Title: A Hard Freeze

Author: Paige ) 

Rating: R-ish.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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Cold ice flanked the steps and biting snow fell outside the tavern, but Harry Potter didn�t notice. Instead, his attention was focused on the stein of wizard ale, more like a strong butterbeer, in front of him. His hands cupped the brew, almost lovingly, as his fingers curled around the warm mug.

Draco Malfoy entered the Three Broomsticks with all the flair and pomp of his usual demeanour, but only a handful of patrons glanced in his direction. Harry didn�t even flinch as the frigid air rushed in, sweeping over him and ruffling his hair, until Draco at last shut the door firmly behind him, stopping the wind. The door clicked loudly, closing with a distinct sound of finality, and a few magic folk along the bar looked at the blond man with interest, but Draco ignored them. His pale grey eyes sought out Harry and Harry only; it only took a moment to see his hunched figure. Squaring his shoulders and scowling, Draco moved across the room, nearing Harry�s small, solitary table in the corner.

�You look worse than usual,� Draco announced, no small amount of disgust in the proclamation.

Harry didn�t look up, merely grunted, and took a long drink off his ale.

�Well, then,� Draco sniffed, slipping off his scarf and shrugging out of his heavy winter coat. �I�ll just have a seat,� he added, pulling up a chair from another table. �I�ll have what he�s having,� Draco called across the bar.

�You haven�t seen me often enough to know my �usual,�� Harry finally responded, still looking down at the table and his brew.

Draco smirked, at last having gotten a response. He noted Harry�s right hand had moved from his drink, and was now carefully fingering his wand beneath the hem of his robe�s cuff. �At least he�s not stupid,� Draco thought, relieved more than he cared to admit.

By this time, a stein of ale had been placed before him, but he continued to eye Harry instead of drinking.

�What do you want, Malfoy?� Harry asked dryly. Draco noted that his voice was hoarse, as if rarely used. He recalled the most recent report that he�d received on Harry. Since killing Voldemort shortly after they finished Hogwarts, the Boy Who Lived to Defeat the Dark Lord had been a solitary and lonely creature. Harry kept a cottage in Hogsmeade and a flat off Diagon Alley, and he drunkenly stumbled to whichever was closest after he finished his ale worship every night. He had been given a comfortable job at the Ministry, but after his heroism, Harry Potter was not even expected to show up at his desk. The wizarding world still celebrated his victory, but did nothing to see to the well-being of their hero. Perhaps they thought it more respectful to just let him be, but Draco thought it was the height of self-absorption, for both the wizarding community and for Harry himself.

Draco took a long drink, still watching Harry over the rim of his mug. He removed the drink from his pursed lips, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. �Well, Harry, I was going to say that I wanted to find out what in bloody hell has happened to you, but after tasting this vile brew, I don�t have to ask,� Draco drawled, scowling.

For the first time, Harry�s eyes bore into Draco�s face, and Draco very nearly shuddered at the loathing in those green depths. It took no small measure of Draco�s control to hide that shiver from those angry eyes. �You do not have the right to call me Harry,� he spat at the man beside him. �Last time I saw you, you were standing beside Voldemort.�

�Actually no, Harry,� Draco answered smoothly, �the last time you saw me, I was leaving the dungeon after you defeated him.�

Harry�s dark eyebrows shot up. �Yes, Snape was pulling you out with him. Tell me, Malfoy, what exactly did you do, when we were kids back at Hogwarts, to earn Snape�s protection?� Harry snapped, voice heavy with innuendo and accusation. �And don�t call me Harry.�

�You�re really a stupid git. Did you know that, Harry?� Draco asked, completely unruffled.

Harry stood suddenly and awkwardly kicked his chair behind him. �I told you not to call me that,� he slurred.

