Cheers, Potter.

Lo and behold!

Harry's POV

We were sat on the train on our way back to Hogwarts with enough leftovers in our trunks to last us until next Christmas. Or, at least, we would have, if Ron and I hadn't started making our way through the lot the moment we stepped on the Express, much to Hermione's disgust.

"You aren't even hungry, Harry," she protested watching us gorge ourselves with a sickened look on her face.

"I think you'll find that that is why I'm eating, 'Mione," I grinned back, if only to irritate her.

She rolled her eyes in response, not even attempting to hide her disgust at our plain glutton, "You're nervous about seeing Malfoy again."

I almost choked on my spoonful of bubble 'n' squeak as the words registered in my head. I'd been attempting to not think about him or the adorable letters he'd written in his very Malfoy way... to use a muggle proverb, I'd cross that bridge when I came to it. The thing was, I was coming to it at the speed of a magical train, only Hermione's ruthless but simple reminder had jolted me out of the panicked calm I had experienced over the holiday.

I looked at Hermione, hoping to convey in a look that which I knew I'd struggle to word, and she understood, "Listen, Harry, it's bound to be a little awkward. You snogged your 'arch-enemy'," she used air quotes, "and then you go and sod off across the country. He didn't seem annoyed in his letters did he? So if you act like there's nothing to be awkward about, it won't be awkward."

"Yes, Harry, Lord of Discomfort and Angst, just pretend that you're fine and all will be well," Ron mocked with a cheeky smile and a wink in Hermione's direction. At my annoyed expression added, "Chill out, mate, I'm only half joking."

I put my head in my hands and sighed a prayer that it wouldn't be as terrible as I was imagining.

The moment the train pulled into the station my stomach did a summersault and it felt like I might throw up my liver or something. Ron looked more or less the same, but the cold leftovers he ate that probably should have been heated first were the likely culprits of his upset. Hermione, however, not having time for either of our wallowing, had retrieved her bags from the overhead and was already halfway off the train to meet Ginny, Luna and Neville who were waiting at the carriages.

"I'm gonna be sick, Harry," Ron attempted but gained no sympathy from me.

"Not if I beat you to it."

~Ж~

"You know, for a Gryffindor, you sure are a wimp," chided Ginny from across the carriage, "it's only Malfoy."

It was easy for her to say, she'd always been friends with Luna, so when they got together, it wasn't much different apart from the occasional PDA. But she was right, it was Malfoy, the guy I'd admittedly been obsessed with for years, the guy I'd followed around incessantly, the guy I'd professed to be my arch-enemy when Voldemort was still alive and kicking, doing his best to murder me. Malfoy was a boy, a guy, a man, that I'd been clinging to and hanging onto for some sort of relationship whether it was good or bad.

"I have a chance here, Gin," I whispered earnestly, "I don't wanna screw it up."

"You won't," Luna put in with her eternal wisdom, "he's just as nervous as you are,"

"How do you know?" I asked, genuinely.

"I asked him, of course," her grin was comforting, reassuring and I had a sudden confidence to talk to the blonde-haired bastard. Neville, doing his best not to look uncomfortable just gave a tight-lipped but encouraging smile.

~Ж~

Now, I'd been angry before. I suppose that's to be expected, given that I've battled bloodthirsty chess pieces, killed a basilisk, found out my Godfather had been framed for murdering my parents, forced to compete in a deadly Olympics, watched my Godfather be murdered, almost sliced the guy I was crushing on to death, lost countless people to Voldemort and his minions and literally died, but nothing compared to the burning rage I felt after walking into the Great Hall and seeing Draco Malfoy with a split lip and a black eye.

I was so infuriated, in fact, that without thinking, I stormed over to his table where he was helping Cyrus with some assignment and slammed my hands down on the table.

"What is that?" I asked, no greeting even implied.

"Feeling rather tempestuous are we today, Potter?" Came his only reply. I didn't think I could be angrier, but his easy snipe coupled with the one-sided smirk on his face made me want to set fire to something. Preferably the person that did it.

"Malfoy," I spat through gritted teeth.

He stood up and looked me straight in the eye, "Calm down, I bought Connie a broom for Christmas, we've been practicing a lot,"

And just like that the anger fizzled away to nothing but a generic stomach ache once I realised that I'd made quite the scene, "Oh..." I tried meekly.

"Lo and behold," Malfoy said, just loud enough for me and the few closest to us to hear, "Harry Potter, worried about little old me."

As quickly as it had gone away, my anger boiled back up again and I said, this time quieter but with just as much fervour, "Of course I was bloody worried, have you seen your face?"

"No, Blaise has had to put blankets over our mirrors, lest I become enthralled in my reflection, never to be seen again."

And again all of a sudden, my fury was abruptly replaced with something else and in my usual Harry way – without thinking – I kissed him. Hard. For a moment I heard Cyrus' teasing whistle, and then I could hear nothing but my ferocious heartbeat.