Draco's POV

He ran from the compartment, his face burning with embarrassment, just as it had been for the past half hour. Or, more accurately; since it had been since Potter had stretched, showing the tanned, toned body that had been previously hidden beneath his robes.

'Merlin, he's so fucking hot.'

Draco felt like he'd been kicked back in time, to when he'd first realised he was into guys, when he'd first found the bloody Golden Boy attractive. He wished Potter, with his stupid smirk and tousled hair, his fucking gorgeous meadow eyes and sculpted features, just wasn't quite so perfect.

The Slytherin pulled himself up into one of the last carriages in the procession. He was alone, thank Merlin. Draco turned to the door and slammed it shut, something you weren't supposed to do unless the carriage was full. He needed this time alone, to think in the silence and prepare himself for what was sure to be a less than warm welcome back to Hogwarts.

Since he was alone, Draco dropped his usual straight posture, the mask he kept firmly attached to his face discarded for later use. He slumped down onto one of the seats, lying with his face to the ceiling, his eyebrows scrunched together.

'It just HAD to be fucking Potter. Any other bloke would've been better. Anyone.'

He groaned, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He had been over this crush. It  hadn't bothered him for almost two months; longer than ever before since it had first popped into existence at some-point in second or third year.

He'd been almost certain it had finally passed, after four long, gruelling years of its non-stop torture.

He snorted.

Of course not. He wasn't lucky enough for miracles like that to cross his path. Ever since the Rejected Handshake, all that time ago back in first year, Draco had been almost obsessed with the stupid git. The unsuccessful friendship could have been the catalyst for a huge change in his life had it went differently. Maybe he wouldn't have become a Death Eater, maybe he wouldn't have had such faith in the ways of his family for so long.

Maybe he wouldn't be in this situation now, conflicted between two opposing sides.

The aristocrat glared at the ceiling of the carriage as if he could melt it with his eyes. It all just wasn't fair. He never asked to be born into a family who had sided with the Dark Lord, he never asked to be tortured and beaten into submission, he'd also never asked to find a fucker like Potter attractive.

He thought back to what Potter had said in the train.

"Let's put all this behind us.'

'Merlin Potter, that's all I've wanted since forever.'

He'd wanted to scream at the man, punch him in his stupidity, kiss that idiotic face, run his hands through the tousled mop that topped his head. All at the same time.

But, he couldn't.

It wasn't fair. No one deserved to be handed the many horrors of the Malfoy bloodline. Draco didn't deserve happiness. He was too broken by the war, too weak for anyone like Potter to love. Besides, Potter wasn't gay.

"Stupid, bloody Potter," he muttered to himself.
------

Draco lay there for a time, eyes closed, just mulling over his thoughts and preparing himself for the roaring background of the great hall. He only sat up when the carriage drew to a halt and the click and whine of multiple doors opening met his ears.

Malfoy stood, brushed the creases from his robes, adjusted his collar and expertly gelled back hair. He flung the door open with all the swagger of his heritage and stepped nimbly down the stairs. Already, his mask had slid up onto his face; a sneer that almost dared those around him to provoke him.

The castle had been rebuilt since the battle. Any signs of damage were hidden from view, the worst pieces re-constructed.

There were scars that detailed where the battle had taken place and as Draco surveyed the few he could see, images flew through his mind.

Signs of the war lay around him in the faded scorchmarks and uneven surface of the ground. Most of them could've been passed off as runaway magic from students testing to learn, but those who had been there that day knew different.

Draco didn't want to think about the day of the war, but it seemed his mind couldn't help but wander.

He couldn't think about these things just now, they could make him lose his signature Malfoy cool, and that was something he just could not allow.

He joined the procession and made his way into the Great Hall, finding his usual seat between Blaise and Pansy, facing the other tables.

"Took your time," smirked Blaise as Draco sat down.

"Oh, I'm sorry Blaise. I didn't realise you missed me so!" Draco sneered, rolling his eyes at his friend.

He'd known Blaise for years, long before their first year at Hogwarts. They were childhood friends, as were he and Pansy.

'Speaking of Pansy...'

