A stunned silence greeted Dumbledore's astonishing words.

Draco, staring blankly at the headmaster as he attempted to process what he had just heard, was vaguely glad that he had already been sitting when Dumbledore had dropped his bombshell; he had the feeling that, had he been standing, his legs might have gone out from under him for the second time since awakening.

Dumbledore, for his part, was smiling benignly around at them all, seeming not the least bit perturbed. "Shall we go down, then?" he asked cheerfully. He cocked an ear to listen for a moment to the sounds of the celebration; a rumble that seemed to be rapidly swelling to a roar- "Though no one down there yet knows about the resorting, I daresay they can sense that something extraordinary is going on- and they will not tolerate being kept in suspense much longer!"

"Wait, just-" Draco swallowed convulsively- "just give me a minute. Just- I- I'm to be…"

"Resorted, yes." Dumbledore beamed at him.

"And I'm- I'm only the-"

"Sixth ever, in Hogwarts' thousand year history," Dumbledore finished brightly. "And might I add, Mister Malfoy, that the five who preceded you all went on to lead rather extraordinary lives and to be among the foremost witches and wizards of their respective times. They did great things, all of them. There have, indeed, been many books written on the subject."

"I'd like a listing of those books," Hermione interjected suddenly, her eyes alight with the near manic gleam they got when she was ready to plunge head-first into a quest for new knowledge. Harry, Ron and Draco all had the same thought at that moment; that she would run to the library right then if she thought she could get away with it.

Dumbledore beamed at her. "I shall do you one better than that, Miss Granger; you may come to my office and borrow the books themselves from my own personal collection- tomorrow. As for tonight-"

"I'm not going to be in Slytherin anymore." Draco's voice was pitched low; really, he was just musing to himself, trying to acclimate himself to this drastic change in his situation, but he spoke with such intensity that suddenly all other eyes in the room were riveted on him. Head bowed forward, massaging his temples with his fingertips, he failed to notice. "I'm not going to be in Slytherin anymore," he repeated, sounding stunned.

An expression of concern creased Dumbledore's face. "Draco," he said gently, peering deeply into Draco's eyes when he raised his head, "is this news unwelcome? Far be it from me to second guess the Sorting Hat- it has never, to my knowledge, been wrong in a thousand years, and in those rare instances when a resorting does take place, it has always been the result of a fundamental change within the resorted witch or wizard, not a mistake on the hat's part- but if you feel strongly that you would prefer to remain in Slytherin-"

"No," Draco said immediately, with the same quiet intensity, doubting that he would survive one night in the Slytherin dorms. "I'll take my chances with the hat. I just- this is a lot to- a lot to take in."

"Indeed it is," Dumbledore agreed equably, "but I truly do think it for the best. And I think that you will feel better, more settled, once your new House has been selected. I daresay this is rather exciting," he added, smiling around at Harry, Ron and Hermione before turning his attention back to Draco. "Three paths are now open before you; Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff- I wonder, which will it be?"

The headmaster either missed, or chose to ignore, the brief yet intense look of distaste that crossed Draco's face at the mention of Hufflepuff House- but Harry caught it and, remembering his very first conversation with Draco six years ago as they both stood on stools in Madam Malkin's robe shop, shot the blond boy a roguish grin behind Dumbledore's back. "I think you'd make a first-rate Hufflepuff!" he stage-whispered, receiving an icy glare for his pains.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, had crossed to the door and now gestured to them all with good-humored impatience. "It is high time- no, actually it is past time- that we went down. Come," he said.

The four teens stood and turned toward the door. Harry, sensing Draco's nervousness for all his attempts to hide it beneath his ingrained aloofness, clapped him bracingly on the back. Ron gave him a small, but nonetheless encouraging, smile. Hermione, for her part, slipped her arm through his, earning a surprised, though pleasantly so, glance from pale blue eyes. Then, all of them taking deep breaths at the thought of the reception that would await them in the Great Hall, they followed the headmaster from the room.

00000

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco made their way toward the Great Hall in Dumbledore's wake, at first walking four abreast but soon pairing off. Harry and Ron pulled a little bit ahead of where Draco and Hermione walked, still with linked arms, and Ron could be seen talking quickly and intently to Harry, with many dramatic accompanying hand-gestures. Hermione guessed that he was finally divulging to Harry the full story of their flight back to school, and her suspicions were confirmed when Harry suddenly stopped stock still, an expression of horror on his face, exclaiming, "NO!" He glanced at Hermione with wide, shocked eyes, then back at Ron, who was still talking. An instant later, he again made a one-word exclamation; "Snape!"

