to be sure. He hurried to the door, whispering the password as quickly as he could and stepping inside, willing the door to close up behind him more quickly.

He collapsed against the door. Something about the whole ordeal made him want to laugh. Potter had been back for less than a day and, already, things were back to the way they were. Potter was up to something and Draco was taking detailed mental notes on him. In school, he never would have owned up to it, but with no one to fool, he would admit now that he spent most of his time watching Potter when the other boy thought he wasn’t being watched. He used tell himself it was because information on Harry got him a long way with his father, but he hadn’t even convinced himself with that one. Mostly because he spent more time fabricating information for his father and secreting away the real things he saw because he liked them better when they belonged just to him. Deep down in at the core of his being, there had always been a longing to be closer to Harry, to understand him further than they ways his family had taught him to.

Now he was watching Potter, simply because it was what he had always done. Draco had missed it. His voice had changed a bit, deeper than he remembered it, but still Harry. Draco chuckled to himself, leaning his head back against the stone. All of Potter had changed a bit. His hair was still a mess, messier, if possible, and still just as maddening as it had been in school. He still wore those ridiculous circular wire rimmed glasses that Draco doubted had ever really been in fashion, but they were a bit more expensive-looking now. His clothes fit better than they ever had in school, a fact Draco couldn’t categorize as better or worse because he could see just how fit Potter was, which was very. He was still short, or at least shorter than Draco. The last time he had seen Harry, he had only had about half an inch on him, but he had grown nearly three inches the year he “died,” matching his father’s six foot stature. He knew that would have bothered Harry, if he could have seen.

He wanted Harry to see. See that Draco was taller than him, see that he had changed, see that he was sorry. That he missed him, too. More than anything. He shook his head, feeling a sudden sink in his gut. What was McGonagall thinking, putting Potter so close to him? He was going to have to be better about hiding with Potter in the castle because, as McGonagall had expected, his penchant for snooping had not diminished with age. What she hadn’t factored in, and what he hadn’t expected, was how hard it would be for him to hide, because it seem his snooping would be Malfoy-centric. He didn’t know how many times he could find Harry in a state outside his door before he revealed himself. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be much longer.

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