New York, New York

Overview: When Harry's classmates are asked to return for an 8th year of schooling in preparation for Ministry positions, there was little idea that it would take place in New York City. But not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality, and Draco must come to terms with his beliefs one way or another. HP/DM slash. Not explicit until later chapters. M for language and sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor am I affiliated in any way with JK Rowling and her creations.

"Please meet at concourse six on 10 September by noon. Your flight will depart at approximately one o'clock PM. Have all non carry-on luggage networked by Floo prior to this time." Hermione finished reading the pamphlet and looked up at her friends with interest. "Do you realize what this means? The ministry's finally putting forth the effort for tolerance! Think about it, when's the last time you've heard of anything this muggle-friendly being coordinated by the school?"

"Dunno, just sounds like an extra year of classwork to me," Ron muttered, hardly as excited as his girlfriend obviously was. He scratched at his belt line before glancing over at what she was reading. "D'ya figure Shacklebolt wants to make up for all the crud that happened last year or what?"

"Call it collateral damage if you must, but really, Ron, this is a trip of a lifetime! An extra year of training, let alone in the States? When's the last time you've been anywhere but the Great Hall since you were eleven?"

"I travel all the time! Between Bill and Charlie we've gotta have racked up 10,000 fly-all-the-time-thingies or whatever you call them---"

"--- Frequent Flier Kilos," Hermione interjected.

"Yeah, those things, whatever," Ron trailed off. It was hard for Harry not to laugh, considering this was an incredibly exciting offer, but leave it to his friends to distract from the idea. Hogwarts was pairing up with the ministry to offer a specialized "eighth year" of training in junction with the Junior Auror program, and it was going to be held in New York--- there was little chance that he was going to pass up the opportunity. The top of the pamphlet Hermione was emceeing announced that it was an effort to "better the understanding of the muggle world for recent graduates of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" and was a "prototype training course that would enrichen and expand upon previous learnings and blahblahblah"--- basically, it was mandatory for any future ministry career. And that was one thing that wasn't going to go wrong for Harry this time.

"What do you think, Harry?" Hermione asked, ignoring Ron's current disinterest. "I'm certainly considering it, if I can manage the expenses . . . "

Harry motioned for the pamphlet. "It says here that we'd only have to pay for personal costs, I mean, I'll cover you Hermione," he said, reminding himself that he still had more than enough of a family savings in Gringotts to last him the next ten years.

She looked at her friend with disgust. "Don't be silly, Harry, I can make the money over the summer. You've already done enough of saving our arses, you don't need to be doing much else. Except going. What do you say?"

Harry looked at Ron, who was now seated comfortably in the nearest armchair. This was the first time they'd all gotten together for the summer, between Ron and Hermione visiting with relatives and Harry moving the last of his belongings out of the Dursley's place (not that there was much in his room to begin with). He couldn't even think where he would be right now without them, especially after last year. Ever since his first year at Hogwarts, Ron and Hermione had meant the world to him. They were even contemplating getting a place together, once everything settled down.

"I think it's a great idea," he eventually grinned. "C'mon, mate, don't leave us hanging without you," he said to Ron, who grumbled.

"I guess--- I mean it sounds like a wicked time, but I was looking forward to finally getting into the ministry with my dad, you know? Not another year of school all over again. For all we know, we'll have Slughorn in charge or something," he complained, sounding very tired at the idea of another "club" party.

"I highly doubt that Slughorn will relocate, especially to the States," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I can't imagine any levelheaded Slytherin for that matter attending. There's just too much irreparable damage to patch up here."

"Yeah, well, don't jinx it 'Mione."

"Think about it Ron. Would you be caught dead in another country after your family attempted a near holocaust on muggleborns? There's something called laying low, after all. That leaves out the majority of Slytherins, and thus anyone you particularly hate. Now will you please agree to go with us?" she sighed, letting her arms drop to her sides.

"Errrhhn."

"What was that?"

"Maybe." Ron looked down at his lap, examining the seam in his pants, which probably needed to be repatched soon. Hermione obstructed his view as she flopped down in his lap. "Please?" she asked, managing the best helplessly adorable face she could. Harry thought this scene was a little strange, but that was just because he was still adjusting to the fact that his two best friends were now romantically involved.

"Fine, fine, I'll go. As long as I get the window seat on the airplane." Hermione semi-squealed as she hugged Ron, and Harry cracked another grin. This was going to be the most interesting year he'd had yet, and it would no way involve anything remotely close to Death Eaters, basilisks, or the Dursleys.

"But I swear, if I even catch sight of Zabini or Malfoy or any of those shit-fucks I'm throwing a good one right at their teeth," Ron cursed in a rather hilarious fashion, as Hermione currently had a death-grip around his neck and the majority of his words were constricted.

"Whatever you say, mate," Harry laughed to himself.