"What's this all about?" Draco asked, turning toward Hermione, but before she could answer, Harry had crossed the distance back to her and pulled her into a crushing hug. Startled, Draco let go her arm, as Harry held her close, face buried in her unruly brown hair, for a long moment. Finally releasing her, he took a step back and brought his hands up to frame her face. "I can't believe I almost lost you again," he said hoarsely, "and I didn't even know! Jesus Christ, Hermione- didn't I ask you not to scare me anymore?"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, then shut it again, at a loss for what to say as Harry's green eyes bore intently into hers. She thought she was saved from having to think of a response when they all heard Dumbledore, who had stopped halfway down the corridor, clear his throat meaningfully, but as it turned out, she was in no such luck. Seizing her arm, Harry pulled her forward to walk with him, insisting on hearing the tale recounted from her point of view, and leaving Ron and Draco to bring up the rear of the little procession.

Draco felt as though he had lead weights on his feet that were getting heavier and heavier the closer he got to the Great Hall. In an attempt to take his mind off the coming ordeal of his resorting, he asked Ron what he had been telling Harry in order to evoke such a powerful response. "Holy Shit!" was his only comment once Ron had finished recounting the story of Hermione's fall.

It was not until they had reached the top of the marble stairs which led down into the entrance hall that Ron stopped and held out an arm indicating his wish for Draco to stop too. Draco was only too happy to comply, thereby postponing for a few more seconds his arrival at the Great Hall, though Ron's uncomfortable expression told him immediately that the conversation he was about to have would be an awkward one.

Ron cleared his throat and glanced toward where Harry and Hermione were descending the steps (Harry with an arm slung protectively about her waist), then back at Draco. He could feel himself coloring despite his best efforts to maintain a cool façade. Though the fact that his cheeks were now almost certainly beet-red filled him with embarrassment and a strong desire to turn and flee from the boy who stood before him, flicking casually at some imagined particle of dust on his pristine white sleeve and exuding the aura of calm detachment he himself wished for but knew he lacked (if only he could have known that Draco was, if anything, more nervous than he- at least HE didn't have a resorting hanging over his head), he charged ahead with what he felt he had to say anyway.

"Listen, Malfoy- I wanted to, um, say that I'm really glad you recovered. You had us all worried for a while there, and I'd have felt really- that is to say, if you had-" he faltered, and Draco didn't make things any easier on him as he slowly, indolently raised his eyes from his sleeve and arched one brow in an expression of near-disdainful inquiry. Ron felt his frustration level beginning to rise as their eyes locked; deep oceanic blue clashing with pale arctic ice. His lips pressed into a thin line just as Draco's quirked upward with a hint of amusement.

No matter that they had joined forces to defeat the Dark Lord, Draco thought, he would never tire of baiting the Weasel. It was just too sinfully easy. But then Ron surprised him. He took a deep breath, rolled his eyes, and then…he too smiled. "Forget it, Malfoy," he said; "I'm gonna build up an immunity to you, so help me." And Draco, caught completely off guard by this unexpected response to his blatant attempts at provocation, actually laughed out loud- a short laugh, to be sure, but a genuine one.

"I'll just have to try harder then, Weasley," he said, but the blue of his eyes was no longer quite so arctic. "Now- what were you on about?"

"Three things," Ron said, with another glance at Harry and Hermione, who had now reached the bottom of the stairs, "and I'll make it brief." He had apparently regained his composure. "First, I truly am glad you're alive. Second, I appreciate you standing with us against You-Know-Who and I know- we all know- we couldn't have defeated him without you. And third-" here his eyes narrowed- "Hermione loves you, and if you ever- EVER- hurt her, I will rip off your balls and feed them to you. I want to be sure that we are perfectly clear about that."

Draco's eyes flew wide in an instant of utter astonishment, then narrowed down to slits as he stared at Ron who stared boldly back. The expression on Draco's face could easily have been misread as fury, but that actually wasn't it, not at all- it was respect; an emotion nearly alien to him.

