That afternoon, Harry was forced to realise just how much he had relied on Ron and Hermione to keep him company. For someone who had grown up with no friends and no one's company but his own, he was surprised to learn that he didn't know how to be alone.

And particularly not how to be alone with an audience. Malfoy was sitting calmly on the sofa, his feet tucked up under a cushion, reading a book that looked hideously like a text book. Harry had brought down a deck of cards, but after four rounds of Electric Solitaire, he was getting pretty bored. He had already owled Ginny to make sure she didn't organise something for tonight, since he couldn't handle another night out, but he wondered if she would object if he invited her over for company.

Knowing her, she was probably out with someone else. Or having a family dinner.

Malfoy's owl flew in the window and dropped a letter on his lap. He unrolled it and read it with a frown.

"Shacklebot wants to speak to me at four," he said.

Harry looked at the time. It was nearly four. "Are you meeting, or will he use the fire?" Harry asked, shuffling his deck.

"He'll use the fire," Malfoy replied, still looking at the letter. "He wants it to be a private meeting," he said hesitantly, as if he expected Harry to object.

"Fine," Harry said. "I'll check on dinner." He picked up the cards and left to see what Kreacher was doing in the kitchen.

Kreacher was humming to himself, busy chopping carrots to add to the roast that was cooking in the oven. It smelled delicious.

"Can I help?" Harry asked, gesturing vaguely at the carrots.

Kreacher looked affronted. "Master can most certainly not help," he said with a glare.

"Fine." Harry held up his hands in a peace offering.

He sat down at the table and dealt out another round of solitaire. The fire crackled and he heard the quiet sound of voices. He ignored them and studied his cards. If he moved the stack to the right, he could check the biggest pile. But if the pile turned over something useless, he would get zapped again. He moved the stack to the right and flipped the top card on the pile.

"Argh!" he yelped, sucking his finger as the useless two of spades sat innocuously on the top of the deck. He went back to the draw pile.

After about five minutes, it occurred to him that he could no longer hear voices. He looked curiously at the door and wondered if Malfoy had gone somewhere with Shacklebot. After another five minutes and two zaps of electricity, he got up to check.

He found Malfoy sitting on the couch, his head bowed. He didn't look up when Harry entered the room. Harry looked around in alarm, wondering if Shacklebot had just told him that he had to live with Harry forever.

He moved into the room and cleared his throat. Malfoy lifted his head, and the look in his eye stopped whatever words Harry had been about to say. His eyes looked haunted, empty of all emotion except for a wild, almost feverish intensity. Harry stopped walking.

"What happened?" he said finally.

"He's getting the Kiss," Malfoy said, his voice flat.

Harry didn't know what to say. He wasn't surprised, but he hadn't really thought about what that would mean for Malfoy. And to be honest, even if he had thought about it, he would never have thought he would care. He moved further into the room and sat carefully on the couch next to Malfoy.

"When?" he asked.

"Dawn," Malfoy replied, staring straight ahead. "They haven't made a decision about my mother yet."

Narcissa's voice, crying "He is dead!", popped into Harry's mind. He pushed it away.

The minutes stretched into a tense silence. It was abundantly clear that there was nothing Harry could say that would help the situation. If he said he was sorry, Malfoy would never believe him. Harry hated Lucius. He hated Malfoy. It was set, unchangeable. To pretend otherwise would be an insult.

Harry reached out and rested his hand on Malfoy's shoulders. He felt Malfoy stiffen beneath his fingers, but he pretended not to notice and focused on making small, soothing strokes with his hand instead. Malfoy relaxed slightly, and they sat in silence. After a few minutes, Harry drew back his hand and stood up.

"Dinner's nearly ready," he said, and left the room, giving Malfoy time if he wanted it.

To his surprise, Malfoy stood up immediately and followed him into the kitchen. It occurred to him that Malfoy was someone who liked to be near people. He hadn't secluded himself in his room once since he arrived, despite the lack of friendship between the two of them. Harry wondered how he would feel, if it was him. The only comparison he had was Sirius, and that was different in every way.

