Last names are a sign of sexual frustration

You know, calling someone Potter creates emotional distance.

Draco had needed that emotional distance, because when he'd first met Harry (and yes, he recognises he'd been an ass but he'd been 11 and his father had brought him up to act like that) he'd been rejected and he'd needed the emotional distance.

Draco didn't deal well with rejection.

It was one of the multiple reasons he'd actually become a death eater, not just because of fear for his family or pressure or terror at going against the Dark Lord, but because his father would reject him if he turned coward and ran (although Draco did recognise he couldn't turn coward if he already was one.)

Which was horrible because Draco will, would, had done anything for his family but he didn't think they'd do the same. Maybe his mother, but definitely not his father.

And he'd been proved right after all.

His mother had saved Potter, stupid bloody-Gryffindor Potter who wore his anger like a comfortable hand-knit sweater and who'd saved him.

Emotional distance helped one think logically, rationally.

Draco owed Potter a life-debt, no matter what the git had said. They weren't even, never would be. Potter was stupid freakin Potter and he'd reached out his hand and held Draco's life in the palm of it.

Emotional distance was meant to ease the guilt and pain when he looked at scar-head.

Draco swallowed.

He felt bad thinking of him as scar-head and he hated that, he'd never had a problem with it before. But before, he'd been a prat, even he could admit it. And this old prat needed his emotional distance.

Rejection, he still didn't deal well with it, but it wasn't that important now because Draco would just never try, never have any expectations, never care. Crabbe was dead (stupid, stupid, he'd told him not to kill Harry, he should've just listened) and if he was his father, he wouldn't care. Why would you care when lackey's died? Anyone less than pureblood or any not smart enough to play the game and twist the machinations to their benefit, they didn't deserve to be cared for.

Gods, he missed him. Even though he'd been so stupid.

Draco drew his cloak around him and thought that maybe he should start pretending to pay attention to the teacher. Then he remembered that it was Professor Binns and that the only person who paid attention was Granger.

Ronald Weasley stumbled into the room, fifteen minutes late with the bottom of his trousers all wet. Binns did not notice and Draco took this as an opportunity to have his eyes follow to where Weasley sat down next to a smiling Potter and frowning Granger.

He distinctly heard something about "predatory chamber pots."

Draco tried to ignore the memory of Dumbledore mentioning predatory chamber pots in his second year, because that would mean the Head Master had been telling the truth, and, unlike everyone else, Draco had realised that Dumbledore was, in fact, a giant troll.

And that he lied 99% of the time.

Honestly, the whole prophecy about Harry (which Draco still didn't fully know because the stupid golden trio refused to disclose anything because they liked lording it over the rest of the population) was probably made up with Dumbledore drinking too much butterbeer with old, fat Slughorn.

'Oh, wouldn't it be funny if Harry Potter, you, know, the kid Lily and James are gonna have, like totes was going to kill Voldy. Wouldn't that be funny? You know, that a tiny little baby is going to kick no-nose's ass.'

'I say Dumbledore, that is a funny thought. Although, I really think this game of got your nose has gone on too long with old Tom. He's determined to kill you so you give it back. He truly believes you stole his nose.'

'Bitch shouldn't have touched my flamingo outfit.'

Binns droned on and Draco tried not to curse him. Unforgivable curses had left a bad taste in his mouth and a seal on his wand. He was lucky he hadn't been thrown in Azkaban.

Though that was because of Potter, again, another debt.

Time passed, class was nearly over.

And then the wall broke under the weight of sixth year fangirls that had been pressed up against it. Draco jumped to his feet, cloak all a fluttering but out of his way and some non-existent wind sweeping his hair across the planes of his cheeks.

Draco shook his head cause it was annoying and sort of blinding him and Granger squealed, lost under the clamouring fangirls and Ha-Potter, trying to save her, could only watch as Weasley screamed "leave her, they'll pass over her soon enough mate. Just go, I'll defend you!"

Prat, letting his girlfriend be killed by the rabid zombies like that.

"Goyle, hide in that cupboard."

Goyle hid in the cupboard, his heavy frame squeezing into the tight space even though he had to kick Susan Bones from trying to clamour in there too. Unlike Crabbe, Goyle still listened to him after their time apart.

Binns was still talking, ignoring/or not noticing, the breaking desks and the shrieks and spells cast as more eighth year students were lost under the clawing, snarling fangs of the fangirls (and a few fanboys in there too, most wearing long red wigs since it seemed to be the rage to copy the Ginny Weasley look.)

Potter, experienced with years of Dark Arts training and fighting off the Darkest Lord known to wizards, promptly screamed and dashed from the room, leaving Weasley to fend for himself.

Draco would not admit he put up a good fight, because he was too busy chasing after Potter, making sure to ward the door shut behind him. It hurt him to have to sacrifice the others inside, namely Goyle. But, alas.

This was for the good of the whole of Hogwarts, sacrifices were needed to be made.

And so Draco chased after Potter.

Not because he wanted to save him or help him or be the bloody-damned hero saving the damsel for once (Ha-Potter, in a dress, hands clenched to his chest and lower lip trembling) but because Potter would be heading to safety (unless he turned back to his friends, which in most cases he would do, but by running away he was also leading the fangirls away.)

Yeah. Safety.

That was totally it.

"We're all going to die."

Dumbledore calmly sipped more of his tea, twirling the tiny umbrella round and round with his forked tongue. Why was it forked you asked?