My God, he thought, if anyone had told me a month ago that Weasley, of all people, would earn my respect…but it was true. It had begun as soon as he had realized that Potter and Weasley had gone after the Dark Lord on their own; it had intensified during the final stage of the confrontation when Weasley, while holding him up, had aimed his curse squarely at Voldemort's groin; and now, with this little speech, it was complete. Draco Malfoy, so help him God, respected Ron Weasley. He also felt something that he suspected might just be the beginnings of true friendship (another emotion he had little previous experience with) for Harry Potter, and he was definitely head-over-heels in love with Hermione Granger. He shook his head in bemusement at the twist his life had taken.

Ron, mistaking this head-shake for a negation of his words, gave an angry hiss, clenched his fists, and stepped toward Draco, but stopped in surprise when Draco leapt nimbly back, raising his hands, palms facing out, in a placating gesture. "Relax, Weasley," he said, "we're clear. Crystal."

Ron was amazed enough that Draco had backed down, but he was floored by what the blond boy did next; he hesitated for a moment, grimaced as he swallowed his pride (an extremely painful thing for a Malfoy to do) and then abruptly thrust out his right hand, the expression on his face nearly identical to the one Ron himself had worn when he had extended his own hand to Snape; hope of acceptance, fear of rejection, defiance as he steeled himself against the rebuff he felt sure was coming.

Ron took the proffered hand and shook it as if in a dream, not entirely convinced that after all the years of hatred, this was actually happening. "Dumbledore was right; you HAVE changed," he said wonderingly after they had let go.

Although he couldn't deny that it was true, this disgruntled Draco. "I still know how to push your buttons, Weasel," he drawled.

"DON'T call me-"

But at that moment, Hermione, from the foot of the stairs, yelled, "will you two COME ON?" thereby unknowingly averting any potential bloodshed.

00000

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Ron and Draco rejoined Harry and Hermione and the four of them turned toward Dumbledore and the Great Hall. They were somewhat surprised to find that the doors to the hall were closed, and standing on either side of them, like sentinels, were Sirius Black and Professor Snape. From beyond the doors came a low, excited murmur, but nothing like the noise they had heard from all the way up in the hospital wing.

Dumbledore, smiling, explained that the closed doors and the relative quiet on the other side of them were a result of the assembly within having been informed that they were at last on their way; this had been arranged to give them the opportunity for a grand entrance. The headmaster's eyes twinkled all the more at the certain knowledge that none of the heroes were all too keen on the thought of a grand entrance. Even Ron, who normally loved the limelight, was not currently in the mood. Sometimes, however, the desires of the many needed to be given precedence over those of the few. The student body of Hogwarts (minus the Slytherins), as well as the faculty and guests, desired a grand entrance, and that was what they were about to get.

First, however, the little group was approached by Sirius and Snape. Sirius embraced Harry warmly, and revealed that, as the ones who had recovered the bodies of the fallen Dark Lord and his henchman, he and Snape were to enter right behind the four teens, and he was to receive an official pardon at the feast.

As Harry, Ron and Hermione celebrated this news with Sirius, Snape beckoned Draco a little ways off to one side. "I am very relieved to see you up and about again," the Potions Master said without preamble in a low, intense voice. "When Potter came crashing through that window with you, I-" he paused and raked a hand through his dark hair in an uncharacteristically anxious gesture- "I thought I had lost a very promising student and, what's more, a good friend."

Draco was extremely taken aback at this. Though Snape had taken him under his wing almost immediately upon his arrival at Hogwarts, he had never before, in the six years since, spoken words of outright concern to him; much less friendship. And there was more-

"I want you to know," Snape was saying now, "that I am truly proud of what you did. Not of all the school rules you broke," he qualified, dark eyes suddenly flashing, "but you were instrumental in delivering the world from a great evil. When you first arrived at this school as an eleven-year-old child, I thought I saw the potential in you to be more than just another of Voldemort's mindless followers. Although I had nearly lost hope during the intervening years, you have now proved my initial judgment to be correct. Also," he continued after a slight pause, "I've been informed of your imminent resorting. I would be lying if I said I was thrilled by the news; as a Slytherin myself I must tell you that I believe it is a great loss to the House. However, I can appreciate that it makes sense from a practical standpoint, and in any event, there is no arguing with the Sorting Hat. I would just like you to remember that, whatever house you are sorted into tonight, you will always have a friend in me." He reached out and clasped Draco's shoulder- it was a small gesture, yet profound in the emotion it conveyed.

"I- I will remember, Professor," Draco stammered, his usual air of cool indifference stripped away in the wake of Snape's words. He felt as though he should say more, but he was stunned- his mind whirling as he attempted to absorb Snape's expression of pride and unconditional support, in addition to everything else that had happened to him since he had awakened.

