Hey, peeps!! Here it is, finally! Now, I know this v. short, but you will have to live with it - I have general writer's block at the mo.

Story - in Golden Ecstasy

Chapter - II

Pairings - Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, eventual Ginny/Pansy

Disclaimer - I tried to steal Draco, but Harry came at me with the Sword of Gryffindor and I was forced to let him go. /pouts/

Here it is, then!!!

Enjoy!!!!!


Harry Potter stepped off the Hogwarts Express, Ron and Hermione flanking either side of him. The faces that greeted him as he boarded the Thestral-drawn carriage were no longer joyful and light with anticipation, instead worried; hollowed and hardened by the brutalities of war.

Draco watched from the shadows, stepping off his Firebolt II. He had chosen not to ride the Hogwarts Express that year - too many staring people - instead opting to fly. In fact, he had flown directly above the train, watching the Golden Trio and their petty play-mates bicker among themselves. The reason became apparent, as Mudblood and the Weasel sat snogging the entire journey. Honestly, he thought. They were this close to getting vertical in the train carriage. Can't they do that somewhere else? He shook his head - that thought had not been his own.

Obviously Potthead -it was strangely hard to call him that for a moment, even in his mind - was not to happy with the new arrangement, wearing a particularly sour expression as the Weaselette twisted his head round to meet her lips, before responding in kind. For some unfathomable reason, Draco couldn't stomach seeing Potter snog the Weaselette, and was forced to risk exposure by lifting his Invisibility Cloak and dry-retching onto the side of the train.

The new Maedha contemplated climbing into the next carriage, which held Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and Pansy Parkinson. No, He decided. I wasn't on the train. Besides, Potthe - Potter - always makes his grand entrances. Why not me? A Malfoy, and so obviously his better.

Smiling evilly, the trademark Malfoy smirk fixed on his face, Draco swung his long, platinum-blond hair over his shoulder, re-arranged hi cloak - and climbed back onto his broom.

The Firebolt II careered and bucked wildly in the storm, but the drenched hands of the person holding it steady were gently firm. His matted hair clung to his face, and for one irrational moment, Draco wondered if he would have time to style it before his 'grand entrance'.

Typical. He thought wryly. I am about to burst into the Great Hall in the middle of the feast, and am currently sitting on a bucking broomstick at the epicentre of a storm, and I am currently worrying about my hair! Oh, yes, and they are probably going to arrest me as soon as they see me on account of me nearly killing their Headmaster. He regretted that almost as soon as he'd said it. No! Don't think about that, or the torture that came after for my failure… But flashes still trespassed through the boundaries in his mind, of screams and blinding pain.

At last, as thunder echoed overhead, Draco angled his broom toward the lights, and a moment later, after sending his broom, trunk and owl whizzing to the Entrance Hall, with a non-verbal, wandless spell (one of his new abilities) he hurried through himself, heaved a massive sigh and strode up to the humongous oak doors.

Glancing down at his sodden robes once more, he took a deep shuddering breath and pushed the oaken slabs away from him. Light, sound, and the rich scents of happiness and good food wafted out into the blue-black courtyard as the figure, touching his hair just once more, stepped directly into the beam of light.

O

Harry yawned once, scratched a particularly irritating bruise left over from the summer, and surveyed the Hogwarts Great Hall. Ron and Hermione, busily feeding each other cake and treacle tart, didn't notice his deep sigh. The same buzz and chatter filled the hall, but whenever any student looked up to the staff table and "Dumbledore's" seat, they trailed off, and one of several reactions crossed their faces. Harry was idly observing these an noticed an almost constant pattern; Griffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws went through a series of emotions: anger, fear, loss, and, as they looked over to the Slytherin table, anger again. The House in question glanced negligently up to the Head's chair once in a while, a smile filtering across their faces, then glee flashing like un-clouded lightning, replaced hastily, in the cases of those trained in "masks", by fake regret.

The Sorting had been over a while now, and as Harry turned to the girl beside him, he felt a momentary twinge of regret. Ginny and he had at last come to an agreement; they would continue their relationship- in secret . Only their closest friends, the Weasleys, and Hermione would know. But he still worried about the outcome of the relationship. He was dragged from these thoughts as she suddenly slippesd her arms around his neck, and kissed him passionately in front of the entire Hall.

"Ginny!" He hissed through tight lips. "What are you doing?"

"What does it loo-" His voice was cut off as the entire Hall fell silent. Harry sighed, and turned away to greet the cheers, boos and hisses that were inevitable. But they never came. Instead, there came a deep, booming knock on the doors, pulling Harry deep into a memory of a night, a storm, a booming knock, a cowering and a fat, beefy man with a gun… then that same man, that same gun, but coming down, again and again, setting his ribs afire with pain. He went rigid in his seat, lost in the memory - until, suddenly, white ;light burst through his eyelids; he was dragged, screaming, back to the present, and he saw, light spilling around it… an angel. He thought. There was no other way to describe… him. Blond hair streaked in waves of gold and silver, fell to his waist, silver-flecked, blue-grey eyes shone in the dim lights, and, even under Hogwarts robes, muscles were taut across his sculpted chest. Harry's eyes travelled to his face, the bones of which were finer, lighter, giving the face an exotic, elven look.

Beautiful. Resonated in Harry's mind, and for the first time he doubted his feelings for Ginny.

The figure looked up at the Head's chair, and out of habit, Harry searched the emotions on his angel's face. Sorrow, he saw; self-loathing and regret. And, deep below the impassive mask, he recognised fear.

His heart broke for the figure, and when it moved into the light totally, he craned eagerly forwards to see the face properly. Then he drew back into his seat, eyes wide, dimly saw, rather than felt, Ginny shaking his shoulder, dumb in surprise, hate and loathing, both self- and outer-. For in that second he saw the face, so different, and yet so familiar, and matched it to a name.

His "angel" was no other than Draco Malfoy.


just a note - this is NOT Deathly Hallows compliant - it begins after the end of the sixth book. Dumbledore is dead.