Disclaimer: This story and all of its characters belong, fundamentally, to J.K. Rowling. I've tossed them around a bit, true, but the mastermind herself ultimately holds the power in this situation. Eternal thanks to the wonder woman herself. I make no profit from this except for the pure self-satisfaction of actually writing something :)

A/N: First and foremost, hi! Welcome back! This is the SEQUEL to The Masks of Real Heroes, so if you haven't read that one then sorry, but this probably won't make much sense. If you have, thank you so much for taking a look at this story too!

This might sound strange, but I feel like I need to install a personal disclaimer of sorts before this story. I was almost too hesitant to post it at all because I'm worried about sort of, I don't know, trashing peoples expectations? That it won't be what anyone was looking for, or that it wasn't 'good enough' to warrant inclusion? I don't know. But in short, I'd just like to say: this is pretty much as much for my own sense of closure as anything else. I really felt the need to just write it.

Secondly, this story will deal a little bit with rape recovery and PTSD. I know that everyone's experiences are different, and I really don't want to offend anyone, so if you've experienced either such situation… I don't know, read carefully?

And thirdly, yeah, the physical side of Harry's and Draco's relationship is explored a little more thoroughly. If you have a problem with descriptions of sexual situations, this might not be for you.

Otherwise, enjoy!

Chapter 1: Time

No matter which country, how small the town, or the magical inclination of its people, travel depots were always a site of activity. The International Portkey Terminal of London was no exception. A single building, ten times as big on the inside as it appeared from the outside, it looked nothing if not a dingy Muggle post office that received an unnaturally large number of visitors who didn't come back out again. Draco suspected the Terminal had at least one Muggle diversion charm placed upon it; located as it was on the ectone between Muggle and Wizarding communities, there were certainly enough of the former passing by to warrant as much.

The six students stood outside the building, staring as yet another crowd of businessmen bustled through the double doors of the building. Their navy robes embroidered in five-pointed pinpricks of gold suggested they were astronomical apprentices from the London School of Rising Stars. Though he didn't say it aloud, Draco through the design made them look absolutely ridiculous. Like children. Even more so with the three pointed hats they wore. Did they honestly think that resembling the stars they studied was a necessary fashion statement?

As the door slammed shut, Draco felt the hand grasped in his own tighten slightly. The fingers were cold, Cold fingers, yet slightly clammy this time. Glancing towards Harry at his side, he couldn't prevent his face from tightening into distressed sadness, a mirror that of his partner's.

Until today, it hadn't seemed real. The week since Harry and Neville had officially decided to transfer to Beauxbatons had passed too fast for the reality to really sink in. Draco still couldn't believe it, couldn't comprehend that, while he was leaving the very next day to catch the Hogwarts Express to school, Harry would be in a different country attending the orientation night of an entirely different school. It felt so wrong, even when he understood the need, understood the logic.

The past week had been a series of disjointed events that, when compiled, served to drag Draco into melancholy as though he had partaken of a large dose of Glumbumble treacle. Or so Harry said. Draco had no bloody idea what he was talking about, but it seemed to apply to him. Besides, he was just about ready to agree with anything Harry said at that point, so long as it ensured he was still talking to him, still close enough to touch him.

Time had passed too quickly, however, and before Draco realised just how much, Black had disappeared to Paris to set up the house he would be living in for the duration of Harry's academic year – of course the man was going; he clung to Harry like a bad smell – Draco was helping Harry pack the overnight trunk and they were spending their last night in the same bed for who knew how long. Harry had assured him, over and over, that within a week, two at most, he would return to Britain for a visit.

Two weeks was a long time.

A hesitant cough drew Draco's attention, and everyone else's, towards Ron. The redheaded boy, shifting in the seat of his levitating chair, tugged his ear awkwardly. Had Draco been in a better mood, and had he not known the reason for Ron's temporary affliction, he may have teased him for the ridiculousness of the gently bobbing chair. He didn't, though. Not only would it have been in poor taste, but at present he couldn't seem to find anything amusing.

Glancing towards his friends, Ron tapped a fingernail to the watch on his wrist. "It's, um…" He paused, cleared his throat again, and reattempted. Not quite succeeding, too, for his voice still cracked. "You've got twenty minutes."