Kreacher bustled about, oblivious to the mood, for which Harry was grateful. He set a knife to carve up the roast and began serving vegetables.

They ate in silence.

"I was going to live with Sirius," Harry said suddenly. He looked down at his plate, not entirely sure why he was speaking, but wanting to all the same. "When his name was cleared. I don't know if you know that, but he wasn't the one to betray my parents. That was Wormtail - Peter Pettigrew. Anyway, he asked me to live with him, and suddenly it looked like I might have a life outside of Hogwarts. Like I might have a proper family. But then he died." Harry paused and decided not to go into detail. Whether Malfoy knew or not, it didn't matter. "In front of me. And it was back to nothing." He looked up and saw Malfoy watching him. His eyebrow was raised skeptically. Harry would have felt the same, if anyone had tried to make him feel better after Sirius died. He had felt the same. "It never gets any better," Harry said, looking him in the eye. Malfoy drew a sharp breath, so small you could miss it. "It never hurts any less. It just fades."

Malfoy's expression changed, but Harry could no longer read it. He seemed to have swallowed whatever cynical retort he had been about to make. Harry went back to his dinner.

"Thanks, Potter," Malfoy said finally.

Harry nodded. Neither Ron nor Hermione would have understood, because neither of them had experienced a situation so terrible that sympathy only made it worse. He knew that the only thing you can - will - accept is knowing that someone else understands just how far down you are.

There was a long silence, broken only be the sounds of cutlery and Kreacher humming.

"Are you going out again tonight?" Malfoy asked.

Harry didn't miss the hint. He shook his head.

After dinner, they sat in the living room. Malfoy had his book again, but whether he was reading it or not Harry had no idea. Harry had abandoned all pretense at playing cards. He was sick of being electrocuted. He sat on the other end of the couch with Malfoy, occasionally sending small pieces of scrunched up paper whizzing into the fire where they burst into tiny flameballs. He caught himself dozing every now and then, and tried to think of ways to force himself to stay awake.

He thought about Sirius, and how different things might have been if he had lived. If they had shared this house when Harry graduated, instead of Harry living in it alone. He tried to remember Sirius as he had been just after being rescued: bursting with life and incredulous at his freedom, before he was jaded again at its loss. He tried to forget how his godfather had been in the months leading up to his death, but that was as much a part of Sirius as everything else was, even if it had ultimately meant his death. Sirius had rushed headlong into rescuing Harry, just as Harry had rushed headlong into the trap that should never have worked. Would never have worked if Harry had listened to Dumbledore and to Snape. He and Sirius were both too impulsive, too much alike, and Harry had never been able to experience the good side of that.

Harry looked up to see Malfoy watching him. The wild look had gone from his eyes to be replaced by a dull emptiness. With a start, Harry realised that it was nearly dawn. He had spent the night thinking about Sirius - something he hadn't done in years. He had got used to not having the luxury to wallow.

"Did you love him?" Malfoy asked.

Harry blinked. It had been so long since either of them had spoken that the noise sounded coarse and rude against the quiet crackle of the fire. "Yeah," he said finally. "He was so like my dad. At least, from the memories I saw and from what people told me. He was family. And he loved me. There was no way I couldn't love him."

Malfoy made no sign that he had even heard him. "I loved my dad," he said finally. "But I probably shouldn't have."

Harry didn't say anything. He felt like if he moved, it would disturb something and Malfoy would stop talking, and Harry would never hear what he was going to say.

"I don't mean because he was a Death Eater," Malfoy said, suddenly sneering. "He believed that Muggles would mean our downfall just as surely as you lot believed they wouldn't. There was too much persecution in Muggle history for him to believe that they would welcome us with open arms."

Harry didn't say anything. He let Malfoy speak.