She's been incredibly, uncharacteristically silent since Draco had taken his seat. He glanced her way to see the woman gazing almost longingly at the Gryffindor table, at Hermione.

"Merlin's sake, Pansy! Stop drooling over bloody Granger!" Draco said quietly to her, laughing delightedly as she turned towards him, a panicked expression on her face.

Pansy had recently began crushing on Granger, despite the fact that she was taken by the Weasel. She rolled her eyes "Fuck off, Draco," she spat, a smile tracing her lips as she turned back towards their own table.

She was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly seemed to regain her composure. "Like you can talk anyway. How long has it been now since a certain Golden Boy first caught your eye?" Pansy grinned evilly at his embarrassment.

Crimson crept across his pale cheeks "Oh, bugger off,Pansy." Draco scowled. This was not a laughing matter.

Parkinson chuckled anyway, finding joy in his discomfort. She leaned towards them again "Did you hear who they've got teaching Potions now?" She asked with a grin. Of course Pansy would have the latest gossip. But how much of whatever she had to say would be true?

"Yes Pansy, we've been here for all of five minutes, but sure, we know who the new teachers are." Blaise said sarcastically, his eyes glinting with curiosity despite himself.

Unlike Draco, Blaise seemed unable to conceal his feelings, at least, not in his eyes anyway. Blaise's eyes were always full of emotion, even when his face was set in stone.

Pansy paid him no heed, carrying on as if he'd never spoken in the first place. "There's rumours. Apparently, she's been to Azkaban!" She positively beamed, ecstatic to have uncovered such a priceless piece of information.

A teacher? An ex-Azkaban teacher? Surely not. McGonagall wouldn't allow it, would she? Draco felt a flare of panic in his chest. What if he knew them? It was possible that they were a DeathEater if they had been in Azkaban....

"Shove off ,Pansy. As if she'd be allowed to teach after being in Azkaban!" He scoffed incredulously.

Pansy opened her mouth to answer when a sudden hush settled over the hall.

The Sorting was about to begin.

------

By the end of the Sorting, Slytherin had gained a few new members. Draco noted with a kind of relieved sadness that there were no longer empty spaces at any of the tables where those who had died in the war had once sat. He decided not to dwell on the subject.

As expected, the chatter rose to a crescendo in the hall as the last students took their seats and looked about excitedly; the first years wondering what magical things could possibly take place next.

Draco grinned at their ignorance. They never seemed to anticipate the grandeur of the feast.

The Slytherin only half listened as a hush once more settled like a thick blanket over the hall and Professor - No, she was Headmistress now - McGonagall began to speak. He picked out a few key details as she spoke, but most of it was the same as always and directed mostly towards the new first years. Draco listened intently however to the small piece of information she gave to the eighth years.

"This year, due to the terrible misfortunes of the last which I'm sure you are all quite aware of, we have invited the previous seventh years back for an eighth year. They will be acting as normal students and will not be excused from any of the usual school activities."

Her eyes flicked almost unnoticeably towards The Golden Trio.

"These eighth years will not be staying in the usual given house dorms in order to prevent the occurrence of overcrowding issues, but rather in a separate area of the castle. Eighth years, I will lead you to this place after the feast." She paused again, probably to allow her words to sink in.

Draco's curiosity was now peaked, he began to pay closer attention.

These new dorms would most likely be sorted by gender, rather than by house. There were usually six to eight students per dorm, so the chances of being paired with Potter were decidedly low.

'Since when did anything ever go in my favour, though?' Draco thought venomously.

The Headmistress ended her speech. "And now I won't keep you waiting any longer. To the feast!" She said, voice rising slightly in volume at the end.

All across the hall, gasps of awe and surprise sounded from the first years, mingled with the laughing and cheering of everyone else.

Food appeared suddenly on the tables, a banquet unmatched by anything Draco's father could ever have conjured at his exquisite parties.

Draco glanced up once at the Gryffindor table, locking eyes momentarily with Harry before quickly averting his gaze. He refused to think about that insufferable git just now. He sighed into his plate as he piled it with the many delicacies on the table.

Malfoys did not get flustered by insolent Gryffindors.

~~~~~~
I might change this story to 1st person view from now on, I haven't decided yet.

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