Chapter Eighteen

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September 8th 1943

"Surrender you blaggards!"

"Never! Daga daga daga!"

"Is that supposed to sound like a gun? Or an Italian accent? Because it sounds like neither."

Harry smirked to himself as he walked past the Creevey brothers playing with half a dozen or so of their friends on the school playground. "It does so," the youngest, Dennis, protested. "That's the noise a gun makes."

Colin, the elder, made a noise like a raspberry being blown through his lips, and several of the other boys laughed alongside him. "That's the sound a gun makes," he insisted as Harry and Draco strolled on by.

"If any of those boys heard a real gun they would most likely faint," Draco said snootily, but Harry wasn't going to be dissuaded from his good mood.

"Oh come off it Draco," he said, bumping their shoulders together.  "A year or two ago we would have been playing the very same game."

"Italy surrendering is not a game," he said seriously looking ahead, but Harry was still grinning at him from the side, determined.

"No," he said playfully. "But it is bloody marvellous!"

There had been word delivered to the school earlier that day that Italy had officially laid down arms against Great Britain and the United States, bringing them an enormous step closer to ending the war, and Harry was pleased to see the smile creep over his best friend's face.

"We don't know what will happen next," he warned, but his grey eyes were sparkling. The early autumn sunlight was strong despite the leaves beginning to fall from the trees and the air was still warm and balmy, clinging resolutely to summer. It was just over three years to the day that Harry and Draco had arrived in Little Whinging, and while Harry would never have thought they would have still been there, that the war could have gone on so long, he couldn't deny the taste of hope he felt in the air at that moment.

"No," he agreed. "But it's still a good move, it's a step in the right direction. Just think – at this rate the whole affair could be over by Christmas!"

Draco grinned widely at that. "Always such an optimist," he said, and Harry pinched him in his side, earning him a delightful squeal as he hopped out of Harry's reach.

"Get off me you beast," he cried.

"Imagine it though," Harry said, not willing to be distracted long. "Back in London, with our mothers and fathers, wouldn't that be something!"

Draco slipped his hands into his pockets as they turned down one of the lanes, cutting through the woods. "It would be remarkable," he said, breathing out sombrely. "It wouldn't be like it was before though."

"Well no," said Harry, because that was obvious to him. "It'll be better. Because now we're friends."

Draco nodded. "Perhaps mother could persuade the school to let us be in the same lessons still?"

"Absolutely," Harry said with enthusiasm, darting over an old puddle and making his gasmask box bounce on the back of his thigh. "I'll even start taking Latin with you."

Draco laughed loudly. "You're hopeless at Latin," he teased. "You can't string two words together!"

"That's because I haven't tried properly," Harry boasted, walking backwards so he was facing Draco walking behind him. "You'll just have to tutor me."

"There's only room for so many miracles at a time Potter," he drawled, looking at him through his eyelashes. "I think the surrender of Italy will have to suffice for this year."

Harry growled and lunged to tackle him, but Draco used his extra height and dashed away as he barked out a laugh. "Come back here you devil!"

"You'll have to catch me first!" 

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