Potter!

The survivors

The great hall fell silent after the dark lord fell to the floor. It was almost as if they expected him to appear again just as Harry had moments before.
The deafening silence penetrated Draco's ear drums as his body slowly went through realisation. The dark lord was dead.

It seemed the rest of the depleted crowd in the great hall were going through the same, including Harry, the saviour himself, who was visibly panting, clutching Draco's wand in one hand, and the elder wand in the other.

Draco watched him, his slender figure shaking slightly as he eyed the dark corpse a few metres away. He wanted nothing more than to run and hug Potter in that moment, knowing it was such an un-Malfoy thing to do. Nevertheless Harry looked so deflated, so drained and like he was about to faint. But then again, he did just die and come back to life, Draco thought.

By the time his brain had decided he was going to go speak to Potter, he was lost in a crowd of congratulating witches and wizards who surrounded him with fame like he was Gilderoy Lockhart in Flourish and Blotts all those years ago.

Draco sniggered at the thought. That was the day he'd first thought of Harry as attractive, in his head of course. He'd beaten himself up about it afterwards. As he'd watched him, he'd admired his green eyes, the way his lips parted in wonder and how he'd shot up over the summer.
His admiration didn't last long, however. He had to keep up Malfoy appearances around his father, and he wasn't sure how many times he could make up mad excuses after he had growled, "Stop staring at Potter."

Draco sat in the corner of the great hall as the healers and survivors bustled around him, none of them taking any notice of him, which is the way he wanted it.

Voldemort's body was moved away from the others. Harry saw to that. And Draco didn't feel any pang of guilt or sadness for his dead master, or the fact that his parents must be angry or worried, most likely angry that he did not go with them. He didn't intend to see them again, at least not his father. He had suffered too much at his hand and it was time that he became an adult.
Being an adult also included setting past differences and grudges behind him. Potter, Granger and Weasley. And Perhaps the whole of Gryffindoor House. He owed them an apology.

Harry was now with the Weasleys, congregating around a body, that Draco assumed was Fred's. A little sinking feeling in his stomach showed him that he was still human and reminded him that this was his fault and that he didn't deserve to be alive, let alone still in Hogwarts amongst the good.

A lump formed in his throat and his stomach convulsed as though he was going to be sick. But, being a malfoy, he swallowed it, pursing his lips and still gazing at Harry.

He wasn't shaking as much now, but the element of anxiety was still there, coated on his skin, on his clothes, and in the fiddling of his wand in his back pocket, as though someone would attack him any moment and he would need to be the protector once more.

Draco felt ashamed that he was on the wrong side for the most of the war. Looking back, he would've much preferred to be sorted into Gryffindor seven years ago. Maybe he could've even been friends with Harry Potter. Become one of the trio that could have been a quartet. No, Draco pondered, that just didn't have the same ring to it. And besides, he didn't have nearly as much courage as them. He was a coward like all of the Malfoy's and probably most of slytherin house when it came to it.

A quick glance around the rest of the stretchers caused the lump to reform in Draco's throat. Professor Lupin lie cold, with his wife by his side. He looked away, pretending that this was all just a bad dream and that he was eleven and none of this mattered. The dark lord had not risen yet, Hogwarts was intact, and he himself was still pure and whole. As if imagining this would reverse time and pull him back to normality.

Nothing would ever be normal again for anyone now.