Draco glanced down towards Harry, who met his eyes before taking a deep breath. From his periphery, Draco saw Neville and Ginny exchange similar glances. Neville was the first to respond.

Stepping towards Ron and Hermione, the latter wringing her hands uneasily while Ron looked nearly on the verge of tears, the ex-Gryffindor wrapped them both in a tight embrace, one then other.

"You take care of yourselves, you two." His voice was muffled by Hermione's hair, yet the slight waver to it could still be heard.

"And you promise you'll actually write this time. No excuses." Hermione's voice was similarly muted, though Draco was surprised to see she actually seemed to be holding herself together better than Ron. The tears of the redhead were definitely more prominent.

Laughing, Neville gave a choking snort. "You know I'm terrible at remembering to send letters."

"You will this time. This time…you will." A sniff, and Hermione appeared to drag herself together long enough to attempt light-heartedness. "I'm ever so curious to hear about Beauxbatons' educational system. It's supposed to be quite different from Hogwarts."

Even in their sorry state, her words succeeded in bringing a smile to every pair of lips. Even Ron's as he reached up to pat Neville affectionately on the shoulder. He seemed to find that easier than the hug.

Stepping back, Neville made way for Harry to exchange his own hugs. They were different, as different as the two boys were; Harry softly enfolded each of them in a gentle embrace that somehow seemed to leave Ron less discomforted than Neville's had. Patting the side of Hermione's head, he murmured something in her ear, something that caused her to hiccup a sob but nod furiously in assertion. Whatever it was seemed to leave her somewhat heartbroken, but for the life of him Draco couldn't seem to care.

With a wave of goodbyes, several sniffles from Ron and Hermione both, Draco, Harry, Neville and Ginny headed towards the double doors of the Terminal. The overnight trunks rattled across pavement in a painful scratch of wheels that nearly drowned out the muted words of the two left behind. They had agreed beforehand that it would be best to keep the farewell party to a minimum. Those that directly saw the two boys off, anyway. Blaise, the one who would once have been the most likely to kick up a fuss about being left outside, was only returning from Italy that afternoon so the suggestion was passed with little disagreement.

Inside, the building was markedly grander than the exterior. A wide entrance hall of polished white linoleum gleamed almost too brightly beneath the magical light-sources overhead. Directly across from the doors at long, wide desk sat a trio of receptionists conversing with travellers as they traipsed towards them from the staggered queues to present their travel passes. To either side of the desk were two arched hallways leading into distant corridors, a lazing official standing to the side of each. From what Draco could see, each was dotted with a number of doors spaces barely two feet from one another with finicky precision. Another expansion charm in the works, it would seem.

Switching the simple manual labour of pulling the trunks to a Follow-Me Charm, Draco tightened his grip on Harry's once more. They trailed up to the end of the queue and settled to await their turn.

The receptionist that barely glanced at Harry and Neville's passes was a wide woman with ruddy lipstick and too much mascara behind her ebony glasses. Her nametag read 'Emmy', a name that appeared far too friendly and juvenile for her stately frame. Peering momentarily at the four students, she hefted a stamp that looked like a gavel and smacked impressions in red ink with more force than was entirely necessary. Neville, standing closest to the desk, looked like he suffered a heart attack so fierce was his flinch.

"Room 302. To the left, take two flights of stairs. Second door on your right." She was already beckoning the next traveller in line before they'd taken a set towards the arch.

"How unprofessional. I'm sure they're at least supposed to pretend to smile," Ginny muttered, shooting a glare towards the woman. Draco was surprised at the aggression of her words; or at least he would have been, had he not personally witnessed the gradual tightening of her nerves over the past few hours. For all Ginny's pretences that Neville moving countries didn't bother her, that she would be "spending most of my time living with him anyway," the set of her jaw spoke otherwise.

Climbing two flights of stairs made Draco incredibly grateful he had turned seventeen and could use magic outside of school without reprimand. He couldn't imagine how a Muggle would possibly go about dragging such unwieldy trunks around without levitation charms. Harry had spoken to him of moving stairs of sorts that the Muggles used which ran on electricity. He termed them 'escalators', which was reasonably enough, Draco supposed, given their function. Personally, Draco was welcoming of the climb. It would take longer than some mechanical 'escalators', which meant more time before Harry left. He resolutely ignored the fact that the minutes would count down just as fast walking slowly as they would moving quickly.

