This story is ever so loosely based on my one shot Deatheater's Children (if you kinda squint and tilt your head sideways a little), though it stands alone and you don't have to read either to understand the other.

It's meant to explore the ordinary lives and relationships of the Slytherins left behind by the war and how they cope with their losses in its aftermath. Also it kinda ran away with me and I really just love these characters.

This is the first fic I've written in quite a while which I've actually decided to publish, so any feedback or opinions or anything would be so so appreciated. Anyhow, enjoy the story, I know I've enjoyed writing it :)

Slytherin house wasn't the same in their last year of school. In some ways it thrived, in others it stood desolate.

They enjoyed their newfound freedom, their newfound favouritism that the other houses had enjoyed for years, headmaster's propensity to turn a blind eye to the antics of Slytherin finally, Gryffindor finally put in their place after so many years of being held above all of them.

"I don't like this year."
"Yeah well tough shit Greengrass, this is how it is." Drawled a girl with thick dark hair, sitting across her plush green armchair.
"Shut up Parkinson. Since when have you missed a chance to complain?" The blonde snapped back from the sofa.
Parkinson's lips stretched slowly into a smirk as she looked up from her magazine. "True."
Greengrass rolled her eyes.
Parkinson's gaze dropped back to the magazine. "Go on then blondie, what don't you like about this year? We've never had a better one and I include the reign of Umbridge in that."
"It's too quiet."
Parkinson laughed. "Quiet? This is the loudest we've ever been."
"I don't mean the house activities, I mean the people. We're missing half the class Pansy."

She looked up suddenly at the use of her first name, then paused. "Yeah I know." Her voice was quiet, and more serious than it had been before. "I know Daphne." There was a moment of silence between them, before Parkinson grinned, not letting herself dwell on it. "But, let's not lie here, this year is the best. Not only are we seventh years finally, Slytherin house is finally, finally on top, suck on that Gryffindorks." She gloated.
Greengrass cracked a smile, allowing herself to be cheered up for the moment. "Yeah I know right, I haven't done my homework for Flitwick all year and he still hasn't given me a detention."
Parkinson laughed, "Hasn't dared. Sprout hasn't either, it's only MacGonagall who does these days."
"And even she's not as strict as before. Not with us." Greengrass added with a smirk.
"Damn right. See Greengrass, things aren't as bad as you make out they are."
"I still don't like it."
"Of course you don't like it! No one likes it! It's war, you're not meant to like it!" She forced a laugh. "And we're still just kids, otherwise we'd be fighting and that'd be much worse." She grinned, as though her last statement had been meant to cheer the other girl up.
"Yeah we are just kids, but so's Theo."
Parkinson froze.
"And so's Draco."
"Shut up." Her voice was cold, devoid of all humour.
"You know it's true."
"I said shut up. Not now Greengrass I've got enough to deal with." Her tone was a warning, a flashing red light that said back off, but the other girl either hadn't noticed or had decided to ignore it. She continued stoically, "We all do Pansy."
"Not fucking now Greengrass I'm not doing this right now." She could barely suppress the emotion, getting up from her seat to leave in an attempt to save face.
"But they are."
"I said shut the fuck up!" She screamed, turning back around to face Daphne.

Parkinson breathed heavily as the rest of the common room stared at her. "What?" She snapped, and they all quickly returned to what they had been doing, pretending not to listen.
"I'm sorry." Said Greengrass quietly.
"No you're not." Parkinson just sounded tired. "You knew what you were doing and you did that deliberately, don't lie to me." She sat back down in her chair, slumped a little now.
"Sorry. I just, I feel so bad, relaxing and enjoying myself, when I know that they…"
"I know Daphne."
"But we don't know! We don't know what they're doing, we don't know where they are, we don't even know if they're still there, still alive."
"Don't even go here Greengrass. Don't even fucking think it okay, don't you dare. They are all still out there, they are all alive and well and perfectly fine, and they're all going to come back to us in one piece once they've won, and made the world a better place for us, okay. Okay?"
Greengrass nodded.
"Damn right they are, alright?"
She nodded again.
"Good. Now let's do this herbology essay, okay."

