The rain pattered lightly on the window of the Hogwarts express. The sky was dark, so the compartments were brightened with oil lamps. Draco sat with his back slouched, leaning against the window as he listened to the soft pittering and pattering of the droplets.

He thought about his father, locked away in Azkaban. Sentenced to life, having narrowly avoided the Kiss. Draco wasn't sure which was a grimmer fortune.

" . . . And that's why it's ridiculous we have to come back at all. Don't you agree, Draco?"

He felt an elbow poke at his ribcage, from Pansy Parkinson who sat next to him.

"Draco?"

"Yeah?"

Pansy sighed, smoothing out her black bob. "Never mind."

"Wonder if Potter's coming back," said Theodore Nott with a supple amount of distaste, who sat across from him. Blaise Zabini sat on the other side of Pansy, and Greggory Goyle sat next to Theo.

"Probably has loads of job offers," mused Pansy. "I'd bet my entire inheritance the minister's already primping him to take his place."

"Why he'd want to come back for NEWTs is beyond me," Blaise agreed.

Draco remembered the surge of dread that had coursed through his stomach like a churning river the day his letter from Minerva McGonagall arrived, requesting him, though rather impersonally, to return to Hogwarts to complete his education. His mother had happened to be in the kitchen with him when his owl had arrived with the parchment, and had leaned curiously over Draco's shoulder to see who had written to him.

Draco knew it was only because he hadn't heard from any of his friends save for Pansy the entire summer. Whether it was because they had been giving him "space" or been afraid to contact him at all, he wasn't entirely sure.

But when Narcissa saw the letter was from McGonagall, the decision had been made. Draco was to return to school, and face the entire eighth year population who utterly despised him.

"He'd have a fat lot of nerve showing up here to complete his degree when the rest of us actually have to work for ours, not that he would know anything about working for what he's got," snarled Pansy. "He's had everything handed to him on a silver platter since he was a boy. Isn't that right, Draco?"

"Hmm?"

Pansy looked closer at him. "You seem in a bit of a mood today."

Draco shrugged noncommittally, securing his mask in place. "Just tired."

Either Pansy was satisfied with the half hearted excuse or did not feel the urge to question him further, for she dropped it and turned to chat with Blaise instead.

Suddenly, the door to their compartment slid open.

"Excuse me, is there room in- Oh, never mind."

Draco, Pansy and the others were face to face with none other than Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter.

They stood to greet their rivals. As Slytherins, they unanimously agreed they wouldn't allow the Gryffindors the physical upper hand. Draco set his face in a hard sneer to hide his fluttering nerves.

"Saint Potter," he spat, as though the name itself disgusted him. "How timely of you to grace us with your presence right after we just got comfortable."

Blaise snorted.

Piercing green eyes narrowed at him, scrutinizing him. Draco fidgeted under the harsh glare. Potter almost seemed to be looking through him, as though he could see through Draco's carefully built up calm facade. The thought made him extremely uncomfortable.

He found himself taking in Potter's appearance in greater detail. Broad shoulders, dark brown hair that looked like it hadn't been tamed in weeks . . . Had the boy ever heard of a comb? Instead of robes Potter wore slacks and a red button down that revealed the mildly impressive state of his build. He'd filled out nicely, Draco noticed. Summer must have treated him well. Of course it had, he'd been showered with affection and praise from only the entire wizarding world and all his friends and those blasted Weasleys. Wait a minute. Why did he care at all what Potter looked like? What concern was it of his whether Potter's summer had treated him nicely?

Nice to know one of them had had a fulfilling summer.

"Clearly this compartment is full," Potter said coolly, eyes never leaving Draco's. "We'll be going, then."

Without another word, he led the blood traitor Weasel and the Mudblood away. The door slid shut. Draco almost stamped his foot in outrage. He hadn't taken the bait! He had just left, left Draco simmering in a pit of his own acidity.

"That was . . . Interesting," said Pansy, looking at him in a way Draco couldn't quite detect. It was the same look she had given him after she'd caught him and Nott practically shagging in a broom closet their fifth year.

Draco had learned a long time ago he was only attracted to blokes; after the Yule ball their fourth year, Pansy had cornered him into the wall of a deserted corridor and stuck her tongue down his throat, coated with firewhiskey. He had felt nothing, and told her so. At first Pansy had looked slightly humiliated, but after an awkward moment of silence the pair had laughed it off. She confessed she had suspected it for a while, especially since she noticed his gaze never trailed south when she wore revealing outfits. But she had wanted to try.

