Everything about The Alastair Moody Reform Institute screamed 'new', from the sterile white walls to the smell of paint in the visitor's waiting room, where Harry sat warily watching the clock tick towards nine. Harry was one of several people waiting to see a prisoner (or patient, as the guards called them), and around him sat worried mothers and fathers; and girlfriends, sometimes jogging a baby on their knee to keep them quiet. It didn't help Harry's nerves that many of them stole glances at him, one woman whispering to her toddler: 'Look, sweetheart. It's Harry Potter!'. They were all here to see people they loved. Harry hoped he wasn't.

It had taken the Ministry about three minutes into the first post-War hearing to realise that Azkaban couldn't be the correct punishment for everyone - but that a fine or public service couldn't be an alternative to every minor crime. So they came up with the Moody Institute, modelled on Muggle prisons, by way of punishing the criminals who were worse than petty thieves, but not so bad as murderers. It was now home to about one hundred criminals, split into two separate buildings: one for the men, and one for the women.

The woman next to Harry, an elderly lady with kind eyes, smiled at him.

"You here to see a friend?"

Harry didn't have a correct answer to her question, and ended up saying awkwardly, "In a way, I suppose."

She smiled. "The War must have complicated things for you?"

He nodded, and after a moment of silence, asked:

"Are you here to see your son?"

"My husband." She shook her head, "Silly bugger got caught shoplifting one of those sneakerscope things while the War was on. They were desperate times," She looked at him sadly, "Though I'm sure I don't need to tell you that, Mr Potter."

Harry grimaced. "How long's he in for?"

"Only a month, thankfully. How about your friend?"

"Seven."

"Oh, I am sorry to hear that," She said, patting his knee.

At nine o'clock on the dot, a guard opened the door and told them that they could come through. Harry walked in and saw Draco immediately, his unusual blonde hair easily standing out. Draco was staring at his linked fingers resting on the table, and only looked up when Harry sat down. As Harry's eyes met the icy blue of Draco's, a memory flashed through his mind. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Finding Draco sobbing over the porcelain sinks. Draco's curses shooting past his head, and he, Harry, shouting sectumsempra, and watching in horror as the cuts appeared, and the blood began to pour out.

"Potter?"

Harry blinked and realised he'd been staring at Draco, who was watching him in confusion. Attempting to erase the past from his mind, he tried to speak. Harry had rehearsed what he wanted to say several times while he'd waited, but now all the words seemed wiped from his mind.

"Hi," He managed. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Hi."

An awkward silence fell between them. Why the hell did I decide to do this? Harry thought angrily.

"I didn't think you'd want to see me," Draco said eventually.

"I had to say thank you," Harry said, relieved that Draco had started talking. "About the Manor. About not betraying us."

Draco shrugged. "You would have done the same."

"Still."

Silence again.

"You were very brave, to have lived in the Manor all that time. To have helped Ollivander like you did."

"Again," Draco sighed, "You would have done the same. And anyway," He gestured vaguely, "What did I have to lose at that point? My life?" He laughed mirthlessly, "I didn't care about my life anymore. I just didn't want my mum to die."

"I wanted to save you," Harry said, with no idea why he was telling Draco anything. "When Dobby was apparating us out. I wanted to grab you and take you with us." Harry met Draco's eyes. "I'm so sorry I didn't."

Draco looked to the ceiling. "Potter, you have a saviour complex."

"That's what Ginny says."

Draco blinked, and looked down at his hands. "So it's going well with her, then?" He asked, quietly.

"She's going back to Hogwarts after the Summer. I'll barely see her. I don't know how that's going to work." Harry bit his lip. "But right now, when she's at the Burrow, yeah. It is going well."

"I'm glad," Draco said, tonelessly. "So, is that all you came for? To say thanks?"

"No, not just that. I was wondering if you want to see Teddy."

Draco looked genuinely surprised, and Harry continued,

"I mean, he is your cousin."

Draco nodded, thoughtfully. "He is, isn't he? Do you really want him seeing me here, though? It might be a bad influence."

"I think he'd be fine, it would only be once a week, when I have him round."

Draco thought. "I've never met him before. He might not like me."