"But I shouldn't have loved him," Malfoy continued, staring ahead. "Because there was no point. I tried everything, but I still couldn't get anything out of him." Malfoy looked Harry in the eye suddenly and gave a rueful smile. Harry fought to keep his expression carefully neutral. "It's strange," Malfoy said. "The moment when you suddenly realise that your parents are human. That they can be wrong."

Harry nodded, thinking of Sirius pacing Grimmauld house, alone. Rushing into a fight with reckless abandon.

A beam of sunlight crossed the couch between them. It took half a second before Harry realised what it meant. He looked up and saw Malfoy's face go deathly white. Malfoy stayed staring ahead while the sun rose. When the room was filled with light and the birds were singing outside, he stood up, nodded to Harry, and went upstairs.

Harry must have fallen asleep on the couch, because the next thing he knew, Kreacher was shaking him awake to feed him chicken pot pie for lunch.

They spent the next couple of days in a quiet state. Harry wanted to catch up on sleep before Ginny accosted him next, and Malfoy spent more and more time in his rooms upstairs. Occasionally Harry would hear the sound of the guitar, playing a complicated acoustic melody, or he would hear an explosion that would be worrying if Malfoy didn't have an entire potions cabinet upstairs, but he was otherwise quiet. Harry found he appreciated having the time to think about everything that had happened over the last couple of years - something he realised that he hadn't found the time yet to do.

After three days of quiet routine, Harry felt he had been given enough thinking time to last him the next decade, but he wasn't sure whether it was too soon to ask Malfoy for another quidditch game. Before he could work out a way to ensure Malfoy wasn't bawling in the corner of the room before he knocked on the door, the fire made a high-pitched squealing that indicated someone was requesting to Floo through.

Since there were only two people he knew right now who would be likely to contact him like that, he raced down the stairs and shoved his head into the fire.

"Ron, Hermione!" He said, beaming up at them with pleasure. They were sitting in what looked like a small hotel room somewhere cold. They were rugged up in thick coats, with big smiles on their faces.

"Harry!" Hermione said, leaning into the fire to kiss him on the cheek. "How are you? We miss you!"

"Yeah," Ron coughed. "Miss you." He grinned, not looking like he missed Harry at all.

"Where are you now?" Harry asked.

"Romania," Hermione said with a smile. "We thought we'd visit Charlie first."

"You should see his breeding rooms, Harry," Ron said, his eyes wide. "Hagrid'd have a fit."

Harry laughed. "I'll bet."

"So, how is it with Malfoy?" Ron asked, clearly eager for news, probably involving hexes.

Harry made a face. "His dad's just died," he said quietly. "He was given the Kiss."

Hermione looked sympathetic, but Ron just shrugged. "Had it coming," he said dismissively. "Can't see why the git even cares. Surely he knew his dad was a total arse."

Hermione frowned, and seemed about to say something before Harry interrupted. "Just because he wasn't a good person, doesn't mean he wasn't Malfoy's dad," he said calmly. "Malfoy has every right to be upset."

Ron looked taken aback, while Hermione looked proud.

"So you're getting along then?" Hermione asked.

"More or less," Harry said with a shrug that was awkward because of the angle. "But what have you guys done apart from seen the dragons?"

Ron wrinkled his nose. "Lots of walking in the cold," he said.

Hermione looked sheepish. "The castles here are amazing!" she said. "We just had to go on a tour. But we're going to leave Romania tomorrow, because like Ron says, there isn't much to do here. We're going to Bulgaria next. Viktor has invited us to stay with him, and he's going to show us all the best places to go."

Ron made a face behind Hermione's back. Harry laughed.

"Oh, and we're going to see Nurmengard, too!" Hermione continued. "I think it will be a really fascinating place, although very sobering of course."

Harry frowned. The name was familiar.

"Grindelwald's fortress," Hermione said patiently. "Where he was imprisoned until You Know Who came and... Well, you know."

