A/N: For Rubicon...because she asked.

Thank you to all those who reveiwed. I much appreciate it.

It is announced in the Daily Prophet that Jonathan S. Scryer will be the new Divination instructor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Hermione! Scryer? How much more made up can you get?" Harry grumbles.
"Oh for crying out loud, " she scoffs. "Do you even know what 'Sybil' means or did you ever notice that Fate was cruel enough to give Remus his name and then have him bitten by a werewolf? Truth is stranger then fiction, Ha-- Jonathan." Harry looks to Ron for assistance. Ron just shrugs.
"I told you she was bad with names," he said. Hermione sends him a death glare. Ron decides to shut up and let his wife continue on with the business of making Harry regret his decision.

They are standing in the Great Hall of Hogwarts waiting for the start of term banquet. Harry is getting impatient. He leans against the wall, checking his watch."How long do we have to wait?" Harry asks.
"Banquet starts in half an hour," Hermione replies crisply. "You will be fashionably late."
"Why?" Harry whines. He also receives a death glare.
"Would you rather be upstaged by Snape?" she asks.
"How hard can it be to make an entrance?" Ron sighs. "All he has to do is walk in, flash everyone a wry smile and saunter up to the professor's table. Between the fact that he's new and his pants are skintight, all eyes will be glued to him anyway. Just don't trip or anything humiliating like that, Harry."
"Jonathan," Hermione corrects.
"Thanks, Ron," Harry replies dryly.
"Don't mention it, mate."
"Oh, Ha-Jonathan," Hermione starts.
"Hah," Ron says. "It's not easy, is it?"
"I did mention that you're head of Gryffindor House, right?" Harry has a mini heart attack.
"I'm what? You can't keep designating me things and not telling me beforehand." She smiles sweetly.
"This is the last one, I promise. Please, Harry? I can't do it, not with looking after the baby and whatnot." Harry sighs.
"Fine. I'll do it."
"You did it again!" Ron cries joyfully.
"Did what?" Hermione asks.
"You forgot his name," Ron replies smugly.

Hermione promptly hexes him. Again.

Harry's entrance is fantastic. It couldn't go better if he had rehearsed it because there has always been something about him that draws people. Maybe it is his eyes. Maybe it is the way he stands- defiance and innocence combined in a way that makes the onlooker want to protect him and test those defenses at the same time. Maybe it is the way he walks- his steps are light, smooth, confident. He flashes a small smile to his flabbergasted students and strides past them. He hears a small gasp behind him and his smile widens as he laughs silently at Hermione's choice of pants.

McGonagall looks up sternly over her spectacles at the new- and latecomer. "Professor Scryer, I presume?" Harry bows.
"Headmistress McGonagall, a pleasure to meet someone as capable as yourself." He is deliberately charming. He knows how to be. Draco taught him. It is not a skill Harry uses often, but when he does use it, he makes it count. McGonagall looks less stern. She even almost smiles at him.
"You are late, professor." He bows his head momentarily.
"I missed my train and I've never been to Hogsmeade before," he explains.
"You are aware that you will be head of Gryffindor house?"

"Yes, I am, headmistress." Hermione nearly chokes on her pumpkin juice at the way Harry pronounces the word "headmistress". Harry tries very hard not to laugh. He likes the way his new voice sounds. It is very "bedroomy" as Ron put it, while glaring sternly at his wife.

"What kind of word is 'bedroomy'?" Hermione had asked. Ron had flushed.
"Bedroomy. It's the kind of voice that goes straight from 'hello' to wild sex to 'Good night. I'll call. Really'." Harry had shifted uncomfortably. All this talk of him and sex coming from Ron was really creepy.

But the voice is very distracting and he succeeds in making McGonagall blush. Oh, this year is going to be so much fun.
"Try to set an example for your students," she says, recovering quickly.
"I am terribly sorry. It will not happen again."
"See that it doesn't." Her voice is stern this time. "You may take your seat, Professor Scryer." Harry smiles.
"With pleasure." More blushing from MgGonagall and every female within earshot.

Hermione kicks Harry when he sits down beside her. "Ouch! What was that for?" he asks, rubbing his shin.
"For being a shameless tease."
"I only did what you told me to," Harry protests.
"Oh sure, blame it on me," Hermione replies, rolling her eyes.
"You told me to distract them, so I am."

Hermione shoots him a glare that suggests that she doesn't agree with his reasoning in the least, but she stays quiet. Harry looks around the Great Hall. His eyes automatically travel to the Slytherin table. He is momentarily taken aback by Draco's absence. Draco glaring down his superior pureblood nose at Harry while surrounded by his two thugs had become such an integral part of Harry's experience at Hogwarts that it didn't truly seem like Hogwarts without him.

Harry does not dwell on those feelings long. It seems disrespectful to Draco's memory. He can hear what Draco would say to him now.

/

It was Tuesday. The sky was blue. The ground was black, blanketed with the bodies of fallen aurors, students, and some of Dumbledore's volunteer forces.
"Stop sniveling, Potter," Draco snapped.
"We lost so many," Harry replied, trying to control his sobs.

"Yes." There was something in Draco's tone that made Harry look up. His partner looked different. His face was pale, his hair was mussed, and he looked weary, but that wasn't unusual. They had all been run ragged for at least a month. Draco surveyed the gruesome scene quietly, looking very grave. He turned to Harry.

"You can't change the past. Don't shed tears for what can't be undone or what couldn't have been done any better."

It was a compliment. Harry knew it. He also knew that the best way to accept a compliment from Draco was to ignore it or give a subtle nod in reply. He chose to ignore it.

"You know what your problem is, Potter?" Draco asked, a shade of his infamous arrogance coloring his voice. Harry smiled a little.
"What's my problem, Malfoy?"
"You care too damn much at the worst possible moment. It clouds your judgment."
"And your problem is that you don't give a fuck."
"If you wanted one, you just had to ask." /

Harry smiles to remember the scene now. He wonders if Draco was serious. He wonders if he could have loved Draco. He decides that following that train of thought would be equivalent to crying over the past. He abandons it, and mentally steels himself to deal with the task at hand.

School soon, but I should get in a few updates before then. Feedback is always welcome.

With Love,

J. Silver