- - - - -

The summer passed with ease as Harry prepared for the upcoming "school" year in New York. If there was one thing he wasn't looking forward to, however, it was the separation from Ginny Weasley that would ultimately mean they wouldn't see each other until the holidays. Sure, they could manage, but Harry was worried that her final year at Hogwarts would mean distractions--- and distractions were bad. He wasn't much of the jealous type, but he was far too protective for his own good (and sometimes, too protective for anyone else's good), and without him there, he was worried she might run into trouble. Like other boys. She'd already dated around more than Lavender Brown by the time she was fifteen, and that honestly worried him. What was to say she wouldn't forget about him when he was thousands of kilometers away?

Harry was jogged back to reality when he was hit in the face with a pillow. "C'mon saviour of the world, wake up, we're off to the airport today," Ron said in a crackled voice that suggested he'd just woken up as well. Harry groaned. "I wasn't asleep, you git." Well, at least not entirely. He'd been having less than satisfactory dreams for the past week.

"Up, boys! It's seven-thirty!" called a hurried Molly Weasley from the hall. "There's bangers and eggs on the table downstairs. Hermione's already done." She carried on down the hallway collecting the last of the floor-strewn socks and underwear that needed to be washed for the trip by yesterday. Ron and Harry looked at each other and shrugged. They could do without for a few days.

"I'm gunna see if I can get my broom on the plane," Ron commented, going through some of the things under his bed while still laying on top. Harry smirked. "Don't count on it," he replied, thinking about the restrictions airlines usually enforced. Not to mention it was a magical device. That would surely catch the attention of the workers x-raying their luggage.

"Well, how else am I getting my stuff over the Atlantic?" Ron asked, eyes still slightly closed from the threat of falling asleep again.

"The pamphlet said to drop it all off at the Leaky Cauldron, and they'd get it over by Floo," Harry reminded Ron. "Read any of it, mate?"

Ron flopped back on his bed, surrounded by the flashing orange uniforms adorned on his many Quidditch posters. "Not really. Figured 'Mione would take care of that part." Harry sighed to himself. At least some things were the same as they'd always been, even if it was only Ron's lazy arse shutting out anything labled as "necessary". He'd heard Hermione tell him earlier in August that she was "absolutely baffled" as to how Ron would actually get an entry level job at the ministry with his habits, but that was in the midst of one of their squabbles that they tended to have every other day. Harry couldn't help but agree with her, though. If Ron really wanted a position, he was going to have to treat this thing seriously. They all were.

"BOYS! UP!" Molly yelled from the next floor down. Harry flung the covers off and sat up wearily. "Be down in a second, Mrs. Weasley," he called out. "Blimey, Ron, don't go back to sleep," he said, as his friend gave a light snore.

They'd finished up rather quickly (once the rest of the family had effectively pulled Ron up from his morning coma) and gathered in the living room before double-checking their baggage. The Burrow was much less lively than it had previously been, as George was living on his own since Fred had passed, and Ginny had left for Hogwarts the week before. If that wasn't a depressing goodbye, Harry didn't know what was. He'd already lost more friends than he could imagine in the past year, and he wasn't prepared to lose the only girl he'd ever grown to love as more than just a friend. More than anyone, though, it was Mrs. Weasley who looked as though she was about to cry. "I have you in my home all summer long, and you're leaving me again like every year? What am I supposed to do with you three?" she smiled, keeping back obvious tears. "Here you are, adults already--- oh, just come here---" she said, moving into a group hug, which was held for a little longer than it comfortably should've. The three smiled at each other in a light hilarity. "Promise me you'll all look out for each other, I don't want to hear from McGonagall that you've all run into the mafia or--- or kidnapped by, oh, I don't know, doxies, just---"

"Mom, I think we got it, we're not first years," Ron interrupted.

"YOU especially. You better write home, Ronald, or I'll have to call in the Department of Unspeakables on your arse," she warned. Hermione laughed. "I think we can take care of him, Mrs. Weasley, he made it through Hogwarts at the very least."

"Barely," Harry jokingly muttered under his breath. There was a mutual laughter from all but Ron.

And before much else had transpired, they had apparated to London and dropped off their luggage accordingly. They each were allotted a carry-on bag, which they were to place their wands in for the entirety of the flight--- the employees at the metal detectors and security checks were Confunded, making it very convenient for their otherwise suspicious looking "sticks" to make it through. Harry watched as more of his past classmates filed into the terminal, more than he'd actually expected would show up. In fact, he counted more than twenty recognizable faces, all carrying boarding passes and looking incredibly confused in the midst of the muggle transportation system.

"Neville!" Hermione shouted, waving him over in their direction. "I was hoping you would come with us!" Ron quietly mimicked her words in a distorted high-pitched tone, and Harry didn't say anything. It seemed as though he was having a hard time adjusting to the fact that they were actually here.

"Oh, hey Hermione, guys," he panted, his large backpack landing on the ground with a thud as he stripped it off his shoulder.