Room 302 was the size of a modest dining hall, bare except for a row of chairs along one wall and a desk behind which two attendants chatted in muted boredom. The room was already occupied by at least a dozen other witches and wizards, some obviously making a similar journey to Harry and Neville while others likely were only present to see them off. Government portkeys were both cheaper and much easier to get a booking on but unfortunately carried the often unwelcome sharing with strangers. Draco sorely regretted the loss of what minimal privacy they could have attained otherwise.

Glancing at his own watch, Draco felt his throat close over. Five minutes. Only five minutes more, and Harry would be…

"Hey, don't look like that."

Dropping his eyes towards the bespectacled boy in front of him, Draco's only succeeded in becoming more choked. The sadness on Harry's face was shadowed, as though masked. It was odd; recently, he'd become better at maintaining a hold on the display of his emotions. Not to the degree he once had – and thank Merlin for that – but a definite restraint had been placed upon the overwhelming clash of emotions he used to express at every second word.

He's being strong. He's hiding his sadness; even though I can still see some of it, the rest...

The thought did little to ease the chokehold clasping his throat, but Draco struggled to swallow around it anyway. If Harry could pull himself together in this situation, then so could he. At least until Harry left. Then he'd find a nice, quiet bathroom and lock himself in a stall until he felt he could face the world without crying or killing someone. He wasn't sure which would be worse, personally.

Glancing briefly around them, ensuring potential eavesdroppers were suitably distant – the closest were Neville and Ginny who seemed to have withdrawn into an inaudible conversation that could only be communicated by standing less than an inch from one another – Draco stepped forwards and dropped his forehead onto Harry's. The simple act did little to ease his heartache, but that little enabled him to speak.

"I'm going to miss you."

It was inadequate, he knew. But then, any words would be inadequate. How could one describe the feeling of losing half of one's limbs? No, it was worse than that. At least loss of limbs could be magically remedied. This loss, though, no matter how temporary, Draco would have to live with.

Harry stared up at him through the half-drawn curtain of his fringe. A small smile wavered onto his lips, but his eyes were only sad. "I know. And I am so, so sorry –"

"I didn't mean it like that." Draco sighed, closing his eyes. His arms reached up to wrap around Harry, pulling him tightly towards him. "I know why you must go. I just wish you didn't have to."

Sinking into him, Harry wrapped his own arms tightly across Draco's back. By the slight strain of fabric across his shoulders, Draco knew his fingers locked into the material of his shirt, twisting in a death grip. He murmured something into Draco's shoulder.

"What?"

Harry shook his head in Draco's shoulder. When he repeated himself, his words were still a whisper. "What am I going to do without you?"

Draco's throat seized even more tightly than before. He couldn't have spoken even had he wanted to. Harry had never voiced his own fears for the distance, the time apart, that they would have to endure. It was usually he who offered soothing consolation to Draco, that it 'wasn't truly so long' and that he would 'visit at every possible opportunity'. Draco had suspected Harry felt at least a modicum of the same heartbreak he did at the prospect of his partner leaving; the intensity with which he clung to Draco in sleep bespoke as much. He had simply never stated so, not in as many words and not with such rawness. Dropping his head onto Harry's shoulder, Draco could only hold him tighter. What could he possibly say, when any replies Harry had given him to similar questions had seemed so inadequate?

"I know it's only for a year. And I know I can come back whenever I want if I desperately need to. I'll Apparation-hop across the English channel if I have to." A thrum of humourless laugh buzzed into Draco's shoulder. The suggestion had been jokingly voiced on a number of occasions before. It didn't seem so funny this time. "It's just that…"

"I know," Draco muttered, turning his head to kiss Harry's temple. And he did know. He knew only too well. They didn't need words to describe exactly what both of them felt so profoundly.

In far less than five minutes, it seemed, the two attendants rose from their seats and stretched. The taller of the two, a middle-aged bug of a man, strode to the centre of the room while his short, mousy-haired companion called attendance.

