Returning to Hogwarts after the War was almost bittersweet to Harry. The castle was on its way to returning to normal, with Snape teaching Potions again after Slughorn retired and Lupin resumed teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. Hermione spent nearly every free hour she got in the library, Neville was still hopeless with Potions, Snape still reveled in taking House Points from Gryffindor, Peeves was still inconveniencing everyone every chance he got. Luna still wandered the halls, seemingly in a daze.

Yet as much as Harry wanted to believe that everything was normal, everything around him reminded him that there were too many things missing, too many people lost, for anything to "go back to normal." There were still parts of Hogwarts covered in rubble from stray curses. He still expected to see Dumbledore walking the halls, passing out bits of odd advice and lemon drops. He knew that if he went down to the kitchens, he wouldn't find Dobby with his mismatched wardrobe, making treacle tarts. There was only one twin haunting the aisles of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Harry would never see Sirius again, never ask Hedwig to send letters for him. He would never have to return to the Durselys'. He no longer needed to look around every corner, waiting for someone to try and kill him.

Sometimes things got too overwhelming and Harry felt like he was drowning, so many nights found Harry on the Astronomy Tower, staring up at the cosmos and thinking. Thinking about what life would have been like without the Prophecy, with living, loving parents, with a godfather that hadn't been in Azkaban for twelve years and had to be on the run for two years before a crazy Bellatrix Lestrange murdered him. Occasionally he even wondered what would have happened if he taken Draco Malfoy's hand eight years ago, if he might have been able to help him somehow.

That was something else that had changed, Harry realized. He and Draco (when had Malfoy become Draco to him?) seemed to have struck some kind of an understanding. Harry had to admit that he was proud of the Slytherin. It had taken a lot of Gryffindor courage to turn his back on his family and side with the light. Now their relationship was less about fighting with each other, although it did still happen occasionally, and more about having a quiet understanding of each other. Harry supposed that he was probably one of the only other people who knew what Draco had gone through under the fear and influence of Voldemort, just as Draco was the only person who really knew understood what having the Prophecy hanging over Harry was like, how obsessive and insane Voldemort really was.

Harry was thankful that the other Hogwarts students hadn't had to experience the same things he and Draco had, but he did find it lonely sometimes. Not even Ron and Hermione knew everything that had transpired between him and Voldemort. They did their best, but sometimes Harry needed to get away, to be able to process everything that had happened without prying eyes, people expecting him to be the Golden Boy, the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived. It was exhausting.

Harry sat on the floor, leaning against the wall of the Astronomy Tower and staring out across the forest and the lake, the moon reflecting off the water, sifting through everything he could bring himself to pick up and handle tonight, when he heard quiet steps on the stairs. Harry glanced over and was surprised to see a platinum blonde Slytherin hovering by the stairs.

Draco had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his trousers, shirt collar unbuttoned and his green and silver tie was mysteriously absent. Harry was sure he hadn't seen Draco in public in such a state of undress in years. Granted, it was also two in the morning, so there weren't many people out and about to observe him. Harry blinked as he realized that he was openly ogling Draco Malfoy.

Draco slowly walked toward Harry. He wasn't sure his presence was welcome considering their history, but Harry hadn't told him to leave, either. A shiver of excitement slid its way down Draco's spine when he realized that Harry was scanning him head to toe. Draco stubbornly ignored the dark voice that said Harry was probably doing it out of suspicion.

Draco sat down next to Harry, pulling a roll wrapped in a napkin out of his pocket and handing it Harry as he did so. "You missed dinner," he said by way of explanation.

Harry looked at him quizzically but accepted the roll. "You noticed?" he asked quietly.

"Of course I noticed, the seven year habit of insulting your every move does occasionally have it's perks."

Harry found himself somewhat pleased that Draco had noticed his absence and actually seemed…concerned? Was that right? Maybe he was reading too much into this. "How did you know where I'd be?"

Draco rolled his eyes and snorted. "I have a fully functioning brain, Potter, and unlike you, I know how to use it."

Harry grinned. The insult lacked its usual venom and, Harry hoped, it contained a bit of fondness. For Merlin's sake, he was being ridiculous. There was no way Draco Malfoy, of all people, was gay. No way.

The two boys sat next to each other in silence for a while, staring out at the expanse of night before them. Harry picked absentmindedly at the roll. He found he hadn't had much of an appetite since the War.

"Eat the roll before I shove it down your throat," Draco said calmly, still staring out at the landscape before them. "Don't think I didn't notice you just playing with your food at breakfast."

Harry felt his cheeks turn pink as he pulled a piece off the roll and placed it in his mouth.

They stayed there until the sun rose over the trees, giving the autumn leaves a warm glow, as Harry picked at the roll and Draco glanced over at him every so often, making sure he was really eating it.