stardustonsable | So, I may have written HP fic?

Look, I don't know how it happened, shut up.
Harry/Draco
2,000 words
Its, fuck, PG? -13?(aha, does me cursing make it not PG?)
DH compliant, set months after the war.

Draco nodded to his mother once before boarding the train. The bustle that usually came with September firsts was still there, though quieter and far more solemn.

He sighed and got onto the train. There was still the clamber of children talking, much more softly, and with fewer numbers. It was about what he’d expected. He walked back to his usual compartment, and wasn’t surprised to find a handful of younger students, fifth and sixth years he couldn’t tell what House though, occupying it.

“Get out,” he said firmly. The sixth years stood, not as quickly as they would have if this were a normal year, but the fifth years continued to sit, glaring at him.

“And who are you,” one of the boys, his voice still cracking, asked. The sixth years looked between Draco and the boy nervously, obviously interested in this turn of events.

“Draco Malfoy,” Draco said, crossing his arms. “Seventh year, Slytherin.”

“And what is that supposed to mean now, scum.” The boy stood, his hands curling into fists. He must have been of mixed blood, for such a violent reaction. Mixed blood and plenty of propaganda.

“His name or House may not mean anything,” a voice said behind him, “but the fact that he’s a veteran does. Get out.”

Draco ground his teeth together but didn’t turn. “I don’t need your help, Potter.”

The underclassmen gathered their things and Draco stepped out of their way, sitting down. He looked over at Potter.

Potter shrugged, he’d gotten taller, his hair longer, but those were the only changes that Draco could readily identify. “No, you don’t, but it’ll save time. Hello, Draco.”
Potter sat down across from him, and looked out of the window at the crowd. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“You’d be surprised at how many institutions require that the entirety of primary wizarding school be finished, war or not.”

Potter didn’t flinch at the mention of war, not the way the Draco had expected him to. Draco awarded him a grudging bit of respect.

“There aren’t many of us,” Potter said, still looking out of the window. “Not many of us that decided to come back, finish this the right way. There isn’t any sort of test or anything to get the certification. You just prove that you would have been finished and they let you through. As if being in the world during the war gave you enough education.”

“That’s true enough for some of us,” Draco said. Harry turned to him, finally and was about to say something when Granger walked through the open compartment door.

“There you are,” she said then smiled at Draco. “Hello Malfoy, been keeping Harry out of trouble, I hope.”

Draco nodded. Granger looked older and happier than he’d ever seen her. There was knowledge, and a past, reflected in her eyes. It made her more beautiful than Draco ever thought she could be. She touched her hair, still wild and curly. “Do you two mind if I join you?”

Harry shook his head looking at Draco. He wasn’t an idiot, he was well aware that they were extending a metaphorical hand of peace to him. After a moment he nodded and gestured to the near-empty benches.

“You can, Granger.” He was surprised at how easy it was to call her that. How the term mudblood didn’t threaten to emerge instead. Had the war changed him that much?

“Thank you,” she said and sat on the bench with him, a decent distance away. “Is it just me or are the underclassmen absolutely horrid this year?”

Harry laughed and nodded. “They are. Ron would have killed one by now.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Where is Weasley?”

“Oh,” Hermione said waving a hand, “who knows. Out somewhere nearly killing himself.”

Harry grinned at her then turned to Draco, “He’s playing Quidditch. Professionally.”

Draco nodded. “And you two decided to come back? Is it very difficult?” He turned to Hermione, “Being away from him that way?”

Hermione shrugged. “No harder than being away from any of our other friends that decided not to come back, which is most of them.”

Draco didn’t miss them stress she’d put on the word ‘friends’.

The train’s whistle blew and shifted into movement. Harry said something and the trio fell into easy enough conversation. It was surprisingly pleasant, as long as none of them strayed too close to the subject of the war.

Soon enough, much sooner than Draco expected the train was stopping. The stood, stretching and shouldering on robes.

“So few of us,” Hermione sighed, as she exited the compartment.

Draco nodded and followed her out of the train, Potter walking behind him silently. Draco blinked at the sight of the black horses. He’d known he would be able to see them. He had, in fact, seen threstrals during the summer. It was still a shock to see the familiar carriages hooked onto the horses.

“Alright, Draco?” Potter asked, his voice closer than Draco had expected. Draco nodded and climbed into a carriage. Hermione and Harry also got in, along with three others. Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood and Seamus Finnigan all settled into the carriage, perhaps one more than should have fit.

“Is this really it?” Neville asked, looking at each of them.

Hermione nodded, a touch of sadness in her face. Draco shifted and found his entire side pressed firmly into Potter’s side.

“Call me Harry,” Potter said, not bothering to lower his voice but obviously talking to Draco.

“Get out of my head,” Draco replied, feeling not nearly as violated as he expected. He kept searching reaching for any semblance of the emotions he’d felt towards these people that he’d felt for six years of his life. There was nothing there but tiredness and the desire for a year in which he didn’t have to worry about plotting Dark Lords or where the next danger would come from. He wondered if Potter felt the same, if not more intensely. He wondered if all of them felt that way.