"Alright, seven's the number I've got booked." He glanced around the room as though taking a headcount, which was pointless, really, given that Draco suspected over half of those in the room were only present to say farewell. "I would ask all travellers to Paris to please step forwards and place your right hands upon the portkey. Right hands on the portkey, ladies and gentlemen.'

Draco didn't want to let go. It took an inhuman amount of effort to unlock his arms from around Harry. Harry seemed to be having the same struggle with detaching his fingers from Draco's shirt. Finally apart, they pressed there lips together in hasty kisses, once, twice. It was too short, too brief and far too hurried.

Ginny and Neville appeared to be trapped in the same conundrum, but as Harry, dragging his trunk with eyes still turned towards Draco, passed the pair to the centre of the room, Neville finally disentangled himself enough to follow. Draco thought he might have been crying, but he didn't spare him a glance to check.

Dropping to a crouch in the circle with the other five travellers, Harry and Neville reached out to press a finger to the… wooden spoon? It looked like a wooden spoon. The attendants relieved them of their boarding passes long enough to glance at the details before handing them back.

And then shorter man was speaking again. "Thank you for your cooperation, ladies and gentlemen. If all non-travellers could please step back… thank you. The portkey will be departing in ten… nine… eight…"

The countdown morphed into a distant echo. Draco could feel his eyes blurring, heat rising in his cheeks. He had eyes only for Harry, for the vibrant green gaze that glanced back at him over a hunched shoulder. He was biting his lip, blinking rapidly to dispel the rising tears.

Still trying to be strong. Why do we both try so hard? Why hide it when we both know how much -?

The thought was cut off as, with a swirl of colour and the resounding call of 'one!' the portkey activated. It all happened so fast, so instantly, and then it was over. The absence of the seven people from the room left it feeling oddly hollow. The last thing Draco saw of the departed was the opening of Harry's mouth, as though to say something…

Draco didn't remember leaving the room. Didn't know how he even found the bathroom. He only just made it to a stall, fumbling with the lock on the door, before grief overwhelmed him. Not tears; no, he didn't cry. But he did slump to the likely filthy floor and draw long, shaking breaths that crackled in his throat. Breathing felt impossible, each inhalation thin and wavering. But he didn't cry. He didn't.

Curled as though physically wounded on the floor, head in his hands and staring blankly, Draco struggled to stifle a moan of loss. His gaze was distorted, blurred – he didn't really know why, didn't care – but it hardly mattered. He must have looked a right sight, as far removed from Malfoy decorum as possible, but in the privacy provided by the solid wooden door at his back he couldn't care less.

Platform nine and three-quarters was as much a hubbub of activity as it was every year. That the Wizarding world was barely months out of a war made no difference to the matter. Reuniting returners and wide-eyed first years pottered alongside doddering families as they piled their trunks and caged pets onto the train. The peeping of the whistle, signalling students to board, was nearly ear-splitting.

Draco turned towards his mother, meeting her subdued smile with a poor attempt of his own. She was still too thin, still pale, and looked as though the wind would knock her over if it blew too forcibly. Unsought, the memory of the previous year bubbled to the surface of Draco's thoughts, the image of his father's and mother's tight faces as they wished him farewell and with formal embraces. How much had changed in a year. How much had been lost.

Narcissa was barely two weeks out of intensive care, yet she had insisted upon accompanying Draco to the platform. He objected only half-heartedly; their relationship had grown in a remarkable direction over the break between sixth and seventh year, and rather than the mild embarrassment and exasperation that most students his age felt at their parental accompaniment, Draco only felt gratitude. Especially this day.

Since Harry had left, Draco had been by Narcissa's side at almost every waking moment. His mother was a comfort; she'd always been a comfort, if truth be told. He could act as childish, as impertinent, as desperate for consolation as he wished and she would respond with only soothing maternal care. Despite her continued recovery – which had been progressing remarkably, if the doctors were to be believed – Narcissa still found the strength to support him.

She seemed to know exactly what he needed and, more importantly, why he needed it. Or perhaps it was simply Narcissa's own affection for Harry and the sadness of his departure that enabled her to console him so understandingly. Harry had accompanied Draco to almost every visit he had undertaken to the hospital over the holiday period. Narcissa had been welcoming of the additional visitor, and had even reprimanded Draco for his absence on the one visit Harry had suggested he remain at home. To give them some 'family time', he had said. Draco had thought it was a ridiculous notion, a sentiment agreed upon by his mother.

