The Marauders' Sons

"I hate this bloody nonsense! Why do I always fucking show up on time when I know she will be late?"

Draco was a little upset. This however might be considered a misnomer, because when Draco Malfoy is a little upset, comparatively, most people would describe their mood as murderous. He got like that sometimes. Now, however, he was angry because she was late. Again. Like the last time. And the time before that.

Subconsciously he knew why he tolerated it, but he was not about to admit it to himself, and never to her. And if he allowed himself to know, she would find out. After all, he could not for the life of him lie to her. Not that he hadn't tried of course, but she seemed to just know, and in a way no one else knew him. It was frightening to a man like Draco Malfoy to admit that there was a woman out there who held any power over him. He was Draco-Bloody-Malfoy. He was the male equivalent of the walking wet dream. With his silver blond hair, beautifully harsh features, and a decent amount of muscle thanks to Quidditch, he could have his pick of girls, and ones that were on time on occasion, too. But no, he was here, like always, waiting for her, like always.

He could tell himself all he wanted that he the only reason that he did it was that the sex was that good, which it was, but the underlying fact of why it was that good was not to be a subject for thought, let alone discussion. The post-coital cuddling was weird enough as it was, he didn't need to examine why he allowed it. He had even backed off her friends, simply because she asked. The riddle of his relationship with Ginny Weasley was not one he wanted to go into.

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Draco is going to be pissed. Ginny thought as she made her way to the Room of Requirement, late as always. She secretly liked the fact that she could get Draco Malfoy to wait for her all the time, but she only thought that when he wasn't around. When he was around, and she had arrived late, he would make a snide comment about Gryffindor intelligence or something of that nature, and she would answer back, and then they would have sex. There was little room in there for introspective thought. Even afterwards, they just traded barbs back and forth, lying naked together holding each other. As weird and wrong as it all was, she was hooked.

Not that she had any problem with her new addiction. It was something for her to hold on to, something that would be a constant. This war had barely begun, yet the chaos was already starting to set in. Ron hadn't spent an entire summer at the Burrow in two years, Dad was working weird hours, Bill was actually, finally settling down, and now she seemed to be a soldier herself. Everything was happening way too fast for her, and she didn't like it one little bit. But whenever she felt like the world was getting to be just a little too much, or she just missed him, she sent Draco an owl with a date and time, and he was always there. He was something that would never change: devastating good looks, terrible attitude, a penchant for telling the hard truth, biting sarcasm, a misanthropic attitude to rival Snape's and very deep down, a hurt little boy. But all the same, there was hope for him, and while she looked to him for stability because of how unchanging he was, she loved him for that hope.

This crazy, obscene, unnatural, weird love story actually started on the day she discovered the prophecy regarding her first love, Harry Potter...

"Red, you're crushing my ribs," he said as Ginny continued to hold onto him for dear life.

"Sod off, Malfoy, I need this, and you're all I bloody got, so shut the fuck up and hold me!"

"Will you just tell me why I have to deal with this shit, and maybe I'll allow this to continue."

"Oh for fuck's sake, Malfoy! Can't you for one minute be a decent human being? I was with Harry and Luna, but they were talking, and, and," and then she started to cry again, without once looking up at and increasingly frustrated Draco.

"AND WHAT?!?!"

"AND HE IS THE ONLY PERSON WHO CAN KILL VOLDEMORT, ASSUMING HE DOESN'T KILL HARRY FIRST YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKING ASSHOLE!"

There was a few minutes of silence, but then Draco broke it with, "Oh, well, I see."

He was reaching out desperately for something to say when he said it, but when she looked up at him, he realized it was the way wrong thing to say. When people are feeling comforted, the face of said person is not usually the color of a tomato.

"Is that all you can really say? Someone your age, who you know, has the fate of the world on his shoulders and ALL YOU CAN SAY IS THAT!?!? ARE YOU REALLY THAT SELF-CENTERED?!?!

Now thoroughly fed up, Draco decided to fight back.

"Did it ever occur to you, just the once, that it was going to be like that no matter what? The Dark Lord has had it in for the prick since the cradle, and he's still here. That's more than almost anyone else on this fucking planet can say! Besides, you're looking at old Scarhead's archrival. Of all people, I should know better than to bet against St. Potter."

When Ginny finally looked up at him, still in his arms, the anger that was burning in her eyes moments ago, and the sorrow before it, were gone. As a matter of fact, she seemed to actually be amused.

