Title: Green Eyes, Happy Sighs
Author: Ellatrix Lestrange
Beta(s): none
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: K+
Genre: romance
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Summary: When Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter decide to call a truce after the war, will their newly found friendship develop into something more? And will Draco shake off the Death Eater reputation the whole of Hogwarts is holding against him? A Draco/Harry slash romance.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of the wizarding world; I am merely a fan writing fan fiction, and giving Harry Potter the ending I wish it had. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling/Warner Bros etc.

I hope you enjoy, and please review!

The early morning in the great hall was filled with sleepy, albeit cheerful conversation. The breakfast was however far from cheerful for Draco Malfoy, despite the atmosphere around him. Beams of light shone through the dust from the large window behind the staff table, which was quite different from the last time he had seen it; many teachers were missing. With a guilty twist in his stomach, he noticed Professors Burbage and Dumbledore were gone, as was Snape. He gulped. He was the cause of one of those, and a witness of the other. Eighth year hadn't been very good so far, and it was only the first morning. The war had left his name and reputation in quite a mess. Many nearby students seemed to be whispering and not-so-subtly pointing in his direction.

As much as he hated to admit it, the war had thrown him in the mud. Barely any student would talk to him and would only look in his direction to send filthy glances. This didn't bode well with the boy who was used to being admired and envied by most of the school. His father had been able to clean up the bloody stain on the floor that was the Malfoy family a fair bit, of course, but apparently the fact that the students no longer had to stay in friendly territory with Draco because of their families had caused them to turn their backs on him. He was sat in his usual place in the great hall sullenly pondering his life. His chin was in his hand, his elbow resting on the dark wooden table. The Slytherin table was mostly subdued, with more than a couple of places empty. He tried not to think of the abandoned place next to him that was once Crabbe's.

Miserably, the blonde Slytherin served himself two sausages. He looked around the hall. Only the Slytherins looked bothered about anything; the other house tables seemed fairly relieved and relaxed, especially the bloody Gryffindors, although they were the idiots who looked most injured. Draco had made a decision over the holidays; as much as he was going to loathe it, he was going to be civil with Potter. It was hardly going to help his argument that he hadn't wanted to be a death eater if everyone knew he wanted the dark side's victim skewered on a broomstick and fed to a giant arachnid. That would probably be slightly suspicious.
Potter and his cronies looked ecstatic that the war was over. Potter was smiling and laughing at something the Weasel girl had said. Draco narrowed his eyes. He supposed Potter now appeared very endearing to pretty much every girl in Hogwarts, and suspiciously, to some boys. Perhaps being the saviour of the world comes with that advantage.

Draco took a sip of his pumpkin juice. It was understandable though, he was now much taller; his skin just a tiny bit darker than it had previously been when Draco had last seen him here at Hogwarts. Maybe that's what you get when you're on the run and constantly outdoors. He also appeared noticeably slimmer, evidently from lack of food. His jaw looked more defined and his unruly, raven-black hair was scruffier, looking far less dorky than it once was. He looked much more like he had during their third year at Hogwarts. His hideous glasses were gone, revealing a pair of sparkling green eyes. The boy also appeared far happier than Draco had seen him before.

He actually looks quite attractive.

Draco almost spat out his juice in surprise and alarm at himself. Choking a little on his drink, he looked with wide, un-seeing eyes at the table.
"Draco, darling, I don't mean to intrude, but what exactly are you doing with my pumpkin juice?" Pansy's amused voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked at the goblet he had just put down, then at the table in front of him; it was indeed Pansy's drink, as Draco's was sitting untouched beside his plate.
"Oh, um- my apologies, Pansy…" Draco replied weakly, sheepishly returning it to her.
"Draco, are you okay? You look slightly… pink in the face?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," he answered stiffly, feeling his face heat up a little more.
"Don't worry about it, the Prophet always exaggerates. I'm sure Lucius and Narcissa are coping, they manage to survive everything,"
"W- What? What about the Daily Prophet?" He hadn't realised the news of his mother and father had been published.
"It's not particularly big news," she said, handing him her copy of the wizarding newspaper. He unfolded it, frowning. On the middle page was a picture of his mother and father walking out of a courtroom, looking relieved yet slightly ruffled. His father's face was pale yet held high. His mother's was the same. The headline above the article read:

'MALFOY FAMILY'S COURT CHARGES - NOT HARSH ENOUGH?'

Draco glanced at it, scowling; he was in no mood to read stupid, biased lies about his family. Just before he could angrily screw it up and throw it moodily at Pansy, however, a small extract on the page made him stop.

'Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world, confirms rumours of assistance from both Narcissa and her son, Draco Malfoy during the war. This evidence seemed to tip the scales for the Malfoys drastically in their favour. Many agreeably argued that this was unjust, the family having played a large role for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Lucius Malfoy, eldest of the three, is sentenced to two years in Azkaban, whilst the mother of the family scrapes being house-bound to the same length of time as Lucius. The Malfoy heir escapes from charges. Neither Narcissa, Lucius or Draco Malfoy could be reached for comment.'

His mouth dropped a little - his mother hadn't mentioned Potter giving evidence for them in her owl to him this morning; although she'd told him of the charges. After scanning the article briefly, he folded it up and returned it to Pansy.
"I know, right? Potter giving evidence for your family! Did you really lie to the Dark Lord to protect him?"
"Yes, Pansy, I did; as did Mother."
"Merlin, Draco! What did you do that for?! I could never stand up to the Dark Lord like that! And I thought you hated Potter?"
"Correct, Pansy, but my family changed sides a couple of hours before the end of the war. The Dark Lord was a mad man. We only followed him to stay safe, you know."
"Well that was obvious; you're not evil to the core, Draco."
"I'm not evil at all!"
"Of course not," smirked Pansy with a wink.
"I did stuff for the light side!"
"Whatever you say, Draco, dear."
"I helped them!"
"Oh, really? How exactly did you do that?" Pansy rolled her eyes.
"N- Never mind."
"Exactly; you didn't help the light side."
"I did too!"
"Well you haven't been able to give me one example, sweetheart."
"Fine! I hated that lunatic of a leader! I wasn't going to murder that fool, Dumbledore! I lied about Potter's identity to the Dark Lord! I let him take my wand as he escaped the Manor! I refused to cast a Cruciatus curse – I couldn't! I would've openly changed sides had it not been for the fact that my entire house was now the 'hang-out' for the Death Eaters! I'm not some bloody Gryffindor who can sacrifice everything, Pansy!" Draco hissed. Pansy just smirked superiorly at him.

Oh fuck. That girl is so bloody sneaky.

"Fine, you got me to admit it. How very Slytherin." Draco grumbled.
"Thank you, darling," she grinned.
"I hated every moment of being a Death Eater, though. I really did, Pansy. I hated every one of his followers." Draco said darkly.
"You didn't seem exactly full of dread a couple of years ago."
"Father told me it would be great! He made it sound all… political. It was murderous. Pansy, if I could have a time-turner right now, I'd go all the way back to before then and escape the Dark Lord while I could."
"What's a 'time-turner'?"
"Never mind."
"The Dark Lord must have thought you had some potential, he chose you to assassinate Dumbledore." Draco flinched.
"He knew I wouldn't succeed," he said in a hollow voice. 'He just wanted to punish Father for betraying him."
"Oh."
"Why did it have to be me?" Draco asked hoarsely.
"I don't know, darling, but you can't just mope around."
"I am not moping around!" He hissed.
"Explain that to those sausages you just slaughtered with your fork." Draco blinked and looked at his plate.
"You-" Draco sighed. "Don't worry, Pansy."
"It's okay darling. But you may need to choose another breakfast, yours no longer looks edible," smirked Pansy.
"Right," he said, helping himself to a pancake. "Pass me the maple syrup."
"Of course," she said, handing him the jar. She visibly hesitated once he'd taken it.
"Draco?"
"Pansy?"
"You've changed a lot."
"Right."
"After the war. You seem… subdued."
"Is that a compliment or an insult, Pansy?"
"It's not necessarily for the worst."
Draco didn't respond; merely pouring a helping of syrup over his breakfast. It was easy for her to say, she hadn't been forced to follow the Dark Lord.
"Oh, well, I'm going to go, Draco."
"Fine," he muttered.
Pansy hesitated again for a second, then left. Draco wasn't in the mood for talking right now. The war had left his family and their reputation in shreds.

Why does it have to be essential for all students to have to come back and do an eighth year?

He glared at his plate. Quite a few people so far had sent him nasty looks or looks of disgust; Draco had just sneered back at them as if he didn't care, which was regrettably untrue. Even most of the Slytherins were avoiding him, so he obviously didn't have the power over them that he used to. He fiddled with his pancake with his fork, hastily stopping as he realised it wasn't good manners; and subconsciously settling for gazing through the huge window opposite at the calm, grey, waters of the lake against the blue-grey silhouettes of the mountains.

Why didn't I listen to Dumbledore that night on the Astronomy tower? Why didn't I see how foolish Father was being? Why couldn't I have had that bloody Gryffindor courage to stand up for myself? Why was I filled with such bloody cowardice that meant I was too afraid? Why wouldn't father just do as I suggested and run away?

Questions of doubt swam mercilessly through his mind as he finished his breakfast. The most feeling sorry for himself was doing was giving him a headache. He sighed, slung his satchel over his shoulder, and left the great hall.