Smells like Teen Spirit

September 1st, 1998. Four months after the War ended. King's Cross Station, platform 9 ¾, 10:50 am. Two groups of 'eighth year' students were making their way onto carriages belonging to the scarlet train: one to the front; one to the back. Both very different groups, but both for the very same reason. To avoid the whispers, the stares, the gossip. Both thought of themselves as different to the other, but they had more in common than they realised. Both had six members to the group, three boys, three girls. Both had a pack-like structure to their group: one alpha, two betas and three followers. Both had been to hell and back. Both had lost someone dear to them, and both thought of everyone else within the group as their family. But what was most similar was their leaders. Two boys, who, over the course of the summer, had seen, heard, and suffered the most. Both attended endless trials, first to clear the name of the one, then to provided evidence and eyewitness accounts for the other cases. Both had attended numerous funerals. Both had had scandalous reports published for the whole world to see. But the biggest changes, and similarities, could be found in the way they had changed themselves.

Let's start with the group at the back of the train. Draco Malfoy sat in the corner, paying no attention to the conversations around him, whilst absentmindedly staring out the window. Except, he wasn't Draco Malfoy anymore. He was Draco Black. His father had been killed by aurors, and his mother had taken her own life, claiming that she could no longer cope. Disgusted by his father's actions in the past, Draco had dropped the Malfoy name and taken on his mother's maiden name, in her honour and her memory. Draco had given away most of the money he had inherited, keeping just enough to keep him going until he was earning his own, claiming he wanted to have his money the honest and moral way, not through scams and quick changing of hands down in Knockturn Alley. He had sold the Manor, and bought a flat in Wizarding London. He had contemplated going to muggle London, but then decided that he shouldn't have to hide from the world just because they didn't like him. He had had his innocence proven, and had helped to condemn most of the Death Eaters to life imprisonment in Azkaban. He was just glad none of his friends were marked like he was, or they would have been brought before the Wizengamot as well, and they might not have been set free. But freedom had served him well. He no longer had a ghostly pale complexion. Now it was a healthy pink. He had put on some muscle, playing seeker games and using muggle weights and gyms. His hair had grown to just above his shoulders, so that it fell in front of his eyes a little. His eyes were no longer dead; instead they looked like a stormy sky made of diamonds. Alive. He wore tight-fitting black jeans and a black t-shirt which showed a black and green snake tattoo coiled around his upper right arm. He wore in his right ear a green snake stud, and a ring in his right eyebrow. A Slytherin to the core. His look, though simple, was sexy and edgy. Not too dis-similar to the 'alpha' in the other carriage then.

In the front carriage, surrounded by his friends, sat a very different Harry Potter. He, like Draco, had been to many trials over the summer and had helped bring many Death Eaters to justice. He, like Draco, had had his private life splashed across the papers, especially when someone had informed them that Harry was gay. (Draco had come out in sixth year, so he had already had all that). He, like Draco, had moved out of his house, Grimmauld Place, and had bought a flat in Wizarding London. And like Draco, Harry had changed his look. He had used an eye-improvement spell and had lost his glasses, making his emerald eyes more visible to the world. He had grown out his hair and coloured it jet black, letting the fringe fall over his face in a choppy style, covering his scar. He had had his eyebrow, nose and lip pierced; wearing studs in the brow and nose, and rings in his lip. He wore tight-fitting black jeans and a blood red t-shirt, exposing the lion tattoo on his left forearm, and the tribal print around his upper right. He also had, although it could not be seen when he was wearing a top, a tattoo on his back. This covered the whole expanse, and was a tree with names of the people close to him who he had lost in the War: his mother, his father, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Dumbledore, Severus, and Fred. At the bottom, he had had a picture of himself and Teddy added, looking up at the tree and the names. He had discovered muggle rock music, and had found that he could play guitar, as well as sing. Draco had as well, but he could only sing. Both had suffered, both had hated each other, but over the summer, they had learnt to be civil to each other, not friends, but civil. They still called each other by their surnames, but Draco had apologised to Harry and his friends for his behaviour over the years and had stopped calling them all names, instead using their given surnames. Harry and his friends had in turn stopped with the name calling of Draco and his friends, and have forgiven them for all they had done. Insults were still shared, but they had less impact and venom than they used to. They were, almost, friendly. As the train made its way out of the station, Harry and Draco sat contemplating about the school year ahead and, unbeknown to each other and their friends around them, they daydreamed about each other.

A/N: I am currently in the process of going through all my stories and editing any mistakes, as well as, in the case of some of my earlier ones, changing the overall appearance of the chapter so they are easier to read. If anybody has any questions at all regarding any changes to the stories, feel free to PM me.

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