Draco bit back a laugh. Harry, swaying on his feet, was hardly intimidating. Even when he pulled out his wand, Draco merely suppressed a smirk. �You�ve become a laughingstock. What happened to Harry Potter, the hero?�

�Sod off.�

�Accio wand,� Draco intoned, almost casually. �Give me that before you hurt yourself.�

The cold anger in Harry�s eyes hardened into unmasked fury. �Did you come here to kill me? To avenge your leader? Well, go ahead,� he scoffed. �I don�t care.�

�That�s rather obvious,� Draco agreed, taking in Harry�s dirty hair, unkempt clothes and drunken state.

Harry attempted to grab his wand from Draco, but he stumbled, forcing Draco to grasp his arm to steady him. �Let me go,� Harry ordered.

Draco only gripped his arm more firmly. �I think you�ve had enough there,� Draco stated, throwing Harry�s cloak over his shoulders. �Time to get you home. I assume that since you�re in the village, you plan to stay at your cottage tonight? I�m rather relieved actually,� Draco drawled. �Far more patrons at the Leaky Cauldron to witness this disgrace.� Draco then pulled on his own cloak, all the while offering his stable arm to Harry.

�Are you going to kill me after we get outside?� Harry asked conversationally, as Draco led him out of the bar, still holding his arm.

�If I�d wanted you dead, I�d have already cursed you,� Draco calmly replied.

Harry gazed at him, completely baffled, until the frosty air hit his face as they left the Three Broomsticks. Both men visibly shuddered and Draco imperceptibly pulled Harry closer to him. Harry was too drunk to notice anyway.

Even inebriated, Harry�s hatred was palpable, but Draco chose to ignore it. Within moments, they stood before Harry�s door, and Draco looked at the dark head bent beside him. �Potter, do you have wards up?�

Harry barely grunted a response, and Draco rolled his eyes. �Of course not,� Draco murmured. �Alohamora.� The door opened, and Draco pulled Harry inside.

�You know, Malfoy, I�m not as drunk as you think,� Harry affected, straightening to his full height.

�Then why did you let me bring you home?�

�Mayhaps so I can kill you,� Harry answered.

�You really don�t want to do that, do you?�

�And what makes you so sure?� Harry countered.

�Because you haven�t yet,� Draco answered smoothly. �Now go take a shower, go to bed and sober up. We�re due for a nice, long discussion.�

�What could we possibly have to discuss? You, Malfoy, are nothing but a Death Eater without a leader, and I am the reason Voldemort is dead.�

Draco sighed heavily; he was very weary of this attitude. Harry Potter was the only one still accusing him, and he very nearly lost his temper.

�We have more to discuss than you might think, but I�d rather wait until you�re sober. Besides, a hard freeze is expected tonight, so we might as well get warm and settle in for the night,� Draco explained, as he moved to stir the fire to a blaze.

�You are certainly making yourself at home, in my home,� Harry mumbled as he left the room, heading toward the bathroom.

�It�s a testament to your drunkenness,� Malfoy thought with a smirk, �that you even let me walk you home.�

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Near dawn, Harry awoke with a start. Quickly, he sat up, looking around and rubbing his shoulders for warmth. He�d had the strangest dream, and he shuddered at the very idea. Malfoy in the pub? Malfoy bringing him home? �Might be a good time to give up the ale, old boy,� he instructed himself silently.

Harry rubbed his palm over his face in an effort to remove the fog. The movement caused his head to pound. He groaned slightly at the ache, and the noise only served to increase the hammers in his temples.

Taking a moment to gain his bearings, he repeated his morning ritual of self-admonition. Harry knew why he drank, and he knew he should stop, but the pull of the pub, and the fleeing from his past, was greater than his good intentions. Harry had seen more violence during his teenage years than most men had seen in a Muggle world war. He�d lost his best friends, Ron, Hagrid and Hermione, in battle, and he knew far too many of the other casualties by name, personality and House. Remorse for not slaying Voldemort sooner, and a litany of regrets filled Harry with self-loathing.

He was the conquering hero, whom everyone had cheered, but few knew personally or intimately. After such an �eventful� childhood and adolescence, adulthood was rather anti-climactic. Depression descended amidst the public�s approbation, and despite the admiring attention of the wizarding world, or perhaps because of, his dejection went unnoticed. If the wizarding community thought Harry spent too much time in the cuppa, well, didn�t he have the right? After his saving them from a reign under Voldemort, the public should definitely feel that Harry deserved a bit of toleration. Of course, Harry could barely tolerate himself these days.