"Did I just hear that?" she asked as their eyes met, "Did I just hear Draco Malfoy admit he was second best?"

Then he did something Ginny never thought she would see him do. He squirmed.

"I never said that."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Did too."

Since this conversation was not going anywhere Draco wanted it to go, Draco suddenly remembered something Tom had told him, and took a page out of his book.

So he kissed her. Hard.

The surprising thing was just how hard she kissed back, and he knew he wasn't thinking of the bed that popped up right after...

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The carriage landed with a hard thud, and truth be told, Harry almost missed riding on top of the thestrals themselves. At least that was a smoother landing. On the other hand, however, having an extremely attractive girl fall on you after the aforementioned landing wasn't so bad. That, and it was warmer.

As they all started to disentangle themselves, the total realness of the situation suddenly hit Harry like a Bludger to the head. He was really here, to really accept the Order of Merlin, and he really had to make a speech. Really.

Suddenly, Harry didn't want to ever leave the carriage, where there were guaranteed to be masses of people waiting to see him outside. He could almost feel the noise of the assembled masses, though he knew they must be below him at this point. He was perfectly fine sitting here and doing nothing for a good few hours. Maybe I can make a run for it. Ooh, I know, I'll Apparate away. All I need now is to figure out how to Apparate...

He must have been transparent about his extreme desire to get out of Dodge, because Hermione seemed to realize how upset he was.

"Don't worry, Harry. You'll be fine."

"Easy for you to say, you're not the main event," Harry grumbled under his breath, though evidently not quiet enough that Luna and Dumbledore, whom he was sitting between, didn't hear.

"Professor," asked Luna, "is there a way for us to protect Harry, without really hiding him? I doubt the public would like if he made him invisible during his speech." It wouldn't have been so funny, had Luna not said it with a deadly serious look on her face.

Since she did, Harry loosened a little bit, kissed her cheek, and whispered, "Never change," in her ear.

Luckily enough, Dumbledore had an idea.

"It seems you have a good idea, Miss Lovegood. I don't suppose it would hurt if I led the way, Harry behind me, with you and Mr. Weasley flanking him, and finally Mr. O'Malley and Miss Granger on the rear guard. That way, Mr. Potter will be visible, yet protected from the...how do you refer to them, fangirls?"

Everyone chuckled at that, and the group finally left the carriage and entered the decrepit little telephone booth that led the way to the Ministry of Magic. It was quite a feat that they all managed to squeeze in together, but Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Dumbledore had something to do with the fact that they all could breathe. As the Atrium started to come into view, Harry's silent question on where all of this would actually take place was quickly answered.

The Atrium was most definitely redone since June. The previously destroyed fountain was restored, but it was changed slightly to reflect the actual reflection of the species. But while the other figures were no longer looking up at the lone wizard with adoration in their eyes, they still seemed slightly submissive to the tall, handsome statue. The witch was at his side, looking out regally, the centaur was behind them looking around with a forceful presence, the goblin was in the forefront with the house-elf, and though the house-elf still looked very submissive to the witch and wizard, which to be fair was accurate, the goblin looked like a surly, which was, once again to be fair, accurate.

The rest of the Atrium looked mostly the same, though there was obviously many, many more people than usual, and the little detail of the head table on a large stage complete with a podium. There were also other tables set for six nearby, though not nearly enough to sit all the people present, but that was to be expected, as the award ceremony was public, with a ball afterwards by invitation only.

As the elevator slowed to a stop, Harry remembered that when he was noticed, there would be a huge commotion, centered on him. It was with a sigh of relief that Dumbledore exited the elevator unnoticed, but then...

"Presenting Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class, Chief Warlock of the Wizards' Council, Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot," called out the herald at the door, "and Harry James Potter, Nominee for the Order of Merlin, First Class, with entourage."

All Hell broke loose.

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While everyone else flinched when the man at the door announced their presence to the entire assembly knowing full well that Harry wouldn't like it, Tom was a little upset for a different reason.

"Like we don't even exist," he complained under his breath. He was not happy he was only in Harry and Dumbledore's "entourage." As far as he was concerned, if there was going to be a riot around Harry, he might as well get to have his name announced. It might have been a little petty of him, but he was not the sort of person to really care.

Meanwhile, there was a rush to the elevator as the entire assembly tried to get a look at the Boy-Who-Lived. Truth be told, Tom wasn't all that surprised that they didn't even manage join the crowd before chaos reigned. After all, Ron was a good six foot two, and Dumbledore was about the same height, if maybe a little taller. So he grabbed Hermione's hand and his wand and watched Harry's back religiously. Or he would have, had Dumbledore not used his considerable presence to scare them a path to the front of the Atrium where Fudge and an assortment of cronies were waiting patiently.