Draco could understand wanting to try, and so it didn't have the slightest impact on their friendship, for which he'd been most grateful. Pansy was like a sister to him.

"He testified for me, you know," Draco said quietly. Gasps filled the compartment. Pansy's mouth opened in shock.

"For me and my mum."

"What?" exclaimed Theo.

"You can't be serious," said Blaise.

"Bollocks, what on earth for?" asked Greg.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Pansy asked, sounding hurt. "We owled all summer, and you didn't think it was worth mentioning that Potter spoke for you at your trial?"

"It's not a big deal," Draco muttered, flushing furiously.

"It is so a big deal!"

"Potter's the reason you got off, isn't it, mate?" Blaise asked him. Draco looked away from his chocolate complexion and back to Pansy, who was giving him another one of her looks. This look more replicated the ones she'd given him during sixth year, when he'd basically withered away before their very eyes and only Pansy had possessed the nerve to confront him about it.

"I dunno," Draco said flippantly. "We hired a very good solicitor." But inside he knew it was a lie. Potter had gone up on that stand and defended Draco for everything.

He'd defended Draco for the attempted murder charge. Said he'd lowered his wand, and hesitated as Dumbledore had offered him help, and how had he even been there, anyway? How had he known?

He'd defended Draco for keeping the Loony girl and the others prisoner. Said that Voldemort had overseen and controlled the entire thing.

He'd revealed to the court that Draco had failed to identify them in the Manor. Draco had known it was them; he could recognize those green eyes anywhere. Green eyes that haunted him in his dreams, nightmares of fiendfyre licking and lapping at his skin, charring his flesh . . . Green eyes of a shaking body on a broomstick pulling him to safety at the last second.

Potter had also told the court that Draco had given him his wand. The wand that had disarmed and thereby killed Voldemort.

If it weren't for Potter, Draco could be in Azkaban. And yet he couldn't find it in himself to show the other boy a morsel of appreciation.

"This changes things," said Greg. "You owe him, mate."

"I do not owe him," Draco said weakly.

"Yes, you do."

The old Greg wouldn't have dared argued with Draco. Draco didn't remember when he had relinquished control over his Slytherin minions, but things certainly seemed to be different now.

"Just because Draco owes him doesn't mean he has to be nice to him," Pansy said. "You can't undo seven years of blinding hatred just like that."

"Speak for yourself; I don't hate him. He saved our lives, more than once," said Greg. Draco and Pansy exchanged a look.

"Greg, you've gone absolutely mental," said Draco.

Greg shrugged.

"I still don't understand what he's doing back here," said Theo. "What use could his NEWTs serve him now?"

"Probably wants to rub it in all our faces that he can come back to school and skirt through his education without a care in the world," said Blaise scathingly. "Think about it; this is our last hurrah before we're out in the real world."

"I know, it just seems a bit . . . Beneath him."

Draco considered Theo's words. It did seem beneath Potter to return to school for a degree he most certainly did not need. If he could defeat the darkest wizard known to man on more than one occasion, that was more than enough qualification to secure him a spot in the Auror program. What motive could his nemesis possibly have to return to school?

The rest of the train ride passed with relative ease. Pansy fell asleep with her head nuzzled in the crook of Draco's neck, and though the position was a bit uncomfortable for him he didn't have the heart to move her. Resultantly, when the train finally came to a stop he breathed a sigh of relief as he jostled his friend awake.

"We're here, Pans," he said softly.

Pansy woke up with a groan and stretched her arms over her head. "We're here?" she asked. Draco had to chuckle fondly at her sleepiness.

"Yes. C'mon, the others have already left."

In the Great Hall, Draco stared in wonder up at the ceiling that revealed dark rain clouds and droplets that faded as they cascaded down to the tables filled with tasty food. He supposed as an eighth year he shouldn't be impressed by such trivial matters anymore, but he couldn't help it. The ceiling of the Great Hall had always mesmerized him. He was soaking wet, which didn't help matters any, and his wand was restricted, which meant he could only perform a small series of charms under certain categories. Why a drying charm fell under the prohibited list was beyond him but rules were rules, he supposed.

"Pans," he said quietly, so the others couldn't hear, "could you dry me? My wand, it's . . ."

"Restricted, I know," she responded. With a swift, wordless flick Draco found his hair to be smooth and dry once again, and the uncomfortable stickiness of his wet robes vanished.

"You're a doll," he told her sincerely, kissing her on the cheek.

After the sorting and the feast, Headmistress McGonagall spoke her usual announcements to the students. She instructed the eighth years to hang back. Once the students had vacated the Hall, she rose to speak once again.

