A/N: I decided to try to write a serious piece again. What better than Draco/Harry? The title is subject to change because I am horrible at titles.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the setting, just the plot and thoughts and feelings of Draco and Harry. This disclaimer applies to all chapters.

Mister Happy and the Dragon

Draco Malfoy walked towards the Great Hall from the dungeons. As always, his back was perfectly straight, his chin up, his demeanor cold. His clothes were in perfect order and his wand was tucked conveniently up his sleeve. Crabbe and Goyle walked on either side of him, hulking shadows.

He was coming from Potions. He had failed, again, to out-brew Granger in class, and he was incensed about it to no end. He knew he was a close second in the NEWT class, but he should have been number one.

The Great Hall was filled with dining students. Draco looked at them in disdain, stuffing their faces in such an undignified way. He sat at his favorite place at the Slytherin table, about halfway down, on the side where he could watch the other tables.

He filled his plate with his customary lunch; he was on a strict diet, though he would be mortified should anyone find out. How else would he be able to keep his slim and elegant figure?

He watched other students as he ate, mostly Gryffindors. Neville Longbottom was fiddling with his food and casting frequent glances towards the Ravenclaw table. Loony Lovegood sat there immersed in that ridiculous Quibbler magazine.

Granger sat a little way down the table from Weasley and Potter. Apparently they were having another little tiff, judging by Weasley's red eyes and glares down the table. Potter's back was to Draco.

Potter stood up, bidding goodbye to his friend. Draco saw a golden opportunity to torment him a bit. He stood up. Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere near finishing lunch, so Draco left them there.

He followed Potter out and hailed him with a sharp, "Hey, scarhead."

Potter turned about, his eyes innocent behind broken glasses. "What, Malfoy?" His voice was oddly dull.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Going to find that half-breed friend of yours?"

"No," Potter said. Something was wrong. Why wasn't Potter retaliating to Draco's insults? They always bantered. It was something Draco had come to rely on.

"Oh. Well, where are you off to, then?" Draco sneered to add disdain to his words.

"Just to study. NEWTS, y'know." Potter turned to leave and Draco knew his own features were twisted into a look of blatant confusion. Potter was halfway down the corridor. Draco strode after him.

"Potter."

"What?" Potter turned about to look at him again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"What's—Did one of your mudblood friends hex you or something? You seem... duller than usual." Draco tried to insult Potter, but the other boy smiled.

"Concerned for me, Dragon?" he whispered, stepping closer. Draco narrowed his eyes. Potter was not smirking or brandishing his wand. He was smiling as if—he was happy that Draco was insulting him. What was going on here?

"Don't you dare call me that," Draco hissed once he realized what Potter had said. He would never tell his rival, but the only person he permitted to call him that was his father. Since his father was long dead, Draco had vowed that he would never tolerate that name from another person. Especially not Potter himself.

"Alright," Potter said. He turned around and left, walking through a hidden door and out of Draco's sight. Draco stood there for long moments before heading upstairs for his next class.

Harry was happy, happier than he had been in a long time. Malfoy, of all people, was concerned for him. Ron and Hermione were too wrapped up in themselves to notice his plight, and Dumbledore was dead, along with Sirius. Remus never inquired into his feelings, and Harry had no one else close to him.

Ever since that summer, the end of the war, Harry had been plagued. Plagued with the people he had killed to get to Voldemort to cast that final spell, and with the memory of that last confrontation. Everyone assumed that Harry was ecstatic to have killed Voldemort, and he was, but Harry was not happy for the families harmed during the war and that last battle. He was not happy that he had murdered people, many of them under the Imperius curse, to get to his enemy. He put up a false pretense of the savior of the world, Mister Happy.

Harry had thought at least Ron and Hermione would be concerned. It was difficult to hide his feelings from them, but they were together now, and he was the third wheel.

Harry really did need to study. After he left Malfoy, that's what he did. He spent the rest of the lunch hour working on his potions and then left for DADA.

During class, Harry wasn't surprised that his thoughts drifted to Malfoy. Ever since the time he had seen Draco lowering his wand from Dumbledore the night the headmaster had died, Harry had been filled with a mixture of pity and respect for his rival. They were still enemies on principle, but once he and Snape returned to help the Order of the Phoenix in the final battle, they had been on the same side.

Harry's line of thought turned to Snape. He hated him, more than anyone or anything, but he at least understood now. Snape had told them that only under Dumbledore's orders had Snape killed him, to keep up his pretext of being a Death Eater. Harry wouldn't have believed it had Snape not given him a sealed letter from Dumbledore explaining, along with one of Fawkes' feathers as proof of who it truly was from. Now Harry knew Snape (who had gone back to teaching potions) was truly on their side, despite there never being any proof for Dumbledore's trust in him.

DADA ended all too soon, and Remus, who was the teaching DADA again, asked Harry to stay after class.

"Is something the matter?" Harry asked once the rest of his peers had left.

"You seem distracted, Harry," Remus said. "I've noticed it for a while now... What is wrong?"

Harry felt warmth spread through his chest. He had thought that Remus hadn't noticed, or cared, about him. He had thought that, after losing Tonks, Remus would be too immersed in his own grief to care about Harry.

"Remus, I just... Ever since the war, I've not been well." Harry found it a little bit difficult to articulate his feelings. Growing up with the Dursleys, he had never been asked about his thoughts or feelings, so being asked so now was odd.

"I understand, Harry," Remus said. "You had it the hardest of anyone, of course. I was there with you, and I know what you... What happened."

Remus was going to say "I know what you did." Harry knew it. Just like that, the warmth was gone, at least until Remus walked around his desk and abruptly enveloped Harry in a hug. Harry hugged him back.

"Whenever you need to talk, come to me, any time," Remus said.

"Same here," Harry said. He knew, however, though he didn't understand how, that neither of them would take the other up on the offer.

Draco was thinking of Potter incessantly. Oh, Potter was often present in his thoughts, as an object of scorn, but the rest of that day and night, Draco was wondering why exactly Potter was so depressed. Hadn't he gotten what he wanted that summer? He had killed the Dark Lord, and, in the process, caused the death of almost everyone Draco cared about: his mother, his father, his father's friends who had been like family.

Draco hated Harry Potter—but he couldn't stop thinking about him.

A/N: There you go: Harry and Draco are thinking of each other. It's a start. It'll get better. Reviews would help it get better faster.