Together they pulled out their school books, ignoring the odd looks form a common room full of kids who hadn't bothered to do their homework since classes began. They knew they were just clutching at the straws of normality, but it was better than nothing.

"I heard you ladies actually did your charms homework last night, caused quite the scandal." Zabini slid onto the bench beside them, snagging a piece of toast off Greengrass' plate and flashing her a winning smile as she glared at him half-heartedly. "And of course my dear Parkinson, yelled so loudly I could hear it from the dormitories." He shot her a wink that managed to be mocking somehow and took a sip from her goblet of pumpkin juice.
"Save the cheap displays of dominance Zabini, we all know how much of a sub you are."
The second year beside her who had been pretending not to be eavesdropping suddenly choked on his toast and had to be beaten vigorously on the back by his friend. Parkinson laughed cruelly before continuing the conversation.
"Besides, it was Herbology not charms."
"Well that's much better." He said sarcastically, deliberately keeping his eyes fixed on hers as he took another sip from her drink.
She rolled her eyes and pushed the goblet towards him. "Keep it. I'm not interested in anything you've soiled Zabini."
He gave her his most charming smile (and he could be pretty damn charming when he wanted to be), though his eyes remained cold. She returned it with a frigid smirk.

"Well, now you've gone and ruined our cheerful morning…"
"Ah it's okay Greengrass, Parkinson knows I love her really, even if she does like to keep a stick up her arse." He winked at her again and reached for another piece of Daphne's toast, sighing melodramatically when she swatted his hand away and taking one from a serving plate instead.
"Rude of you, Greengrass."
"Yes, whereas stealing someone else's food is the height of good manners."
"Indeed."
Their smiles didn't touch their lips, but their eyes warmed, and the atmosphere relaxed.

"Where's everyone else this morning?" Asked Greengrass after a pause.
"Fuck if I know." Replied Zabini.
"Bullstrode's in the library, Merlin knows why but she got up early. I think Crabbe and Goyle are supervising some morning detentions." Supplied Parkinson.
Zabini raised his eyebrows. "Well at least they'll be in a good mood later."
Parkinson snorted.
"And Moon and Davis?" Asked Greengrass.
Parkinson laughed this time, "Haven't you noticed, they don't get up until twelve anymore. Haven't in about a month since they worked out they could get away with it, and I'm pretty sure they only get up at all because they know they can't miss Dark Arts or Muggle Studies."
Zabini's eyebrows furrowed minutely, but Parkinson missed nothing. "What?"
"Nothing." He was quick to reply. "Anyone checked the paper yet?"

He knew that would change the topic quickly, and the mood swiftly sobered.

"Your turn Zabini."
"Fuck off Parkinson I did it yesterday."
"Like hell you did, open the paper."
She passed him an issue of the daily prophet, still rolled up, without looking at it.
He rolled his eyes but said nothing, tugging the knot so that the paper unrolled on the table in front of him. "Nothing interesting on the front page."
The two girls allowed themselves a sigh of relief, though none of the three relaxed as Blaise flipped through the pages.

Page two.
Page three.
Deaths were usually on page eight.
Page four.
Page five.

"Seriously, I'm sure I did this yesterday."
"Don't be such a pussy Blaise." Snapped Greengrass, trying not to chew her nails.

Page six.
Page seven.

"It is definitely your turn Parkinson."
"Shut up and turn the damn page."

Page eight.