"I first would like to thank everyone who contributed to rebuilding the castle. We wouldn't be open right now for the students without your help."

Draco couldn't have helped, even if he'd wanted to. He'd been on house arrest the entire summer. His mother still had two years left of house arrest. His heart jolted when he thought of Mother. She had slowly hollowed out until there was virtually nothing left of her. Draco worried to leave her alone, and would have stayed home from Hogwarts to take care of her had she not made it abundantly clear he was to complete his education without any argument or complaint.

"You're already going to have trouble finding employment, Draco," she'd told him seriously. "You don't need another obstacle in your way."

"Next," continued McGonagall, "I would like to announce that we have vacated a spare tower on the right wing for your dormitories and common room. That being said, due to limited space instead of separating you by house we are grouping you all together."

A cry of outrage rippled throughout the Hall. McGonagall verbally signaled for silence, in no kind tone. The cries stopped.

"I understand that some of you are less than satisfied with this arrangement, however it is not only out of convenience for the staff that worked tirelessly to accommodate you but for your own good. Interhouse unity is something that moving forward, I wish to convey only the utmost importance of."

More angry whispers.

"'Interhouse unity'?" Pansy spat, sounding disgusted. "What is she on, exactly?"

"She can't do that," said Blaise from the other side of him. "Nobody will get on."

"Silence," McGonagall commanded again.
"Boys and girls will be separated, of course. I've allowed you the privilege of deciding for yourselves who rooms with whom, but rest assured if I find that privilege is being abused then I will not hesitate to revoke it and assign you roommates."

McGonagall spoke more about the importance of interhouse unity. Apparently since the war was over, now they were all supposed to paint on their happy faces and get along as though the last seven years had never happened. That wasn't how it worked, in Draco's book.

"Your timetables will be passed out tomorrow morning at breakfast," said McGonagall. "Now your Head Boy and Girl will escort you to your tower, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley."

"Of course that know-it-all Granger got it," Draco spat.

"Not Potter?" Pansy squeaked in surprise. "Who knew?"

"Surely they offered it to him," Draco reasoned. "But he must've turned it down.

Must think he's too good for the position."

"I can hardly imagine Potter passing up an opportunity to rub his authority in everyone's face," said Pansy. Draco couldn't exactly argue with her there, so the mystery of why he'd passed it up, if it were offered to him which it most certainly was, plagued him.

Soon enough the eighth years began walking out of the Great Hall. Draco walked with Pansy at his left side and no one at his right, which was a mistake because someone ran harshly into his shoulder. He winced in pain.

"Watch where you're going, Death Eater," the voice snarled. Draco turned to see the Hufflepuff Justin Finch-Fletchley. His eyes widened. He had to admit, he didn't think Hufflepuffs had it in them. Though, he supposed with a fit of self-loathing, for him anyone could make an exception.

Draco had to physically keep himself from flinching at the name-calling. He dug

his nails into his palms, hard, until he felt crescent moon indents.

"Fuck off," said Pansy crudely.

Finch-Fletchley laughed. "You can't touch me, Malfoy. What's Daddy gonna do for you now that he's locked away in Azkaban, huh?" he taunted, lip curling up in a cruel smirk.

Rage bubbled in Draco's blood. He lunged for the shorter man, and he felt hands at both his arms holding him back.

"Don't you dare speak about my father that way. I'll kill you!"

"Draco." Blaise's urgent warning sounded in his ear.

"Calm down, mate. He's not worth it," said Greg from his other side.

"Let go of me. Let me have that piece of half-blood filth," he seethed.

"You can't say things like that anymore," said Greg. "You just can't."

After Blaise and Greg made it abundantly clear that no matter how hard Draco struggled they weren't going to let him go, Draco sighed and relaxed in their arms. Only when the boys were absolutely certain Draco wasn't going to lunge for Finch-Fletchley again did they let him go.

Finch-Fletchley watched the scene before him with an amused smile. "Had enough, have you, Malfoy?"

He turned around and walked away.

Greg frowned worriedly at him. "Alright, mate?"

"Fine," said Draco flatly. "Let's just go."

Greg and Blaise stayed by his side as the Slytherins quickly caught up with the rest of the group. Luckily, neither Weasley nor Granger had noticed a thing.

Draco had to admit, standing between two of his closest friends, he felt better with shields. He'd always felt better with shields. He'd used Vince and Greg as shields for years, but for an entirely different reason. Now, the tables were flipped, as the Muggles would say. Vince was no more, he remembered with a curling pain in his gut, and evidently people were no longer afraid of him.