked his back in one shot. Harry shrugged and followed suit before pouring two more.

"I forgot Dobby was yours," Harry said when he was feeling considerably warmer and more sensible. Comparatively.

Malfoy looked at him shrewdly. "Yeah. Was. Do I want an explanation?"

"Probably not."

Malfoy shrugged. "I liked him. I'm sorry he died." He knocked back his second glass.

"Luna spoke beautifully at his funeral."

Malfoy spat Firewhisky all over the table. "She what?"

Harry burst out laughing. After a second, Malfoy joined in. Harry knew it was the aftermath of shock coupled with the whisky, but it was still strangely enjoyable, laughing with Malfoy.

"I never said thanks, did I?" Harry said suddenly.

Malfoy frowned at him. "For what?"

"For not identifying us back there. Well, for not identifying me, and for being as vague as you could about Ron and Hermione given it would be ridiculous if you didn't recognise them."

Malfoy shrugged.

"Your father really wanted you to identify us," he pushed, watching Malfoy closely.

It was only a flicker, but same angry look crossed Malfoy's face again, but he said nothing. It didn't make sense. Malfoy had been just as vocal about Voldemort's reign as Lucius. And he'd tried to Crucio Harry himself, so it could hardly have been compassion that stopped him from turning them all in.

"Well, thanks," Harry said finally.

"You're welcome, Savior," Malfoy said sarcastically. He leaned forward and poured them each another glass.

"So, I promised you that my memories wouldn't be as harsh as yours, and they turned out to be worse," Harry said with a wry smile, knocking back his third glass. Or was it his fifth?

Malfoy waved his hand dismissively. "Hardly, Potter. I just haven't had time to get used to yours."

"Doesn't seem like there's any point getting used to them. They were useless."

"Who said they were useless?" Malfoy said, looking up at him suddenly. His eyes were glazed slightly from the drink, and his relaxed lean on the table made him look almost coy.

Harry blinked. Malfoy's words penetrated the drunken fog that was his brain. "What do you mean?" he asked, fighting to keep from slurring his words.

"Well, amongst the escaping wizards who my charming father beat to the door," Malfoy's lip twitched again in distaste. "There was one face who I recall from non Death Eater activities."

"Who?" Harry asked excitedly.

Malfoy sprawled his fingers lazily along the table. "Twilfitt."

"Bless you."

"No, you idiot," Malfoy drawled. "Twilfitt, as in Twilfitt and Tatting's. Clothing shop, Diagon Alley."

Harry stared at him blankly.

"Nothing? You peasant. Fantastic robes there. My mother goes there all the time."

Harry snorted. Malfoy lobbed the Firewhisky lid at him. It missed by two metres.

"Hmm," Malfoy muttered, looking carefully at the bottle. He seemed to make a decision, and poured them two more glasses.

"Well, we have a name for Shacklebot, then," Harry said, grinning and swallowing his Firewhisky. For some inexplicable reason, it seemed to end up mostly down his shirt front. He looked up to see if Malfoy had noticed, but Malfoy appeared to be too busy inspecting the table with his face.

"I think I might go take a shower," Harry said, and stood up abruptly.

Malfoy shot up into a sitting position. "Hang on!" he said. "There was something else."

Harry sat back down. Staring up, bewildered, at the table, he made a readjustment and sat on the seat.

"There was something really important," Malfoy continued, staring seriously at his glass as if it could tell him the answer. "Oh, yes!" He smacked his hand down on the table. "Who was the man in the cell and what did Voldemort want with him?"

"Voldemort?" Harry repeated. "You said Voldemort."

Malfoy waved him away impatiently. "Who was he?"

"Um," Harry focused very carefully. "Grindelwald," he said, feeling a surge of success at pronouncing the correct syllables. "Voldemort wanted the Elder Wand."

"Right." Malfoy nodded. "Because right before he killed him, Voldemort cast Leglimens. I wouldn't expect someone as utterly useless at Occlumency as you to realise it - Snape told me all about how utterly, utterly pathetic you are, really, Potter, why can't you grasp such a simple concept - but the evidence was there."

Harry frowned. "Why didn't I see it in the vision then?"

"Well," Malfoy speculated, waving his glass around for emphasis. "While The Dark Lord seemed unable to stop you entering his thoughts when his emotions were at their highest and he was at his most vulnerable, he was hardly going to make the same mistake while he was performing such a complex skill as Occlumency."

"Fine," Harry waved a hand dismissively. "Why do I care? He's dead. I have the Elder wand. Well, not literally, but figuratively... in terms of ownership anyway... more like I'm fostering the Elder wand..."

"You have the Elder Wand?" Malfoy interrupted with a frown.

"You were there!" Harry exclaimed. "You were pivotal!" He thought for a moment. "You had the Elder wand for a while!"

"I had the Elder Wand?" Malfoy's brow furrowed in deep concern. "What's the Elder Wand?"

"Oh geez." Harry dropped his head on the table. "Why was this important?"

"Oh, it wasn't that important," Malfoy said with another wave of his hand. "I just wanted to point out how terrible you are at Occlumency. Months of private study, and you couldn't even detect that he was performing it. Shame on you, Potter."

Harry let out a groan and stood up again.

"Wait!" Malfoy stuck a hand in the air feebly. "Take me with you!"

"To the shower? You're sick, Malfoy."

"No, not to the shower, you idiot. To bed."

"Christ, Malfoy, I really didn't need that image."

"Shut up, Potter. Take me upstairs. I can't move and I need to lie down."

Harry snorted. "I'm not carrying you upstairs. Lie down on the floor."