"What's got you so sweaty? Run here or something?" Ron started, an eyebrow raised.

"Actually, I did. Am I late? I lost the pamphlet that had the information on it, so I had to guess . . . "

"You're fine--- oh, Neville, did you ever get back to Margaret?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, I did, she said she would be prepared to rent the place out by next June, if we wanted."

Ron looked up from his slouching stupor. "Rent the place? What place?"

"You're joking, right?" Hermione asked. "We talked about this two weeks ago!"

"What did we talk about?"

"Neville said his neighbor was willing to rent out a flat in Canterbury, don't you remember?"

Ron was turning a slightly saturated color. "No. Are you planning to live with Longbottom or something?"

"We were, Ron, if you'd been listening! You, me, Harry . . . " Who was purposefully staying out of this.

Harry didn't listen much. It was just another argument, like they'd been having all summer. He had to wonder how they had any continuity in their relationship with all the fighting they did. Of course, they'd always been fighting, for as long as they'd all been friends, but never to this degree. At least it would sort itself out. Eventually.

He was busy watching the busy pace of the terminal pedestrians before he noticed a particularly unexpected group proceed from the escalators. There was no way he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

Hermione and Ron momentarily stopped their verbal wrestling match and looked in the same direction. "No fucking way," Ron murmured, staring at the group. "I thought you said it would be social suicide to show their bloody faces around here, after all of that---"

"I--- I mean, it is . . . or at least should be . . ." Hermione trailed off.

Harry watched with intensity as the four Slytherins made their way to the seating area, none of who gave any acknowledgement or greeting to the already present twenty-something students. A glance at Draco Malfoy was accompanied by a sharp pang in Harry's stomach; he knew that alliances were leveled out by now, but the idea that Malfoy had been something of a Death Eater brought up a rage in the back of Harry's mind. Who the fuck did he think he, or anyone else, was, showing up with the rest of the 8th years?

Blaise Zabini took a seat, and checked his (assumingly platinum) watch. " . . . and as to why we have to take muggle transportation, I'll never know." Harry was able to catch on to a portion of their conversation, albeit quiet. All of them, Malfoy, Zabini, Parkinson, and Greengrass, were dressed unsurprisingly well, and Harry even took notice of Malfoy's dragonhide carry-on. "It's not like we need any ministry connections. Well, Parkinson, maybe, but the rest of us . . . " Zabini elbowed Malfoy when he failed to comment. Harry couldn't hear what was asked, but Malfoy merely nodded. He didn't make eye contact with Zabini, at the very least.

"Oy, Zabini, planning on terrorizing the Americas too? Or d'you just want a cut of Yank girls to stick it in?" Ron called out, leaning behind Harry to get a good view. "Oh, no, no no, Ron, no . . ." Hermione whispered. The Slytherins looked up, Blaise immediately registering what was just said.

"Like you've got any right to say that, frecklefuck," Zabini answered, looking incredibly aroused. "We're here for the same reason you are, assuming you're not running away to elope that mudblood of yours in a country as trashy as the US."

Harry had to hold Ron down as he reached for his wand, which thankfully, was stowed in his carry-on. "Say that again, Zabini, and I'll rip your balls off---"

"--- Because you don't have any yourself?" Zabini said sharply.

"FUC---"

And then both fell silent, at first unnoticeably, but then very ostensibly so. Harry immediately noticed that Malfoy was nonchalantly placing his wand back into his bag. Whatever had just happened was a display of nonverbal magic, to say the least. "Calm down, the both of you, I've got a migraine and you're not helping it get any better. Yes, Weasel, I said shut the fuck up," Malfoy added when Ron made an aggressive motion toward him.

Harry was slightly taken aback. He didn't expect Malfoy to remedy the situation at all, but now that he realized it, Malfoy was the least excitable of any of them at the moment. Pansy Parkinson shot Ron a disgusted look and turned to praising Malfoy over his momentary display of aristocracy, and Greengrass stood up to take a look around the bookstand.

Now that he really got a good look, Malfoy was looking a little better than he was last year, though he still showed signs of weariness. Between catering to his family and whatever cleanup was necessary after Voldemort was defeated, Harry assumed there was a lot of shit he had to go through. Not that he cared, of course, because he still hated the Slytherin with a passion that was unlikely to burn out anytime soon. But with any luck, he'd be able to stay as far away from him on this trip as possible.

As the plane started to board, the last of the Hogwarts graduates managed to catch up, shoes in hand. Luna Lovegood was dressed in the plainest frock Harry had ever seen with a pair of bright yellow galoshes--- apparently her idea of muggle clothing. But it suited her, naturally. "I'm sorry I'm late, the men at the counter wanted to look at my shoes," she explained in a dreamlike manner. "I said they could have them, if they really wanted, I had more. But I think they were checking for mangle-grop lice."

Harry couldn't help but smile. Leave it to Luna to make even the worst day a little brighter.