Harry remembered Voldemort flying in the window of a dark fortress with the skeletal man curled on the ground. His brain suddenly made one of those unexpected jumps, and something fell into place.

"He knew," Harry said slowly, shocked.

"Who knew?" Hermione asked with a frown.

"Voldemort knew! About the Hallows," Harry said, looking up at Hermione and Ron. "We looked at the memory, and Malfoy told me that Voldemort read Grindelwald's mind before he killed him. He would have been looking for the wand, so he had to have seen about the Hallows. Why wasn't he going after the lot of them?"

Ron and Hermione both looked concerned.

"It doesn't really matter, does it?" Hermione said tentatively. "He's gone now."

Harry frowned. "I guess not," he said, then gave a small laugh. He wasn't used to his break-throughs being irrelevant. It was a strange sensation.

Ron gave a relieved laugh. "Well, give our love to Malfoy then," he said with a smirk. "These long distance Floos cost a ton. We might owl you next!"

Harry grinned. "Look forward to it," he said.

They said goodbye and Harry pulled his head back through into the living room. To his surprise, Malfoy was sitting on the couch.

"Heard of privacy?" Harry said, although his tone was more of exasperation than the anger that it would have been weeks before.

Malfoy smirked at him. "What are the Hallows?" he asked, looking curious.

"Not this again," Harry groaned. "We already talked about the Elder Wand."

Malfoy frowned for a second, before laughing. Harry was surprised at the difference it made to Malfoy's face. Harry was forced to admit that he was actually quite handsome when he wasn't looking like something had crawled up his arse and died.

"What's the Elder Wand?" he asked innocently.

Harry smirked, before sitting down to fill him in on what he, Ron and Hermione had done in the year they took off to chase Voldemort. Bits and pieces were known by the Ministry and various people who had witnessed part of it, but he had never told the full story. He found himself surprisingly pleased to have company again, after several days of feeling like he was back at Privet Drive.

When he had finished, a good while later, Malfoy frowned. "He had to have known about the Hallows. Before the Occlumency, I mean."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, yawning and leaning back into the couch.

"Well, Grindelwald was the biggest dark wizard of the time. How could The Dark Lord not have read about him? I would have thought he would have read anything he could get his hands on about someone who had tried and failed to do the very thing he was planning."

Harry frowned. Malfoy had a point. "So, why wasn't he searching for them, then?" he asked. "Why did he choose Horcruxes? Do you think he'd already started, and by then it was too late?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I've no idea." He yawned suddenly and leaned back on the couch next to Harry. "I guess it doesn't matter anymore."

Harry turned and gave him a wry smile. "That's what Ron and Hermione said. I think they panicked and thought I was going to get obsessed with Voldemort again."

Malfoy laughed. Harry was struck again by how strange it was on him, and how much it suited him. "What's wrong with that?" he asked. "Your obsession seemed to work out pretty well last time."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. It was the first time Malfoy had ever acknowledged Harry's defeat of Voldemort at all, let alone in a positive light.

"Thanks for giving my wand back, by the way," Malfoy said, his voice becoming a tired drawl. "I always liked that wand best."

Harry shrugged. "S'fine. The least I could do. If you hadn't disarmed Dumbledore, and if I hadn't disarmed you, I never would have been able to defeat Voldemort." He grinned. "So, you could say I couldn't have done it without you."

Malfoy turned to him and gave a wry smile. "Ironic, isn't it?"

Harry snorted. After a second, he realised that Malfoy was still watching him. Harry noticed his eyes were slightly shut from tiredness, their colour seeming almost black in the low lighting. As Harry's eyes met his, he made a small movement, like he was about to speak.

Then something crossed his face and he stood up suddenly. "Quidditch tomorrow?" he asked.

Harry sat up. "Yeah, sounds good."

Malfoy muttered goodnight and left the room, leaving Harry to sit by himself and wonder why it felt as though he had just missed something very important.