Oneshots Part One

It Would Just Have to be Enough (Drarry)

Harry didn't want to do this. He couldn't stand the thought of going back to that place, where his friends had suffered and battled and died. He wondered how many now saw Thestrals, wings reaching in the skies. He wondered if they thought themselves insane. He wondered if they struggled in sleep as he did. He didn't want to go back, but Professor McGonagall had asked. What Professor McGonagall asks, she gets, especially when she acted as his mother. When she was there for- not only him- but everyone.

And besides- he might be there. Harry breathed and shook his head. He shouldn't be behaving like this, he's and adult, a Quiddich champion. He's 'Mr Potter' now, famous young man who saved potentially thousands of young lives. Why is he suffering from petty school-girl crush? It's pathetically ridiculous.

The train rumbled under him, his private cabin- one of his own choosing- and he breathed a smile at the memories. A small cluster of children, no more than eleven years old, bustled by his window. They whispered, gawped, pointed and he waved at them cheerfully. They giggled and moved along, blushing. He shook his head fondly as head as they left, and felt proud that those students would be able to go about their studies without the lingering fear of He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named.

A small knock on the glass window drew his attention, and he smiled brightly- expecting more students. Professor McGonagall looked back at him, stern face, and her breath fogging up the glass. She let herself in as he stood up, out of habit, and she smiled.
"Potter," she greeted, and he hugged her. "I thought I might find you here".
"Professor, I got your letter," he smiled, and she nodded.
"Clearly. Thank you for coming"
"It's no trouble," he lied.
"I know how this may feel, Potter. I understand your hesitance". Of course she knew that he wasn't sure about this. Professor McGonagall knew everything about her students- if they are happy.
"What would you like me to say?"
"Just some motivation, Harry. You know how scared they were during the battle. Imagine how worried the first years are". She frowned slightly, as if he should already know what to speak to them about.
"'eadmistress," a gruff voice interrupted, a scraggly head of hair poking through the cabin door, "Should be 'rriving soon".
"Thank you," she dismissed, but Harry lit up.
"Hagrid!" he exclaimed, and the giant crouched further to enter the cabin, although the frame seemed to resize for him.
"Oh, 'ello, 'arry!" he smiled, his drawling accent thickening his words. A tear seemed to spring to his eyes. "You're all grown up now, aren't ya?"
Harry smiled, shrugging sheepishly. "How are you, Hagrid?"
"Better now, 'arry. Excuse me, though, gotta do my rounds," and with that, he disappeared, and the frame reshaped.
"How has he been?" Harry asked when Hagrid had disappeared down the corridor.
"He's rebuilding. We all are, Harry," she sighed. "I understand if you don't want to do this-"
"I'll do it," he interrupted. She smiled.
"We'll be there soon, then".

--

Arriving at Hogwarts wasn't what brought back those memories, nor did riding the boats with the first years. It was standing in the back of the Great Hall, excited chattering surrounding from the young teenagers around him, that swept him with nostalgia. "Welcome, students! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts, and I hope the first years will settle in nicely...," McGonagall started. Harry smiled, knowing that the Sorting was next.

His eyes began to travel across the students, to the recently rebuilt walls and extravagant paintings. The night sky bloomed on the ceiling, still bewitched with the illusions of what was before the battle. He wondered what 'Hogwarts: A History' would say now. He sighed, and he eyes travelled to the various lights and eventually to a large chandelier, that couldn't have been there before. An airy, fogged being flew by him and he jumped. It flew by again, and he could have sworn it had tried to pull his glasses off. He took a step back, and finally caught sight of it, pretending to swing off the newly placed chandelier. Messy hair that could have been fiery red, but was now washed out, body now transparent. The Weasley looked down at him, and smiled, waving, silently laughing. Harry smiled back, sniffling, and waved.
"Harry?"
"Huh"
"Mr Potter? Would you like to come up, please?" McGonagall asked, gesturing to the podium. He hadn't been paying attention, and the students had all been sorted.
"Oh, uh, right".
He stepped forward, only stumbling once, and walked through the chairs. A whisper began to simmer across the crowd, suspicious murmuring rising, as he stepped up to speak.
"Uh, hi," he said, and an unseen microphone whined relentlessly, several children wincing in their seats. "Sorry". He looked across the crowd, several children watching him expectantly, others looking around. "Okay, so, new year at school, right? Some are new here, some are coming back, and I understand there's been some speculation floating around about the level of safety at this place. I can assure you, you can sleep easy here. You can relax, and learn to be... whoever you want to be. Now, I'm not saying that everything's going to be okay from now on, just because He is gone. I know what most of you have lost. I know what your sacrifices have been, and I know that this won't fix everything. But it will help. The wonderful teachers at this school will help you to learn, expand, and recover. When you walk these halls, and remember who we lost. Don't, for one second, think that all of you aren't worth fighting for. Lastly, in the brilliant words of a great man: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" he finished, and moved away from the polite, and slightly confused, applause that followed. He headed away from the Hall, and the doors opened for him to leave.

