Healing

This Malfoy does...

Harry hadn't been on the Hogwarts Express. He wasn't at the Sorting and the Great Feast the night of arrival. And Draco noticed that he wasn't at breakfast the first morning either. Draco had walked into the Great Hall and automatically looked to where the Gryffindor table used to be to seek out the raven-haired man before coming to his senses and readjusting his mindset to the new layout of the tables by year. If he didn't know otherwise, he would have questioned whether Harry had even come back to the school to retake his seventh year. He wandered slowly over to the year-eight table, as yet, only occupied by three others. He took a seat beside Blaise, opposite Neville and Pansy.

'Morning, Draco,' said Neville cheerily.

'Good morning, Neville' he replied, in an equally friendly tone.

He noticed Pansy raise an eyebrow.

He hadn't told her about the funerals and how they had stood side-by-side for nearly two weeks. He hadn't told her that Neville, as well as Harry, had defended him at his trial. That Neville had come forward to say that he'd witnessed Draco ordering Crabbe and Goyle not to kill Harry when he went to reclaim his wand. That Neville told the Wizengamot he'd seen Draco sprint from his parents' side when Harry 'came back from the dead', trying to attract Harry's attention so he could offer him his wand, just in case. He hadn't told her that Neville had told the court that he and Draco had stood side-by-side fighting the last few Deatheaters who stubbornly stayed despite Voldemort's demise until they were either captured by the Aurors or they Disapparated away when it became apparent they could never win. He hadn't told Pansy that Neville told the court how he and Draco had tirelessly helped Madame Pomfrey with the injured in the Great Hall during the immediate aftermath until St Mungo's was able to send in their Healers.

Some things don't need saying. Some things bond people in a way that other things cannot.

Draco nursed the coffee that appeared in front of him and idly ate a piece of toast and marmalade as he listened to them discussing their timetables for the day.

The Weasel appeared, looking dishevelled and glassy-eyed, his robes falling off his shoulders and revealing his maroon Weasley jumper; McGonagall had agreed that the year eights should be allowed to wear their own clothes rather than uniform, though she still wanted them to wear their black robes in class. Ron sat next to Neville but barely seemed to take in who he was sitting with. Draco stared as the man swallowed down his tea in apparent haste and stuffed a warm croissant into his mouth without care. He was slightly envious. Malfoys didn't eat croissants. Brioche, yes; croissants, no: they were too messy. He stopped, stock-still for a moment, his back rigidly straight, reassessing that statement, and he wondered why not? So, he reached across the table and took a croissant from the serving platter. Just perhaps, he thought, just perhaps this Malfoy does...

Pansy's eyes widened, even Blaise stopped what he was doing, his mug halfway to his mouth.

'Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?' Pansy asked in astonishment.

Blaise's lips quirked slightly at the corners as Draco, holding eye-contact with her, took a big bite; crumbs and flakes dissipating everywhere. He smiled through his mouthful of buttery sweet French-pastry, utterly satisfied.

Maybe, he thought, he should try 'this Malfoy does' more often!

Weasley disappeared almost as quickly as he'd appeared. He hadn't spoken a word to anyone. And, as if the timing were planned to perfection, Granger came into the Great Hall for her breakfast. She had obviously been to the library as she already carried a bundle of books. She didn't sit with them, choosing to sit alone at the far end of the table and bury her nose in one of her collection. Draco noticed that she looked slightly grey, her eyes a bit puffy, as if she'd not slept much. She ate like a mouse, picking at a slice of seeded loaf and sipping Earl Grey tea as she read. Draco's brow furrowed as he thought back to Fred's funeral: to Weasley's rejection of her; to Harry, stood apart; and he wondered about the Golden Trio, no longer, it seemed, much of a 'trio'.