Because he's freakin Dumbledore okay. And he felt particularly like hissing his words today. It had unnerved all of the staff but Snape and Mcgonnagal, and they didn't really count.

Harry ran up to him, hands in the air like he just don't care except he did. Dumbledore smiled, already hearing the roar of the sixth year fangirls (he'd have to do something about that, one day, when it stopped being funny.)

He also sighted a one Draco Malfoy diving behind one of the tables in his room. Harry musn't have noticed the boy follow him up the stairs to his office.

Dumbledore placed his tea down and smiled enigmatically at the sweating, frantic saviour of the world.

"And why isss thatt Harrrry m'boy?" He hissed, tongue flicking around.

"The bleeding fangirls. Why didn't you just kick them out of the school? They are bloody insane and I fear Hermione and Ron might be dead, or worse," the poor boy seemed to come to a realisation. "Molested."

Ah, yes, he must've forgotten that the other two had their own obsessed stalkers as well, he'd probably thought he was saving them by being bait.

"I have to go back." Harry turned, ready to swoop in and save the day with Gryffindor zeal and bravery.

Dumbledore waved his hand and two blushing, half-naked Gryffindors appeared in the room.

"Hermione," Ron shouted and dove for the girl, who was red-cheeked under her bushy mane and holding her tattered shirt to her chest, a hint of pink bra peeking out. Dumbledore aimed his eyes at the sleek expanse of Ron's back, where a few claw marks were left (one suspiciously starting to take the words Laven-, it seems it wasn't just sixth years this time.)

What? He was gay peoples. And it was rude to stare at a young girl's body. And Ron's young flesh, mm, it was so appealing.

Dumbledore's forked tongue licked along his lips.

"Hermione, Ron," Harry called, turning from where he had set of so brazenly for the door and hugging his two flustered friends. Dumbledore saw Draco relax from his half-hidden spot and thought that really, he should've known.

Takes a boy-lover to recognise a boy-lover.

Dumbledore would have to match-make.

Harry, Hermione and Ron shivered, all huddled in a bunch and glanced up at Dumbledore's grinning, wizened face, the shine of his half-moon glasses making them all wince.

"Ah, Head Master . . .?" Hermione began and Harry just shook his head, recognising, fearing the look in his eyes.

Dumbledore laughed, and laughed loudly, his forked tongue stretched out and curling in the air. He raised his hands, like a master puppeteer and hissed.

The room shook and Hermione squeezed her fingers tight around Ron and Harry, not noticing that as she held them close she was also suffocating them with her breasts.

Ron smiled dreamily.

Harry was just trying to breathe.

And Dumbledore started to bump his hips to a beat that no one else could hear (because they weren't crazy. Or gay. Well, Harry swears he isn't and Hermione totally doesn't have the hots for Ginny. Ron would just get with anyone that would touch him.)

Draco watched them and wondered how on earth he could've been jealous of the meetings and favouritism the golden trio had always seemed to have with Dumbledore.

The man was batshit insane.

James Potter, sitting beside his young wife on the grassy planes of heaven, with Sirius and the other people that died over a period of seven books but are too many to name, shivered.

Remus wasn't there though, cause he was alive. For some unknown reason that had to do with Tonks and sacrificing and stuff. Tonks and Lily had totally bonded over that because this whole sacrificing yourself for the one you loved? Yeah, they had that down to an art form. Seriously, Lily's was so awesome that she helped her child defeat a Dark Lord.

The power of love baby. The power of love.

Tonks flew over to them, and popped herself off of her broom, shivering in the process and glancing around like a poppywart was trying to hide behind her shoulder.

"Something wrong?" Lily asked, breaking off her talk with Alice Longbottom (nice lady, little insane though and somewhat forgetful) who was absently patting the leg of her husband Frank.

Sirius whooped and called out to Alastor to "hurry up old man and grab the beater already."

Alastor, who wasn't as aged now that he was in heaven, picked up said beater and smacked a quaffle over to the shaggy-haired fiend.

"Nothing, just had a bad feeling that Dumbledore was up to something again."

Lily laughed, gently gave a chaste kiss to James lips that left him wanting for more and said, "I wouldn't be surprised, but Harry will be fine. I'm sure it isn't that bad. Dumbledore won't do anything to hurt Harry."

Now, Lily Potter hadn't seen the worst of Dumbledore and, though somewhat annoyed at Dumbledore for sending her son to his death, she had forgiven him because she thought that Dumbledore had known Harry would survive.

James hadn't, mainly because he believed Dumbledore had been making up the prophecy and his grand plan, all along the way.

He also knew that nothing Padfoot, Prongs, Moony and Wormtail had done had ever surprised or greatly impressed Dumbledore. And that was because Dumbledore was the biggest troll of all.

Look at how he'd survived his own death.

And so James Potter, basking in the rays of a purple sun (Tonks felt like that colour today and it was her turn to choose) was not quite feeling as calm as his wife was.

In fact, he was feeling quite worried. But then Frank offered him a plate of liquorice, cranberry, apple tarts and James forgot what he was feeling worried about.

It surely wasn't that important.

Harry blinked like he remembered something, interrupting Dumbledore's cackling.

"Oh, by the way, we just saw Sirius in a fire a couple hours ago so we were wondering if we could go to the department of Mysteries cause he said he's stuck behind the veil still."

Dumbledore stopped hissing, Granger muttered something about 'presenting the idea in more diplomatic way,' and Draco, hiding behind the table wondered how in Hogwarts, they had ever saved the world.

He'd been saying for years that they were all insane.

Why didn't anyone ever believe him?