Dumbledore, the only person left to care, was too absorbed in his task of Hogwart�s Headmaster and chief advisor to the Ministry of Magic. Not only that, Harry was good at evading familiar faces.

Shuddering in the frigid air, Harry�s bare feet finally hit the cold, wood floor, and he hastily bounced toward the bureau. Pulling out the top drawer, he grabbed a pair of flannel bottoms and pulled them over his cold legs. Then, he found a pair of grey woollen socks, and light footed it back to his bed. He glanced down as he pulled on the warm socks and noticed, for the first time, a heavy quilt atop his bed. That quilt was usually on the sofa in the other room, and he couldn�t recall bringing it to bed with him the night before. Actually, he didn�t remember much after stepping into the warm shower - except for that bloody dream about Malfoy.

Harry finally shuffled down the narrow hallway, in search of coffee and a potion for his head. The sound of the telly met his ear almost immediately. Detouring into the room on his left, he saw re-runs of �Bewitched� flickering across the small screen. He stood stunned a moment, not by the show, but rather the jet of white-blond hair peeking just over the arm of his sofa.

�Malfoy?� he bellowed.

The slim man rose, like a body from a coffin, and a light blanket fell to the floor beside him. Draco turned, his blue-grey eyes looking intently at Harry Potter.

�So, you�ve slept it off then?� Draco inquired, his tone mild.

�Apparently not, if I�m hallucinating your presence,� Harry sighed dramatically, his head now hurting worse than before.

Harry turned away, moving toward the kitchen once again. Draco was soon beside him, then passing him. By the time Harry had reached the entry, Draco was brewing coffee and preparing a hangover potion.

�What in the hell are you doing, Malfoy?� Harry�s tone grated across the small room.

�I�m making you coffee, and something for that headache,� Draco drawled the obvious.

�That is not what I meant,� Harry fumed. �Why are you in my home?�

�I think its time we became friends,� Draco began, only to be cut off by Harry�s mirthless laugh.

�Friends? You? Me? Friends?� Harry asked incredulously. �You�re nothing but a bloody Death Eater.�

Draco shoved a cup of coffee and a draught of potion into Harry�s hands. �Shut up, Potter. You know very little, after all.�

Harry eyed the beverages suspiciously.

�Oh drink it, you prat. If I were going to kill you, I�d have done it while you slept. I thought I made that clear last night,� Draco huffed.

�I thought I�d dreamed last night,� Harry muttered, taking a sip from the cup and the vial.

�Sit,� Draco instructed, pulling out a chair. Surprisingly, Harry did, continuing to drink. �Do you want the big surprise now, so we can talk like two adults, or would you rather wait?�

Harry cocked a dark eyebrow, but didn�t answer. His green eyes remained wary, but Draco ignored that.

�I was never a Death Eater,� Draco announced, softly.

�The hell you say,� Harry grumbled back, though his tone was almost unsure.

�Do you know why I escaped with Snape after your battle with Voldemort? Because I�d been helping him spy for years,� Draco continued.

Both of Harry�s eyebrows rose at that bit of news, and Draco continued. �I gave him information on Death Eater activities, beginning our second year at Hogwart�s. When I was older and attended meetings with my father, I gave him that information as well.�

�Can you prove it?� Harry asked, his voice almost strangled in disbelief and shock.

�Snape and Dumbledore can verify it,� Draco answered, almost sadly. �I didn�t think you�d take my word for it, so feel free to owl them.�

�I don�t believe you,� Harry stated emphatically.

�Come now, Potter. Do you really think I�d invoke the name of Dumbledore if he wouldn�t back me up?�

�You might indeed, if you only had a short term goal in mind. Something that you could accomplish before Hedwig could return,� Harry pointed out, almost blandly.