Narcissa had glared coldly at him when he had informed her of Harry's reasoning. "You tell him, my son, that he is well and truly a part of our family by now. Where did he develop such a notion that he would be even vaguely unwelcome?" She had raised an eyebrow pointedly at Draco, to which he had frantically assured her that he was hardly responsible. Secretly, the mild reprimand warmed him. If nothing else, the edge that had regrown on her tone was the surest sign of recovery he had witnessed since her awakening.

Still, the solo visit had been beneficial in one regard: Draco had finally confessed the nature of his and Harry's relationship. He had been nervous at first as to how his mother would respond. The idea of a homosexual relationship was hardly uncommon, even in noble and prestigious families. It had always been acceptable, dating back to Roman times. To belittle such partnerships that had been considered valid for centuries was ludicrous.

So no, that was not his concern. What he had feared for was her response when he revealed the depths of his feelings. How he truly loved Harry and wished whole-heartedly that they could remain together for the rest of their lives. Such a union, such a confession, posed a significant problem; by maintaining faithfulness, the prospect of blood children was an impossibility. The Malfoy line would effectively end. The thought made Draco cringe when he considered his mother's response.

Yet once again she had surprised him. Much like his friends, she had simply smiled, nodding in curt satisfaction. "So you have finally realised your true feelings? I must say, I was surprised that it took you so long."

Draco had stared at her blankly, his only defence against open-mouthed astonishment. "You're not… upset? Or angry -?"

"For what possible reason would I possibly be upset?" She frowned fiercely, as though he had accused her of a heinous crime. "I am most fond of Harry. Why would I object?"

"I just thought… what with heirs for the family…"

Narcissa sighed her exasperation. "That is your concern?"

"Well, the Malfoy line has remained unbroken for centuries –"

"Is that what your father told you?"

Draco stuttered to a halt at her interruption. Yes, they were his father's very words. The memory of being told as much, time and time again, left a strong enough pain in his chest to enforce their genuineness. He could only nod weakly in reply.

Sighing once more, Narcissa stroked a hand across her forehead. Not rubbing wearily, but close enough to it that Draco understood the motion. "Your father always was grounded in formality, duties and familial connections. Perhaps, if he had been alive and you had told him of your relationship… No, I cannot believe even then he would object." Turning towards him, Narcissa adopted a startlingly frank expression. "The Malfoy line is about as pure as any other 'pureblood' line, the Blacks included. That is to say, rather diluted."

This time, Draco couldn't prevent his mouth from falling open. "What?"

"Can you honestly imagine you are the first couple to be unable to conceive children? Due to the absence of a woman in the equation, infertility or even an unexpected death? Honestly, Draco, the Malfoy lineage is riddled with as many adoptions and false heirs as any other family. It is simply better hidden."

"But… why?"

Shrugging, Narcissa idly folded the blankets in her lap. "Propriety? A need to maintain a sense of superiority? Who knows? The fact of the matter is that a loving relationship should hardly be discarded on the a basis of producing an heir." She paused, regarding him thoughtfully. "You seem confused."

Draco shook his head slowly. "I just thought… well, father always emphasised the importance of blood purity. It's basically engraved into the very nature of a Slytherin."

"And do you truly believe in it?"

Pausing to think carefully, Draco shrugged. "I used to. Now, since I've started to think differently, to really think about it, I'm not so sure."

Smiling as though congratulating her son for his understanding, Narcissa nodded. "And therein lies the truth. You told me, last year, that you had come to believe family and friendship to be of greater importance than social status and self-elevation. Do you recall?"

Draco nodded, his mind wandering back to the previous Christmas. He could still remember the conversation so well; it had been in their Parisian Manor, their discussion just after they'd found Harry. It was not one he was likely to forget.

"I was so proud of you for coming to terms with your revelation yourself." Narcissa smiled indulgently, enough to make Draco shift awkwardly in his seat. "I had worried when your father insisted on teaching you of the appropriate attitude a Malfoy should hold. I don't believe your father ever truly believed it either, however much he tried to live by the rules such teachings presented."