Breath held, hands clutching the strong wood of the table hard enough to hurt, they waited, eyes scanning.
"No one we know."
They each let out breaths they had been powerless but to hold and relaxed.
"No wait, I'm wrong."
Daphne choked suddenly, dropping her goblet with a clang.
"Calm down woman it's not them."
She smacked him over the head, "You fucking tosser, Merlin if you do that again I swear I will tear out each and every hair on your head with my bear hands."
"Oh shut up Greengrass, you don't have the patience." He said casually.
She fixed her eyes with his and there was a glint of steel in them that he hadn't seen before. "Watch me." She hissed.
Zabini raised his eyebrows a little, mentally reevaluating the girl. "Very well."
She narrowed her eyes at him a moment before turning back to her breakfast, apparently satisfied.
"Do you retards want to know who died or what?"

They froze again.
"No."
"Fine then Parkinson, I won't tell you." He tried for his usual arrogant tone, but fell a little short.
She looked up at him and said quietly, "Just fucking tell us Blaise."
"It's Flint. He's dead."
They all swallowed.
Parkinson recovered first from the stillness that had descended. "Ah. Well." She paused again. "When?"
"Last night." He checked the paper, "Went to try and sort out some kind of public disturbance, turned out to be some kind of trap."
"We should tell the house." Greengrass spoke, not making eye contact with any of them.
"Yeah, yeah we should. He was our captain since before we got here."
"A damn good captain."
Nobody spoke for the next ten minutes. They hardly even moved.
"Maybe we shouldn't do this at breakfast." Suggested Parkinson abruptly.

"Huh?" Zabini looked over.
"Well I don't know about you idiots but I'm going to be thinking about this for the rest of the day, and I would have appreciated some privacy, but we're in the middle of the great hall and we've got lessons now. We should do this in the evenings, after dinner."
"You want to have the list of deaths," Greengrass flinched as Zabini said the word, "Right here in your hand, and then you'll be willing to put them down and ignore them for the rest of the day? You really think you'll be able to just put it out of your mind?"
"No, but if we do recognise any more names I'd prefer it if I did so in the common room than here." There was a sudden edge to her voice, a hardness, and it was impossible not to realise that she was thinking about Draco, imagining how she'd react if she found out he'd died.
Blaise's tone softened. "All right, we'll give it a try tomorrow. But you have to open it."
Pansy mock scowled at him but agreed, and he smirked in return.
"Come on, if we got up this damn early we might as well go to lessons."

When they returned to the common room after dinner that evening, Pansy decided that, as a prefect, it was her duty to inform the house. Or at least, Blaise and Daphne decided and she couldn't fault their logic. She stepped up onto the coffee table in the middle of the room and clapped once, loudly enough that everyone could hear it above the sound of laughter and conversation, then waited for silence to fall.

"I don't know how many of you read the papers this morning, but I think you should all know, that Marcus Flint has been killed."
There were gasps and downturned eyes from the fourth years and above, and expressions of semi-recognition on the faces of the younger years.
"For those of you who didn't know him, Flint was a bit of a dick. But he was our dick, and he was our captain for four years, and in that time we won the cup twice, would've won it three times if quidditch hadn't been cancelled, and won almost every damn game we played. Despite being a dick, Flint was a good captain, and he could be a good man when he wanted to be. He was a decent guy. A cheating fuck, but a decent guy."

Zabini stepped up beside her and continued, "So let's all raise our imaginary glasses, and pretentiously pretend to drink, to the memory of douche-bag we all mostly liked and respected. He was twenty two years old. To Marcus Flint."
And, as he had instructed, the house raised their hands like imaginary drinks glasses while they echoed the words, "To Marcus Flint."
Blaise stepped down from the table and made a show of chivalrously extending his hand to help Pansy down, which she accepted with a small smirk. As the hush cleared and the sound of conversation floated out across the room again, they rejoined the rest of their group.

"Good speech Parkinson." Bullstrode gave her an approving nod. "I think he would've liked it, it was his kind of humour."
"Nah, there weren't enough dick jokes in it." Interjected Crabbe.
Goyle smiled. "Should've made more dick jokes Parkinson."