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A Valentine's Day Massacre	By : pittwitch Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 11077 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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~*Class Reunion*~

My stomach clenched as I approached Hogwarts Castle again. Even after all those years, the memories still overwhelmed me. Frozen in space, I stared for a long time at the spot where Hagrid had stood with my limp body in his arms. Automatically, my eyes searched the turrets until they found the Astronomy Tower, and then they traced a morbidly graceful pattern to the grass where Dumbledore’s crumpled body landed all those years ago. I turned to look down the long slope to the gates, the gates where Snape tried so hard, in his own twisted way, to force me to see past the blatantly obvious. I wondered if I had learned his lesson after all, if I had learned any lessons at all. So lost in my own morose thoughts, I did not sense Draco’s presence until he spoke, his urbane tone soft, yet mocking.

“Seeing ghosts out here?”

He stood so close that I could feel the warmth from his body even though no contact between us existed. At least no physical contact existed between us yet. Although I knew he’d be here, he startled me. His voice washed over me as an ice cold shower.

“Not unless you’ve recently become one,” I quipped, compelling my voice to be light and teasing, a complete contrast to what I felt in my heart, as I spun to face him.

“No.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. He didn’t argue, or disagree, just simply stood there looking back at me with those icy eyes. Suddenly transported backwards in time, I was no longer the hallowed hero, merely an awkward teenager again, uncertain and anxious.

“Shouldn’t we go inside?” My voice quivered slightly. I gulped, then tried my schoolboy grin.

“Probably,” he answered softly, stepping aside and motioning with a graceful, gloved hand.

I brushed past him, our shoulders grazing against each other briefly, sending a cascade of warmth over my entire body. My cheeks flamed instantly. At least he entered behind me, not seeing my discomfort over such a trivial thing.

“WELCOME back, Harry!” The ghostly form of Sir Nicholas floated down the staircase to greet me.

“Hello, Sir Nicholas.” I ducked my head to hide my cheeks. “And thank you.”

“You’re most welcome. And who is with you?” Sir Nicholas floated around me. When he spied Draco, I heard his disdainful sniff. “Ah, Mr. Malfoy, welcome to you as well.” The ghost’s tone was respectful, but not warm.

I instantly wondered if Draco met this mixed welcome everywhere he went. “Thank you, Sir Nicholas.” The blond prat bowed as befitting his station and the former station of the noble ghost.

With a curt nod which nearly dislodged his partially affixed neck, Sir Nicholas drifted into the Great Hall, right over the top of the Gryffindor table, as usual.

I chuckled, observing mostly to myself, “Some things never change.”

“Most things never change,” Draco commented dryly as he stepped lightly into the Hall behind me.

“Harry!” A voice rang out from the crowd of already assembled outside adult chaperones, a voice filled with warmth, gaiety, and true pleasure at seeing me.

My face responded in kind. “Hello, Neville!” I answered as my now much taller friend hugged me enthusiastically. “How are you?”

“Fine, Harry, just fine. I’m so happy you agreed to chaperone. It will make the night go much faster,” Neville gushed.

“Hello, Deputy Headmaster.” Draco’s cool voice drew my attention away from our reunion.

“Hello, Draco. I’m happy you graciously agreed to chaperone as well.” Neville’s tone, while not as friendly, was cordial, but definitely cooler than my own reception.

“Anything for Hogwarts—” Draco paused, removing his black kid gloves inside the warmth of the building. “And the children, of course.”

“Of course,” Neville readily agreed, taking my arm and practically dragging me away from our former classmate.

I chanced a glance over my shoulder, spying a smugly smirking Malfoy standing alone, watching me. I made nice with everyone who vied for my attention that night, smiling and voicing vague platitudes, as Draco faded in and out of my line of sight. We finally sat down for the feast, and I watched my sons and Ron and Hermione’s children at their table. I lifted my heavy goblet to my lips, and Draco’s eyes glued to mine, startled me to the point of nearly dribbling my drink down my chin. Clumsily, and much to my chagrin, I dropped the goblet and dabbed at my damp lips, lips that were now tingling. I dropped my eyes to the white linen tablecloth. I glanced up again to find Draco watching his own son, ensconced like royalty at the center of the Slytherin table. He looked exactly like his father had once looked so long ago. Only then, I realized Draco sat in his godfather’s seat — Snape’s seat. My heart clenched in agony with so many memories once more. I lost my appetite. I toyed with my food until the tables magically cleared. McGonagall stood, magnified her voice, and opened the dancing. I sat still for a few minutes more, just watching the floating pumpkins with their crazed, carved out faces.