Sighing regretfully, Narcissa turned back to folding her blankets. "I do not believe that the very nature of a pureblood – or a Slytherin, for that matter – is selfish. Egocentric, perhaps, but not cruel. And while arranged marriages are not uncommon, there is a sea of those that are founded on love." Lifting her chin once more, Narcissa's gaze fixed upon Draco intensely. "Don't ever forget that, Draco."

He wouldn't. Not for as long as he lived.

It was possibly that single conversation as much as anything else that swelled the depths of his relationship with his mother. Somehow, when it came to Harry, Draco simply felt like she knew. Like she understood. It made the loss of his father that much more heartbreaking.

The whistle on the platform sounded once more, and Draco turned towards his mother to bid her a final farewell. She smiled thinly, hiding her sadness behind a blank façade.

"You will take care of yourself."

Nodding, Draco struggled to swallow. "Of course, Mother. And you." Beholding her wasted frame once more, he felt a pang of worry. "Write me as often as you can. Of your appointments, of how you are feeling. I want you to keep me updated –"

"Honestly, Draco," Narcissa interrupted him with an exasperated sigh. "You sound just like Dr. Goadman." Yet for all her words, her small smile widened. "But I will. Ensure you do the same."

It was likely a spur of the moment decision, yet in hindsight Draco would marvel that they both decided to break from their public guises and wrap one another in a swift, tight embrace. Swift, yet nonetheless loving, and not hiding behind formality as they usually would. Narcissa pulled away after barely a moment and patted him on his cheek. She said no more words. None were necessary.

Weaving his way through students and families, Draco headed towards the train. He hadn't seen any of his friends yet. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to face Hermione or Ron; he was not keen to explain his rather unexpected disappearance the day before at the Portkey Terminal. Rather, he kept an eye out for them just so he would be the first to see them, instead of they him. Just so he could be prepared.

It was only natural, then, that his general scan of the platform brought him eye to eye with Blaise.

His friend of a height with Draco, so, both being of the tallest on the platform, they saw each other easily across the sea of bodies. Draco was frozen for a moment, nearly at the doorway to one of the carriages but barely heeding the churning figures pushing past his to board. He could only stare at Blaise.

His friend looked tired. Tired and pale, a distinction apparent on his darker features. He looked about as healthy as he had after taking his O. in fifth year, suffering under the strain of his mother breathing ominously down the back of his neck. Only, this was a deeper weariness rather than the acute nervousness resulting from a taxing examination period. A depth that bespoke long residency, and his struggle to adapt to potential permanency.

Yet even so, when he spotted Draco, Blaise offered him a small smile. It was sincere, or appeared to be. Weak, and a little strained, but warm nonetheless. Draco could only smile hesitantly back in response as his friend approached.

"Hello, Draco."

Swallowing, Draco scrambled for words. How was it suddenly so hard to speak? "Blaise. How was your break?"

With a shrug, Blaise glanced over his shoulder. Following the line of his stare, Draco could just make out the sight of his mother's butler levitating a trunk onto the luggage carriages. Blaise seemed to ease when he noticed the distance between them. "Yeah, alright. The relatives were very enthusiastic, of course. I'm glad to get away from them, to be honest." He offered another dry smile, rolling his eyes in an attempt at light-heartedness.

Except it's not light-hearted, a quiet voice muttered in Draco's head. He was sure he wasn't the only one to notice the hippogriff in the room and just because neither of them spoke of it immediately didn't mean it wasn't there. Pansy…

Blinking away the thought, the memory, Draco forced a like smile onto his own face. "What are family for, really?"

"Mooching off and Christmas present?"

Draco snorted a laugh. It was only faintly mirthful – the joke was hardly good enough to warrant amusement – but the motion felt good nonetheless. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed. "Sounds about right."

Blaise grinned at him widely, though Draco was unsurprised to see that it didn't quite make the expansiveness of his normal smile. Slowly, even that faded and an uncharacteristic seriousness overcame him. "You right, Draco?"

Frowning, Draco tilted his head questioningly. Shouldn't he be the one asking that? "What do you mean?"

"Only… what with Harry leaving…"

He didn't want to think about it. For almost half a moment he hadn't been and now it all came rushing forth again. He struggled to quash down the upwelling flood of painful emotions. He forced himself to thrust it aside, to not think about it. It wasn't like there was anything he can do to change the circumstances. He'd have to learn to live with it eventually. At least for a year.