"He's a baby, Draco. I don't think he really likes and dislikes people yet." Harry shrugged. "It's fine if you don't want to see him, I was just asking."

"No, I do want to see him," Draco said quickly. "Sorry, I was just surprised, that's all."

"No problem, I'll take him this time next week, if you want?"

Draco looked like he was about to smile for a moment, but didn't. "Thanks."

"No worries."

Harry was just wondering how soon he could politely leave when Draco said, suddenly;

"How come you call me Draco?"

This surprised Harry. "Because it's your name?"

"You called me Malfoy right through sixth year," Draco pointed out.

"Well, I needed to disassociate. I was pretending you were never 'Draco' in the first place."

"Oh," Draco didn't meet Harry's eyes. "What changed?"

"I don't know," Harry said irritably. "I realised there was no point in pretending what happened didn't happen? I had other stuff to think about? I mean, why do you still call me Potter?"

Draco blinked at the outburst. "I call you Potter because it hurts less. I'm still disassociating."

Harry grimaced. "You should probably sort that out, it's a very unhealthy way of dealing with things."

"I'll be sure to take it up with my therapist," Draco said sarcastically.

Harry looked around for something to change the conversation to. "What's it like here?"

"Comparatively, pretty good. I've lived in tougher prisons." Draco said it like a joke, but the humour didn't reach his eyes.

"So you're not telling me how you got those cuts on your face?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. Draco subconsciously touched the freshly healed lines on his cheek.

"When you're in a prison full of people who were driven to crime by the war you were a part of, a few slashes to the cheek is to be expected."

"Does it happen often?" Harry asked sharply. Draco chuckled.

"Saviour complex, Potter," When he saw Harry's expression, he added, "No, it doesn't. Some people are too scared, some people want me on their side, some people understand that I didn't want to be a part of it. So few people actually hurt me."

"But they still do."

Draco sighed. "I've got the dark mark. I think it's reasonable to be punished for that. And anyway-" He cut Harry off, "There's nothing you can do about it. So I appreciate your concern, but really. Cool it."

Harry raised his hands. "Fine, sorry for caring."

"I think we both know it's easier if you don't care," Draco pointed out.

"Whats that supposed to- whatever, you're right." Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "So I'll bring Ted next week, then?"

"Yeah. Cheers."

As Harry pushed his chair in and turned, Draco spoke again.

"Thank you. For giving a witness statement, and saving my life during that fiendfire thing, and in the Battle of Hogwarts, and... everything," Draco coloured, and didn't meet Harry's eyes. Harry shrugged.

"You would have done the same."

0o0o

Harry walked part way home instead of apparating, because he liked feeling the air move around him as he pushed through it. It calmed him down; helped him to think.

He thought about Ginny, and the warm comfort of being around her - the familiarity and friendship. He thought about how it had felt to hold her hand through the crowded streets of Diagon Alley, not caring about the people who stared at him because he was happy. He thought about kissing her, and the way her nose wrinkled up when she grinned. It was all amazing. And yet...

And yet.

There had been nights when he, Ron and Hermione had been on the run where Harry thought he'd go mad from how much he missed Draco. It had surprised him more than anything, that one year after it had ended, and after Ginny had blocked it out a little, it had come back with such force. It had been like someone digging into his skull, constant, and aching, and completely uncontrollable. Lying in his bunk bed, he'd replay scenes from the Guest Room again and again, and wonder why he couldn't just stop it, just let go. And then he'd defeated Voldemort, and gone back to the Burrow, and when Ginny had kissed him it felt like the space Draco had left might be filled, and maybe those nights in the tent had been the product of too much time and too little to occupy his mind.

Harry wanted to believe that he didn't care about Draco anymore, but the truth was that he did. It was like Hermione had said: you can't ever truly stop caring about someone you once loved. And that might be okay. If he wasn't so scared of hurting Ginny.

Jesus Christ, Potter, he thought, you defeat the Dark Lord and what do you do? Go back to moping after some boy who broke your heart, and in doing so push away the only other person who might be able to fix it. Go figure.

Harry comforted himself with the fact that it didn't really matter if Draco was inside his head. Ginny was who he was with, and that was that. There was a wonderful simplicity in having your mind made up for you.