"Fine, you leave me no choice." Malfoy produced his wand with a flourish. He stared at it for a couple of seconds before turning it the right way around.

"Alright, alright!" Harry said hastily. "Grab onto my shoulders."

He hoisted Malfoy up onto his shoulders and together they navigated the stairs. It was only when Harry was at the top that he realised he could have called for Kreacher.

He gritted his teeth and propelled Malfoy down the corridor at something between a run and a slide, and deposited him on his bed.

"Mphks, Motter,"

"Pardon?"

Malfoy lifted his head from the pillow. "Thanks, Potter."

"Welcome," Harry muttered, before dragging himself out to the shower.

When he had sobered up a little under the water, it occurred to him that something had changed in Malfoy. More than the fact that they were able to be civil now - friendly, even - there was something different about him. Morbid curiosity necessitated that Harry find out what that was. However, since it seemed somehow related to Lucius, Harry wasn't sure how he could tactfully broach the topic when Lucius could be given the Dementor's Kiss at any second.

Malfoy didn't emerge until dinner time, and when he did Harry couldn't for the life of him figure out why he had bothered.

"You look terrible," Harry said.

"I'm still drunk. What's your excuse?" Malfoy snapped, dropping into a chair.

Kreacher popped into the kitchen with a crack and began to serve casserole from a large dish floating along behind him.

"Have you owled Shacklebot yet?" Harry asked, prodding experimentally at his serving.

Malfoy shook his head, then winced at the movement. He took a deep breath, shoved his fingers in his ears, and whistled for his owl.

The elegant screech owl flew in the open kitchen window from her perch in the owlery outside. Harry felt a sharp twinge as he thought of Hedwig and looked away.

Malfoy scratched out a brief message, tied it to his owl's leg, and sent her away. He began to eat tentatively.

"So I was thinking," Harry said.

Malfoy dropped his fork and glared at him. "What were you thinking?" he asked dangerously.

Harry grinned. "Nothing like last time, don't worry."

Malfoy sniffed delicately and turned back to his food.

Harry prodded his food again, decided to wait, and continued speaking. "What are you doing apart from helping the Ministry?"

Malfoy frowned. "I'm under house arrest. I'm not doing much of anything."

"Witness protection," Harry corrected. "There's a difference."

Malfoy's raised eyebrow indicated exactly what he thought of that difference.

"I wondered if you wanted to help me with something," Harry said.

Malfoy scoffed. "Unless that 'something' involves a rabid pile of Blast-Ended Skrewts and your vulnerable extremities, I doubt it."

Harry hadn't expected much better. Unfortunately, with Ron gone, he had little choice. "I think you might change your mind if you hear what it is," he said lightly.

Malfoy looked up at him, suspicion warring with curiosity. "What is it?" he said finally.

"I want to play quidditch," Harry said.

Malfoy frowned. "We're five players and league too short, Potter."

"Just to practice," Harry corrected. He took a mouthful of food and was pleased that it didn't make queasy.

"What, you want a willing victim to run into the dust, do you?" Malfoy said, his voice bitter. "Nice try."

Harry fought back a smile at the memory of how many games Slytherin had lost to Gryffindor. "That'd be nice, but no. I've been reading about training techniques you can do as a Seeker. But you usually need two Seekers to do them. I was going to ask Ron, although he's a terrible Seeker-" Malfoy snorted. "But he's gone now, so..." he trailed off.

Malfoy lifted his chin and smirked. "You mean you've never done a proper Seekers' run before? What on earth were they teaching you in Gryffindor, Potter?"

Harry bit his tongue to avoid starting a fight. It wasn't worth it. Besides, he could see Malfoy was interested.

"How exactly were you planning on doing this and still keeping me hidden?" Malfoy asked.

Harry had been thinking about that. "The three of us - me, Ron and Hermione - cast a lot of protection spells last year," he explained. "And they worked pretty well. Well enough to keep away Voldemort. Since no one is going to be looking for you with me, I think that we could use a nearby oval. The area is a bit larger than I'm used to, but there's no reason why it shouldn't work."

Malfoy watched him as he spoke. He seemed to be struggling with something. But all he said when Harry stopped speaking was "fine."

"What, that's it?" Harry pressed. "You're not keen? You can't have played quidditch for at least as long as me. Longer, since you didn't even play in sixth year."

Malfoy sneered. "Of course I want to play quidditch. I don't particularly want to play with you, but I'll take what I can get."

Harry rolled his eyes. Before he could say anything, an owl flew in through the kitchen window.

"That was quick," Malfoy said.

Harry shook his head. "Nah, it's from Ginny." He read the message quickly and suppressed a shudder. Ginny's careful wording quite clearly left him no choice. "You're on your own tonight, Malfoy. I'm going out. Don't destroy anything."

Malfoy smirked. "What was that about not dating the Weasle-" he stopped himself at Harry's look. "The second Weasley?"

Harry laughed. If Malfoy knew where he was going, he wouldn't be so cocky. Harry considered telling him just to see the look on his face.

"I'm not," he said instead. He shot a glance at the clock above the kitchen sink and realised that Ginny had planned her message so that he had very little time to think about it. She would be arriving in less than ten minutes. Harry swore. At least he'd already showered. He considered what he was wearing and decided that Ginny would never let him leave in it, and it was a far better option to change his own clothes than to have Ginny select them for him. "Ginny'll be here any minute," he said, standing up. "Be nice. I'll be back in a sec."

"Got to do your make-up, hey, Potter?"

Harry paused in the doorway, looking back at Malfoy. Had he imagined it, or was there a hint of bitterness in his tone? Malfoy ignored him, so he marched upstairs to change.