Dusting off his rising melancholy, Draco replaced his smile. "I'm okay, Blaise. Honestly. I'm fine." And at his friend's sceptical frown he sighed dramatically. "I'm fine." Turning away from Blaise, he started towards the train. The final whistle was rung through the air and most of the students had already crammed through the doors. "Are you coming?"

Shaking his head knowingly, Blaise followed him as they sunk into the buzzing chatter of the carriage.

The trip to Hogwarts was less unbearable than Draco had anticipated. Certainly the confrontation with the Gryffindors barely held a teardrop to the expected rain of questions. Rather, Hermione and Ron had not spoken a word of the fact, though a shared, pointed glance spoke volumes. Ginny had been silent too from the moment she entered the cabin, dragging the Ravenclaw girl Luna Lovegood behind her. Draco didn't mind as much as he'd expected; the airheaded girl was a friend of Harry's anyway.

All in all, it was a rather uneventful journey. Blaise had been welcomed with sincere joy, and seemed to sink with relative ease back into their company. Only his pallor and the frequent, distracted glances out of the carriage window suggested he was hardly 'perfectly fine'. Draco couldn't help but compare the difference in situation to that he'd experienced last year. No exclusive Slytherins, no self-designated compartment. Rather, the Slytherins were outnumbered, and most surprisingly it didn't seem to matter. No one batted an eyelid at their mixing of houses.

It was surreal. Draco had always kept to his own house exclusively. At the present, however, he couldn't think of anything he'd rather less. Besides the fact that several key players were missing from the equation – Goyle had been a victim of the war and, well… Pansy… – he didn't think that he could face Crabbe after his confrontation with his father months before. It was a good thing that he'd transferred schools. As for Nott, Bulstrode and Greengrass; well, they'd always been somewhat removed from the central pillar of his year's Slytherin cohort. It had just never seemed so apparent until now.

When Hogwarts finally faded into view, outlined darkly against the evening sky, every tongue stilled and all eyes turned towards the window. It was... exactly the same as it had always been. Even from a distance, it was apparent that the castle was in perfect shape, not a stone out of place. Truly, it was a marvel what the reparations officers of the Ministry had been able to accomplish over the few months break. Less, really, as Draco knew for a fact that the N.E.W.T students of the previous year had taken time throughout the summer to complete the studies that had been so rudely interrupted throughout August.

The interior of the castle was as untarnished as before. It was surreal, to walk through the double doors as though the Battle of Hogwarts – a battle so many of them had been a part of – hadn't happened. An unnatural hush settled over the entire student body that only quietened further into absolute silence upon entering the Great Hall.

It shouldn't have. There was nothing noteworthy to comment on; the four house tables were placed as they should be, the Head table currently seated its array of professors in various stages of seating – Snape was there, a scowl upon his face, Flitwick, Slughorn, the half-giant Hagrid, McGonagall standing to the side of the Head's seat and gazing across the influx of students. It was all so normal. Even the magical sky overhead depicted only a clear evening and merrily bobbing candles that flickered in the phantom dusky breeze.

No prone forms lined the floor. No pained sobs rebounded off walls as the injured were tended by weary hands. There was no thrum of terror in the air, the pervasive stench of fear that had hung cloyingly in an unshakable blanket. Nothing to recall the incident, except…

As Draco and Blaise parted from the Gryffindors, Draco saw it. His eyes were drawn to the it, the memory of Voldemort's death dragging his gaze to the point on the floor where the creature had collapsed, shot dead by a Muggle bullet. And there, like an ink stain on carpet, was a mottled venation of thin black branches extending across the floor. As though someone had poured black wine onto the marble which had subsequently seeped into the very foundations of the castle.

A permanent stain, Draco was sure. He couldn't imagine the reparation officers would have left it there out of a sense of victory, of sentiment.

As every student dropped into their seats, as the last of the teachers folded into their own, the newly appointed Headmistress slipped up to the podium at the front of the professor's raised dais. Draco frowned for a moment; McGonagall was going to give her speech, before the first years were even appointed houses?

He didn't have time to dwell on the abnormality, however, as her clipped tone rung out across the hall.