And then there was no more time, because Dumbledore was beckoning him back over to rejoin the three Gryffindors, Snape following behind and taking up his position in the rear beside Sirius Black. Draco, standing once again four abreast beside Harry, Ron and Hermione, just had time to glance back at his mentor (never would he admit that he was seeking a last hint of reassurance before facing the Sorting Hat) and to see, to his further amazement, the two men engaged in a handshake- brief, but spontaneous- nothing that had been forced on either of them, just a mutual congratulations on their successful recovery mission.

Then, with a wave of his hand, Dumbledore caused the massive double doors before them to fly open, revealing the Great Hall and the hundreds upon hundreds of people who were congregated within. Stepping quickly to the side, the headmaster allowed the eager throng to get its first glimpse of the four reluctant heroes, standing uncertainly in the doorway, looking slightly dazed, barefoot and wearing hospital-issue pajamas.

Simply put, the crowd went wild.

00000

There was an explosion of sound so great that it startled the centaurs deep in the heart of the forbidden forest from their stargazing. The crowd, which was packed from wall to wall, the four long House tables having been temporarily removed from the room, threatened to swarm Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco immediately, but Dumbledore walked ahead of them through the room, clearing a path through the sea of people toward the raised dais at the far end. The four white-clad teens followed him, single file now; there was no room to walk abreast anymore as the crowd pressed in from all sides.

Reaching the platform upon which the staff table stood (now pushed back against the far wall) Dumbledore led them, followed by Snape and Sirius, up onto it. Once they were all standing along the edge of the platform, in front of the table, the headmaster raised his hands, invoking silence. Immediately a hush descended on the room so profound that one could have heard a pin drop. The only disturbances were the flash and click of the cameras zealously wielded by the press photographers and, of course, a certain Gryffindor fifth-year by the name of Colin Creevey.

"I'm sure that the four young people you see standing here before you need no introduction," Dumbledore said, beaming out at the crowd, which answered with a great roar. "Nor do you need to be told exactly what it is they have accomplished," the headmaster continued when the sound had died down again, "as I am sure that every person present is aware that the Dark Lord Voldemort is no more; he was destroyed yesterday along with his most vile henchman, Peter Pettigrew, who, it has just come to light, betrayed Lily and James Potter to his master and staged his own death sixteen years ago, thereby sending an innocent man to languish in Azkaban. The bodies were recovered today by our own professor Severus Snape and by Sirius Black, the person most wronged by Pettigrew beside the Potters."

These words were greeted by another massive eruption of applause from the audience. Once silence was restored to the hall, an award ceremony commenced, with the Minister of Magic ascending the dais and proceeding to give Sirius his pardon and to award the Order of Merlin, First Class, to him and Snape, then to all four teenagers. At least, that was the intent- but when it came time for Harry, who had been left till last, to receive his award, he flatly refused to accept it from Fudge. As out of character as it was for Harry to display such stubbornness, especially under circumstances that were so- well, public- he simply could not reconcile himself to receiving the suddenly fawning attention of a man who had at one time as much as called him a deranged lunatic, and who had, over the course of the intervening years, displayed nothing but small-mindedness, short-sightedness, a blatant refusal to come to terms with reality, and general intense stupidity.

Fudge, for his part, incensed at Harry's rebuff, made as if to storm off the stage with Harry's medal still in hand- but was brought to a halt when he realized, by way of a growing rumble that was not, this time, applause, that the crowd was about to revolt if Harry did not get his award. Irate, Fudge thrust the award at Dumbledore before huffing from the stage and, indeed, from the room.

Dumbledore turned to Harry, eyes sparkling with suppressed mirth, and, without a word, placed the medal around the Gryffindor's neck as Harry bowed his head, immediately, in humble acquiescence. This done, the headmaster once again gestured for silence over the tumultuous applause.

"And now a most extraordinary event shall take place," he said; "something that no one in this room has ever witnessed before; nor have any of our parents, nor have any of our grandparents. An event that has only happened five previous times in the history of this institution, the most recent being over three hundred years ago. Minerva, if you please-" and he looked in the direction of the double doors which Fudge had recently exited. The crowd swiveled their heads with bated breath, waiting to see what this new development was. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the hall as Professor McGonagall entered, calmly and unhurriedly walking the length of the hall bearing the Sorting Hat and its accompanying three-legged stool.