After a very fake greeting between Fudge and the Headmaster, Fudge and Harry exchanged the most awkward of handshakes. Then Fudge made his way to the podium, and proceeded to call order. Dumbledore took a seat at the head table, and Harry, Tom, Hermione, Ron, and Luna took seats that had been reserved for "Harry James Potter and Company." Assholes...

It was then that Fudge began the ceremony.

"In these darkest of times, it is always necessary to acknowledge the accomplishments of those who strive for justice. Those strong-hearted individuals who do more than their part to ensure the survival of our people and our way of life. These special people are the glue that holds our society together, and today we are gathered to honor one of those unique individuals. We are here to honor a young man who faced death, ridicule, and persecution in the name of truth and for the protection of the community. We are here to honor a young man who has stood up to the Dark Lord in person on more than one occasion. Today, we are here to honor Harry James Potter, Order of Merlin, First Class."

And with those words, Harry stood to an earth-shaking ovation to accept his medal. In Tom's opinion, it wasn't a bad looking piece of gold, but Harry wanted nothing to do with it, so he made no comment. He did, however, not help but notice the look on Harry's face as he took the award from Fudge and shook the man's hand. He didn't look happy to be there.

Then the main event of the evening took place, and Harry pulled out his notes and started to talk. Tom was a little disappointed though, because it didn't appear he was going to make any huge mistakes. Damn.

"First, I would like to thank everyone for being here today just for me. Second, I want to thank the Ministry for this honor, but I can't help but think it's a little pointless. I didn't do what I did because I wanted to. I did it because it had to be done, and if not me, then who? This war, and it is a war, isn't about huge examples of bravery. It's about the people who are alive to experience it, and those who aren't. War is awful. The damage a war inflicts almost never ends. I have two friends who never got to know their parents. One, his parents were tortured into insanity after the first war had ended. He can still talk to them, but they don't even realize whom he is. Another never got to meet his father. The first war separated his mother from his father, and then they both got killed. One as an Auror, trying to make the world safe for her son, the other killed an ocean away, as a soldier in a war he already fought. These things shouldn't happen. But they do. They happen everyday. That's why Voldemort must be stopped. Not because we have a huge obligation to the Ministry, or to the country, but because we have an obligation to prevent stories like these from ever being told."

If Harry was looking for affect, he sure got it. The whole crowd hung on his every word, each simple yet elegant, as he told of Tom and Neville. Tom was a little torn, he felt a little naked with this entire assembly knowing his story, but he was eternally grateful that Harry chose not to name names. He didn't realize it, but he had reached Hermione's hand when Harry turned to his mother and father, but he did now, and he gave her a little squeeze. When he dropped Voldemort's name of the crowd, he got a predictable collective flinch, but nothing more. Then the applause came.

Like an approaching swarm, the noise started subtly, but as more people started to come back to recover from Harry's speech, the applause grew. Then everyone stood, and they did so for a good ten minutes.

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I did it.

Harry was unbelievably happy that his speech went through without a hitch. He didn't mind the dancing afterwards in front of the entire assembly, but he had done that before. Public speaking, however, was very much a new thing for the Boy Who Lived. Truth be told, Harry was not one for words. Luna still teased him about how he so unceremoniously asked her to go for a walk with him at the Burrow. This was a major public event that the entire wizarding world would be watching. Needless to say, he was a lot more nervous. As a matter of fact, he was totally terrified. But he did it, and it was done with forever. He even got to get in a little jab at Fudge when the dance was to begin to open the ball. He found Mrs. Fudge's reaction to his inquiry regarding Minister Fudge's "young friend" highly amusing.

Dancing with Luna also proved to be a great deal easier than Parvati. Luna was actually a great dancer, and when he asked, he found out she took lessons as a child. This went a great length to explain her slimness. Since she managed to steer him through the entire ordeal, they both managed to look decent. As it was at the moment, Harry was sitting at the table reserved for him and his "entourage" (he somewhat doubted that Ron and Tom would ever forgive him) with Professor Dumbledore, who was talking with Ron and Luna. He was happy to take in the scenery of it all.