Draco expelled a longsuffering sigh. �If you�d get your face out of a tankard of ale, and read a paper rather than just using it as a coaster, you�d know I�d been exonerated.�

�Like your father was before you?� Harry chided. �Were you under the Imperius Curse as well?�

Even expecting this rancour and feeling deserving of Harry�s doubt, Draco felt anger. �Surely you know Veritaserum was administered to all charged Death Eaters,� Draco explained.

Harry could hear the resentment in Draco�s voice, and it sounded like the bitterness of one wrongly accused; Harry could hear the tone echoed in his own voice, ringing out in the home of the Dursley�s. As soon as Draco claimed that Dumbledore would back up his story, Harry knew deep down that he was most likely telling the truth. But knowing a fact didn�t necessarily make it a tangible reality.

�Why are you telling me this now?� Harry wondered aloud. He felt as if he�d been punched in the gut. As if everything he�d ever known had been turned upside down.

�Because you bloody well need a friend,� Draco answered, his voice tinged with blunt honesty.

Harry bristled at those words. �Draco, I�m not sure if you recall, but you�ve been my enemy since we were eleven. You spent our years at Hogwarts trying to make my life miserable. Why would I want your friendship now? What�s more, why would you offer it?�

�If you will recall, I did offer to be your friend, before I became your enemy,� Draco pointed out.

Harry rolled his eyes. �You insulted Ron in the process. I�d hardly call that friendly.�

�I wasn�t offering friendship to him, now was I?� Draco shot back.

�He was a wonderful friend to me,� Harry said quietly, and Draco was taken aback by his sudden shift in mood. �He died trying to help me kill Voldemort.�

�Many died helping in that fight,� Draco pointed out. �You are no more responsible for his death than any of the others who perished.�

�Isn�t that just like you, Draco?� Harry was again angry. �Downplaying Ron�s heroism to suit your own purposes?�

�Whether you realize it or not, I put my ass on the line to help �your� fight on a near daily basis. You wouldn�t have known where Voldemort was even holding Granger if not for me, risking my neck,� Draco�s voice was cold.

�Fat lot of good was that piece of information. A little too late, don�t you think?� Harry replied coldly. �Did you wait until after her torture and death to let our side know?�

�Fuck you, Harry,� Draco said. �I tried to save her. And it was my side too.�

Harry was shocked by the fierce sadness in Draco�s words. For several long moments, the pair sat speechless. Harry studied the man across from him, evaluating his words, his tone, his manner.

�I can�t trust you,� Harry spoke finally. �And I could never call you friend.�

Draco stared into Harry�s green eyes, trying to read his thoughts. He had expected Harry�s innate goodness to at least attempt amity. Apparently, Harry�s nobility didn�t extend to former foes. Draco decided to appeal to that sense of honour anyway. �It shouldn�t be that difficult for two enemies to become friends, especially when we�ve been on the same side for years.�

�You�ve become an optimist!� Harry snorted.

�And you�ve become a sodding drunk!�

�You could have told me long ago that you were working on our side; we could have worked together,� Harry chided. Spoken aloud, those words brought an unbidden and almost palpable pain in Harry�s heart.

Again, Draco studied Harry. Harry looked almost as surprised at his own words as Draco felt at the regretful tone in which he�d spoken them.

Harry�s eyes widened, and then narrowed, resenting the almost inexplicable lamenting of�of what? Lost time with Draco?

�You feel it don�t you?� Draco asked gently.

�I�ve no idea what you�re talking about,� Harry shrugged at the absurdity, finishing off his coffee. �I think you�d better leave,� he suggested at last.

�You are probably right,� Draco agreed, standing. �At least, for now. You have a lot to digest, I�d say.�

Harry was taken aback by his easy agreement. He neither expected this discussion to end, nor Draco to leave this suddenly. �Didn�t you say there was a hard freeze last night?� he stuttered thoughtlessly.

Draco looked out the door, and turned, smiling beatifically at Harry. �The sun is rising,� he said simply, �and I think the freeze is starting to melt already.�

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