He breathed out, hands shaking, and leant back against the wall. His head rested against the brick, and he could feel it humming gently beneath his skin. He relaxed into the feeling, breathing steadily. "Hey," a voice whispered, making Harry jump slightly. He turned his head, unbelieving of what he heard. He turned his head toward the sound slightly, his heart hammering in his chest.
"Malfoy?" he questioned, his breath still shaking.
"Potter," he replied, nodding slightly. His hair was still slick, platinum blonde, although it was cropped short. He refused to be like his father. Harry could have sworn that he saw a light streak of grey in there somewhere, although he couldn't quite tell in the dull light. He tasted copper.
"What are you doing here?" he asked dumbly, even though he knew the answer. Malfoy's hand seemed to shake as he ran it through his hair, not answering. His clothes seemed unkempt, and duller, and his eyes now lacked the bright blue shine he had once seen in them. Harry wondered what had happened to him.
"I heard what you said in there," he said instead, "Nice speech".

"Thanks," he said gracelessly. It wasn't usual to be complimented by a Malfoy. A Malfoy, who was used to getting what he wanted, no less, whose father had narrowly escaped being locked away in Azkaban for the rest of his pure-blooded days. Harry shuddered.
"Professor McGonagall let me stay on as gamekeeper, after Hagrid became a teacher. Ironic, huh?" he laughed emptily, and seemed to hate himself for even saying it.
"I always liked gamekeepers," Harry muttered, and he knew that Malfoy had heard him when he smiled thinly. "Is it good?"
"I guess, it's alright. I didn't really have any other options, though. Father barely talks to me anymore, since he found out that-. Mother visits sometimes, when he's not there, though," he seemed to drift off, "Why am I telling you all this, Potter? I bet you're a successful, rich, Quiddich player now"
"People have a habit of spilling their life story to me," he smirked, "And well... yeah, I guess. Found out what?"
"That...," he trailed, and his demeanour changed completely. He picked up a broom and continued sweeping the halls manually. "Doesn't matter," he dismissed.
"Malfoy?"
"Go back to your life, Potter," he concluded, turning his back on him. Harry thought about it, he really did. He thought about turning around and wandering out of that castle to the waiting boat. He thought about finding Hagrid and telling him that he was ready to go home. He thought about forgetting any of this really happened. He thought about going home. He thought about going back home to his nightmares and cold, shaking midnight sweats. His flashbacks and trances. His clinically diagnosed post-traumatic stress. He could taste bile.
"Tell me, Malfoy," he demanded instead, and felt strangely like a young child whining for sweets. The blonde man turned to him again, and lifted and eyebrow sharply. "Please," Harry quickly added.
"Since you asked so nicely..." he scoffed, "...no". Harry rolled his eyes and he bowed his head in frustration. "But I can show you," he smirked suddenly, his voice underlying a certain playful audacity. Harry looked up at him confusedly, and Malfoy's mouth was suddenly covering his own. His body jerked upward, in surprise and a suddenly jolt of what had to be lust, and his ears seemed to fill with water. Nothing around them mattered except the feel of Malfoy's hand on his hip, and tongue begging at his lips. Harry suddenly seemed to realise what happened, because he pushed him away desperately.
"That was really corny," Harry breathed, after a beat. Malfoy smirked, his ego boosting. "The students are in the next room, they might hear us" he scolded.
"Scared, Potter?" he smiled- the unmistakable grin of pride- and Harry's face heated. His heart hammered, as the line reminded him of that dark night in the forest.
"Hilarious," he deadpanned. The fluttering conversations of the young students began again, and their stammering exclamations as their food appeared from the tables.
"Let the feast being!" he heard McGonagall shout. It all seemed so far away. Like his ears were filled with water- but he wasn't drowning. Far from it. His back was hot against the icy brick, still buzzing quietly, alive. The blonde approached him again, hands now on either side of him- planted against the wall behind him. Harry settled back into it, and breathed out.
"Is that why your dad doesn't talk to you?"
"He's not my 'dad', he's my father," Malfoy corrected, voice low and growling, "Besides- talking about my father is not what I really want to be doing right now". His eyes were trained on Harry's lips, and it was really getting to him. His mind was flooded with that distraction. How his lips felt. How he felt. Harry didn't want to imagine anything without him in it anymore. Malfoy kissed him again, and he glowed so bright, gentle and poignant. He kissed him as if Harry mattered. As if he was what made the world revolve, but Malfoy had become the only thing he needed to survive. He didn't need money or fame- or even food or water- because Malfoy was everything. They would be what they needed- together.

A/N: I'm not really sure? Enjoy my word vomit okay ily still