As Harry glanced across the dance floor, he spotted Tom and Hermione, dancing to the slow song currently being played. Truth be told, Harry was not so quick to approve of Tom's intentions toward Hermione. Tom would say he was being a total ass, but that was neither here nor there. To be honest, Tom rubbed him the wrong way, yet he still liked the guy--after a while at least. Tom was an abrasive, sneaky, slightly bitter guy, but it was the small little glimmers of humanity that he sometimes showed that let him be at ease with their relationship. Hermione seemed to be the only one who saw most of them, but he had seen some, like the immediate forgiveness Tom bestowed when he discovered Sirius's fate.

At the moment, he was displaying another. Hermione was resting her head in his chest, and he had his hands around her waist, but it was the small smile that he had on his face that made Harry stop for a minute. Tom was not much of a smile-er. He smirked, grinned, and most of the time glared, but Hermione seemed to be the only one to manage a solid happy look on his face. Hermione, Harry assumed, had a similar look on her face. As a matter of fact, Harry was of the opinion that Tom had learned that look from her. It certainly wasn't Malfoy.

Malfoy. That was another interesting development. To be honest, Tom made sure that Harry didn't know many of the details about what he did with his "people," as he called them in public, after the DA meetings, but during the meetings, Malfoy was on his best behavior. He rarely spoke at all, but when he did, he at least tried to keep most of the usual bile in his voice absent, and on several occasions he had caught Tom and Malfoy exchanging matching smirks. When Harry thought about it, he realized that he had a friend in common with Malfoy. Wow.

As Harry continued his musings, he wondered blankly what Tom and Hermione were talking about, as they both seemed to be laughing quietly.

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"Is he still doing it?" Hermione asked Tom quietly, mostly because she was speaking into his shoulder.

"Yup," answered Tom with a smile on his face.

About five minutes ago, Tom noticed that Harry was staring in their direction, and when Hermione was the one facing him, she saw it too. This went on for about five minutes, and as far as they were concerned, it was hilarious.

"What do you think is so important that he is staring blankly at us? It can't be us, he wouldn't be so..."

"Space-y," supplied Tom, as Hermione train of thought trailed off.

"Precisely," she said as she smiled to herself. He had just finished her sentence for her and it was becoming a regular thing between the two of them. It was a little thing, but to Hermione, it meant so much more than that.

Hermione, not being the type of person to dwell on "girly," and hence superfluous details, like how he dressed, etc., still got a little giddy every time that happened. To her, that meant that they connected, that they understood each other. It wasn't just words either. It was like they had achieved the all-important non-verbal level of communication, and this was very important when dealing with someone like Tom O'Malley because Tom was, of course, the kind of person whose actions and body language tell much more about him than his words. It was almost like the both of them had two sections of their mind, one that belonged just to the individual, and one that was shared between the two of them. That was part of the problem with all the other men in her life. None of them, not Harry, Viktor, or even Ron ever did become not only very close to her, but also be a part of who she is.

She knew now that she loved him, but she also knew how reactionary Tom could be. Hermione had no desire whatsoever to spring that little detail on him until she thought he was ready to hear it, and she had a feeling that might be a while. But still, she was allowed her little moments when they shared thoughts and words with only a glance. She wasn't Parvati, who could detail any romantic or sexual encounter verbatim with charts and graphs when the mood suited her (she now had a new-found respect for Dean Thomas), but even Hermione Jane Granger was allowed to be all girly once in a while. As long as such thoughts stayed safely in her head.

Tom, the entertainment of Harry Potter and his staring having been exhausted seeing as he was now dancing with Luna, was now pleasantly revolving on the spot, pretending he was dancing. He hated to admit it to himself that he couldn't and probably wouldn't dance well at all, but the facts were the facts. The little caveat that he was a damn good faker helped tremendously. Being a total fraud wasn't, in Tom's opinion, such a bad thing. Sure he couldn't dance, but he had effectively made everyone else think he could without lying about it, and that was a success, as far as he was concerned. Perception is, after all, reality. So there he turned, looking out into the sea of wealth and pomp, people-watching. It was kind of fun, really, to just watch all these rich people act like rich people. It was certainly more fun than watching poor people act like poor people. Poor people are normal people with less money. Rich people are crazy people with money. Life isn't so bad right now. Sure, I have seen my fair share of Hell, but right now I have found a new home, I am dancing with a beautiful girl who I might possibly, maybe, be in love with, my friend Harry Potter, as in Harry Fucking Potter, just ruined a cute moment with his girlfriend by pulling away from a kiss and stepping on her foot, and Jim Flanagan Jr. just winked at me...

It was at this point that time, along with his heart, stopped.