"I welcome you, returning students, to another year of Hogwarts. It brings me great joy to see so many of you return, circumstances being as they are." She paused for a moment, and Draco immediately understood; this was going to be that speech.

"First and foremost, I believe it is only appropriate that the necessary consideration be afforded for the events which occurred in this past school year. The Ministry has cautioned me from speaking of such, but I believe, as witnesses to a war, each and every one of you has a right to hear these words."

Pausing once more, McGonagall seemed to meet the eyes of every student at once. For the first time, Draco really recognised her proficiency as a teacher. She may not be as internationally respected as Dumbledore, but her steadiness, her compassion for her students, was apparent in every word. Not a quaver trembled her voice.

"We, as a school, bore witness to the expulsion of a truly heinous criminal. A criminal who, before being passed from this world, inflicted a wound upon us all, upon this very school, which cannot be so easily erased with consoling word and patched plaster.

"As witnesses, we all, as one, have grown. A trial that, while painful and punctured by loss, will only make us stronger. For there has been loss. Of loved ones, of security, of fond memories. There is not a one in this hall who has not been touched by the cruel hand of the being who was Voldemort."

The Hall seemed to suck in a synchronous gasp at the mention of his name. No one spoke, but the weight of that name loosed a buzz of chattering thoughts that was nearly audible. McGonagall waited, as though enduring the whispered thoughts, before continuing with firmness in her tone.

"And yet, even injured as we are, even having suffered the losses that we have, we will survive. We will endure. And we will grow. For we had surpassed this trial and shall step through to the other side with the knowledge that we have triumphed. That, despite the rages of a madman, the Light has prevailed and will always prevail.

"I ask not that you forget those who have fallen. It is for this very reason that I speak to you all now. No one can understand the depths of another's grief, for we have all loved and lost, and the pain – while felt by all – is endured in different ways. But like this war, like the triumph over the being who stole so much from so many, we will, each and every one of us, prevail.

"Of greatest importance, however, I ask that you all remember the struggles of those around you. That, while you have lost, have felt pain, so have your friends, your peers, your rivals. And that we shall only survive this pain with unity, with mutual support. We are united in our losses, and united we shall endure."

Silence rung in the hall after McGonagall's final words resounded. To some, it may have seemed an attempt at boosting morale. To others, an unnecessary reminder of the heartbreak that had been felt by so many beneath that very roof. To Draco, though, his esteem for the new Headmistress sparked, grew, and flared.

For the witch had been ruthless. Almost brutally honest. She'd dragged to the surface memories that so many were struggling to bury. But in doing so, she had reminded them all that they were not alone. That, though they had been hurt, some seemingly beyond recovery, there were others who had endured if not the same then similar. It was an oddly comforting realisation.

Draco barely registered when the first years filed into the room. He was lost in his own thoughts so deeply that even when McGonagall gave the formulaic welcome speech to the entire hall of students, new and old, he didn't hear a word of it. When the table before him groaned under the sudden weight of steaming dishes, wafting a surplus of intoxicating scents into the air, his arms moved mechanically and he didn't recall eating though his stomach became full.

Casting a half-seeing glance around him, Draco observed his fellow students slowly winding back into motion, breaking from the frozen lull McGonagall's words had induced. At his side, he was surprised to see Daphne Greengrass filling the seat Pansy had once assumed. It was disjointing to see the pretty blonde seated there instead of his old friend, and even more so when, as though feeling his gaze upon her, Daphne glanced towards him. The small small she gave him was oddly solemn for the otherwise superficial girl. She seemed as shaken as the rest of them. The oddity was enough to induce him to focus back upon his own plate.

At his other side, Draco vaguely realised that Blaise moved in a similar monotony. When the call to return to dormitories sounded, he finally met his friend's eyes. There were tears there, tears of sadness and the utter grief that Draco had known he had been hiding since he'd met him on the platform. But right beside that was determination, strength blossoming. He didn't need to speak for Draco to understand his resolution.

She's right. We'll survive this. Just like we've survived everything else. All it will take is a little effort. And time.

A/N: Thanks for reading, everyone. If you have a moment, I'd really appreciate you leaving a word or two, just to tell me what you think or if you have any particular questions. Thanks :)