Up on the dais, Harry, who was on Draco's left side, clapped his shoulder in reassurance, while Hermione, on his right, sought his hand and entwined her fingers with his, squeezing gently. These gestures of camaraderie went unnoticed by the crowd, whose collective attention was focused on McGonagall as she reached the front of the room, set the stool down before the dais, placed the hat upon it, and moved to stand beside Dumbledore.

"The Sorting Hat," said the headmaster, "informed me today that a student is in need of resorting. Indeed-" he raised his voice slightly as startled exclamations erupted throughout the hall- "as I anxiously paced my office this morning, it was through the hat that I learned Mister Malfoy would in fact recover from the grievous wound inflicted on him in the battle with Voldemort (Harry winced), because were he about to die as we had feared, he would hardly need to be resorted, now would he?" Turning to face the four teens as the crowd murmured in amazement, he smiled kindly at Draco and, with a sweeping motion of his arm, indicated the stool and hat. "Step forward, Mister Malfoy," he said; "your destiny awaits."

Draco felt Hermione give his hand one final squeeze before he disengaged and, with his heart thudding in his ears, descended the dais and numbly approached the stool. As he reached it and picked up the hat, hundreds of pairs of eyes riveted on him, he found (though he would never admit, not for all the gold in Gringott's) that he was nearly panting with fear; his breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts. Facing the hat was far more intimidating than facing Voldemort had been; during that confrontation, he had been so high on rage and adrenaline, not to mention in so much bloody pain thanks to Potter, that it had left little room for fear. Now, with the Sorting Hat in his hands and an uncertain future looming over his head, he was terrified.

He stood there, clutching the battered old hat, for a long moment, hearing Potter's gently teasing voice in his mind- you'd make a first-rate Hufflepuff- then suddenly, he shook his head to clear it, swallowed hard, and, in an abrupt, decisive movement, sat on the stool and jammed the hat roughly down on his head.

He was fleetingly surprised at how well the hat fit him- the last time he had worn it, though it had been only for the merest fraction of a second before he had been resoundingly proclaimed a Slytherin, it had threatened to slip down and engulf his entire head. Now it fit perfectly, as though tailor-made for him.

These thoughts were erased from his mind, however, the instant the hat first spoke. His whole body jerking in surprise as though he had just received a jolt of electricity, he squeezed his eyes tightly closed against the intent collective gaze of the crowd. This was between the hat and him.

"Well, well," said the hat, in a dry, amused sort of tone, "I have been waiting for you all day. The hero, at last."

Draco gave a mental snort of derision.

"Ah, you still don't believe it, do you?" the hat asked in the same amused tone. "You will play along and accept their accolades, for such is your nature, but in your heart don't believe. Well, no matter- those who think themselves heroic seldom are. Now, as for your resorting…how well I remember the first time we met. I could tell from the moment you picked me up, before you placed me on your head at all, that you were Slytherin to the core. Both your parents descended from generations of Slytherins, I believe? But one needs more than bloodlines to be sorted into a House; one must have the proper mentality for it- and you had that too, in abundance. But now…my, how things have changed. Tell me, my heroic young friend, do you know whose hat I actually was- whose head I graced before any other?"

No, Draco thought blankly, surprised and confused by this unexpected question.

"I've mentioned it several times in my songs," said the hat, sounding rather insulted.

Oh, Draco thought, um…he was now wishing fervently that he had, even once, paid attention to the Sorting Hat's songs, instead of whispering and sniggering through them with Crabbe and Goyle.

"Never mind," said the hat; "I doubt you are the only student whose mind has wandered. I do not intend to sit here and make you guess. I belonged to Godric Gryffindor."

Draco gave a mental exclamation of surprise, as the hat continued; "Yes, although each of the four founders endowed me with the ability to identify students who would meet their respective criteria, it was Godric Gryffindor that I knew longest and best. He and Salazar Slytherin were great friends; did you know that? No? Well, few people do anymore. Nearly broke my owner's heart when Slytherin turned on him. A sad thing it is, when friendship turns to hatred- but unfortunately, not uncommon. Much rarer is when hatred turns to friendship, or even to love…and yet you have experienced both, and it has changed you- indeed it has. Changed you to the point where, knowing Godric as I did, I am confident he would agree with me when I say that (your inattentiveness to my songs aside) never in a thousand years have I come across another student that I think is a truer example of a-

"GRYFFINDOR!"