“Care to join me in the memorial blasting of the rose bushes, Potter?” Draco whispered sultrily in my ear.

I quashed my own sneer. “Memorial?”

“Snape enjoyed that task more than others.”

“How could you tell?” I swiveled in my seat to look up at him.

He chuckled darkly. “I just could.” He smiled at me.

This time, his mirth seemed to breach the glacial barrier around his eyes.

“Care to join me?” He motioned towards the doors.

I shrugged, not realizing what harm could come from chasing the amorous from the bushes. As we passed through the doors, I spied the visitors’ carriages parked tidily in the courtyard, and the memory of Snape gleefully banishing young couples from their protection washed over me. I stopped -- staring at the assembly, reminiscing. I saw Snape and Karkaroff as plain as if they were still standing there, arguing. The boy I saw with Draco at platform nine and three-quarters sidled up to his father and me.

“Hello, Father.” Scorpius sounded just like Draco.

“Hello, Scorpius. How are your classes?” Draco sounded just like his father.

“Fine, thank you, sir.”

“Scorpius, may I introduce you to my classmate, Harry Potter?” Draco dropped his hand to his son’s shoulder, turning him to face me. The boy held out his hand dutifully.

“How do you do, sir?” he replied politely, his voice cultured, refined, well-schooled.

“Harry Potter, my son Scorpius.”

I sensed Draco’s non-verbal challenge. My memory heard his whispered words from the train station once more, Have you learned?

“I am very pleased to meet you, Scorpius.” I took his hand, warmly, trying to be friendly. There seemed to be a spark of vitality lurking in his darker blue eyes; a spark that I wanted to fan into a full-blown fire — a fire perhaps to temper his life into stronger steel than that of his ancestors.

“Thank you, sir. It is a great honor to meet you.” Scorpius bowed respectfully.

I didn’t know if I should be impressed or worried.

“Uncle Harry?” Rose’s sweet voice called from behind us. I turned around and opened my arms to her. She bounded into my embrace, clearly happy to see me. “Where’s Aunt Ginny?” she asked as she tried not to stare at either Malfoy.

“She went to your mum’s Historical Society thing.” A true smile warmed my face.

“OH!” Awareness crossed her Hermione-like face. “I forgot about that.”

“It’s okay, Rose.” I chuckled, patting her arm. “I was glad Professor Longbottom asked me to chaperone. He gave me the perfect reason not to go to the Historical Society function.”

We all laughed softly.

Draco arched one eyebrow at his son. Scorpius stepped up to Rose, and with a courtly flourish, he requested her company on the dance floor.

Impressive, I thought. The children scurried back to their celebration.

Methodically, Draco and I began to roust the upperclassmen from their clandestine assignations. As we neared the gardens, Draco stopped, staring down across the darkened lawns.

“I …” he started, then his voice trailed off uncharacteristically.

“What?” I was curious. What could he possibly say?

“I miss him.”

“I miss them.”

“Yes, all of them.”

We continued through the gardens, chasing more students back inside.

“I almost wish we could dock points as well.” I flashed him a grin, an offering.

“That would be helpful, I suppose.” He halted again, next to a stone bench. “Ever wonder how many students tasted their first kiss here?” he offered philosophically as he gracefully arranged himself on the cold stone.

“Not really.” I sat next to him, facing the school. That bench was a good vantage point.

“I did.” He stared off into the darkness, not bothering to look for students.

“Wonder?”

“No, tasted my first kiss here – on this bench. Then Snape swooped down and sent us running for cover,” he grumbled good-naturedly while staring at his hand now resting on the pale gray stone.

I never expected to use good-naturedly to describe anything Draco did. He surprised me. A dark part of my heart wanted to hate him, wanted an outlet for the rage buried deep within me. I expected a convenient target. I didn’t get one that night.
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A Valentine's Day Massacre