“Really Harry,” Hermione chastised lightly, “get out of all of our heads, I imagine we’re all thinking just about the same thing. About our classmates. Our former classmates.”
Harry nodded, and Draco felt a weight, so light he wasn’t sure he wasn’t imagining it, withdraw from his mind.

“Call me Harry,” Potter— Harry said to Draco again. This time Draco nodded.

The Sorting wasn’t an event. Not to them, not any more. They sat at their own table, a depressingly small one that sat under a banner that featured all four of the houses. They watched and cheered equally for every child that got sorted. McGonagall made a short speech, Draco only caught bits, that the eighth years were to meet with her after dinner, that the Forbidden Forest was still, indeed, forbidden. Mostly he was concerned with the way Harry, who was still sitting next to him, would periodically tap his fingers to Draco’s but wouldn’t look at him when Draco turned to see what the devil Harry wanted. Once he glanced at Hermione, who was sitting across from them. She smiled at him and shook her head, mouthing the word ‘immature’ in Harry’s direction.

Dinner was yet another non-event, though an odd one. It was strange to be sitting in the Great Hall, surrounded by the clatter of many people eating, but be able to see every person at one’s table clearly. ‘The eighth years’ Draco thought, amused.

They all gathered in McGonagall’s office, her old office rather than the Headmaster’s, shortly after she finished her speech. She looked at them all, silently, for a long time before shaking her head and smiling sadly.

“I am happy to see you all, no matter how few you may be,” she told them. “I am aware of the unusualness of this place, of being at this place now, after all that you’ve seen. I’m aware of this, and I have no intentions of trying to govern you the way I would have if you were seventh years. You all are, after all, of age. You can come and go as you please, though I would ask that you respect the curfew, for the sake of the younger students, and our authority of the younger students. I’d ask that you respect the rules, or at least be discrete in your disrespect of them.”

Draco blinked. McGonagall was the last person he’d expect to be told these things by.
“Keep the younger children out of trouble, as best you can,” she said and looked out of the window. “I believe Poppy has seen quite enough has seen enough of you all, and any other children, for the rest of her days.” She turned back to them and smiled again.
Draco felt a surge of sadness rush through him. She looked at them with the same pride and distant affection that Snape had tried to hide from his own charges.
“You have your own quarters,” McGonagall said, finally. “Far enough that you won’t be bothered by the younger students, but not out of the way. There will be someone to show you to your rooms, or you’re welcome to return to the feast.”
She nodded and left, allowing them to slowly file out after them until finally there was only Hermione, Harry and Draco. Hermione and Harry were looking at each other, brows furrowed.
“I’m not positive I’ve seen the type of Legilimens, or Occlumency, that allows people to argue,” Draco said from his seat. They both jumped and looked at him. Hermione looked sheepish, Harry amused.

“It’s very advanced magic,” Hermione assured him, “that has more to do with years of knowing each other, than anything else.” Finally she huffed once and stood, she kick Harry’s foot once before leaving.

“What exactly was that all about?” Draco asked
Harry shrugged and stood. “Hermione and I…spent far too much time together, after the war. She generally knows what I’m going to do before I do it.”

Draco nodded. “I’ve been told that relationships have that effect on people.”

Harry shook his head. “Friendship does too. Sometimes more so. She doesn’t know nearly as much about Ron, and they tried, for a long time. They almost got it right too, until Hermione realized that she was kidding herself. Anyway, what she knew…she was right. Hell, she probably knew the moment she came into the compartment with us.”

Draco looked at him blankly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Harry sighed and leaned over, quickly brushing his lips against Draco’s then backed away so quickly Draco was afraid he’d fall.

“That was…” Harry began, “That was an exceptionally bad idea. I don’t even know if you’re gay, much less attracted to me and, oh god I’m sorry, Malfoy, Draco, I mean. I’m sorry Draco, I don’t want us to go back to enemies just because of that.”

Draco watched Harry continue to ramble, his mouth curled in amusement, and surprise. The kiss had been light, too light for Draco to tell if it was worth any say, yet Potter was a babbling mess. Draco felt more than slightly smug.

“It’s not very comforting,” Draco said over Harry’s voice, “to know that the so called hero of the wizarding world can be transformed into a first year girl at the barest of pecks.”

Harry stopped babbling to stare at him. “You’re not about to hex me?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, that would go over well. ‘I’m sorry Auror’s I was just so surprised when he kissed me that I accidentally turned him into a toad. Then light him on fire.’ No, Potter, Harry, sorry. No, Harry, I’m not about to hex you. Yes, I am in fact attracted to males, at least part of the time, and yes, I suppose I could be convinced that you’re worth a bit of my time.”

Harry bit his lip to keep from smiling and Draco rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Potter is that the best you have? I realize that expecting to die for the last six years may have put a damper on your sex life but was that truly it?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed the way they always did in the face of a challenge and Draco congratulated himself as Potter approached.