Wet Hot Hogwarts Summer

From astridfire

Summary: A post-DH (EWE) fun time post-war story of healing, friendship and summer romance. The students of Hogwarts join together to rebuild the school and themselves in the summer following the war.

Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, Harry/Ginny, Harry/Blaise, Blaise/Pansy, Luna/Theo, Ginny/Dean

Genres: Romance, Humor, Drama

Rating: T to M (just to be safe.)

Warnings: sexual situations, slash, het, swearing, DH, EWE. Various POV's. This story will include SLASH. Consider yourself warned. If you don't like it, make friends with your back button.

Disclaimer: I am making no money from the writing of this story. I am not JK Rowling and do not own any of the characters or places described herein. Note that this disclaimer applies for every chapter of this story.

A/N: I wrote this fic for National Novel Writing Month. This story is NOT based off the movie Wet Hot American Summer, I just liked this title. It's fun, and illustrates a few points I was hoping to make with this story. There's the wet (which refers to flooding), the hot (which refers to temperature and the relationships contained herein), and hey, it's set in the summertime. So there you have it. This story also contains several ships, including, but not limited to R/Hr, HP/GW, HP/BZ, HP/DM, PP/BZ, TN/LL. GW/DT. The ships in bold font are what this story will end on. Hopefully none of that will put you off. This story contains SLASH (relationships of a male/male nature) and if that bothers you, I'd rather you didn't read.

-oOoOo-

Chapter One:

The Trouble this Summer

Hogwarts was in ruin.

Draco knew that Muggles who managed to get close enough would see the derelict ruins of an ancient castle, and he wondered whimsically if he'd lost his magic on the journey from Wiltshire to Hogsmeade.

It still looked like Hogwarts. Sort of. Ravenclaw Tower was listing away from the main body of the school, there were holes in the roof and giant sized punctures in the stone walls. The front doors were missing and the entry to the school was a dark gaping maw. The school looked like it might like to eat him. Windows were broken, the glitter of broken glass evident in the morning light. The morning was warm, sun burning up the dew, and humid enough to make him tug at his collar.

A little over twenty-four hours ago Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord.

Draco's father was back in Azkaban, awaiting trial now. His mother was at home, intent on ridding the Manor from the taint of the Dark Lord, but Draco did not believe it could be done and told his mother so. He could not stay there any more, he said. She'd waved him off, cheerfully vindictive as she floated the dining room table out to the lawn and set it on fire.

Draco pushed the gates open and trudged up the path, taking in the scatter of centaur slung arrows embedded in the lawn, and patches of red-brown blood staining the grass. He wanted to be sick, and looked away.

For so long he wished and hoped that the war would end, but now that it had it seemed the hard part was only now upon them.

The Entrance Hall was a wreck. The banister of the main staircase missing in great chunks, and Draco could not recall what caused it. The upper balcony had collapsed, leaving a four-foot section missing, which would make for an interesting trip for Ravenclaws heading up to their tower. He couldn't even look at the Great Hall. The memories were too fresh, and he could almost hear Harry Potter's lightly taunting voice.

He remembered standing in the shadows watching Potter circle the Dark Lord like a lion cornering prey, and feeling bizarrely gleeful, because he knew the tone of Potter's voice. It was his own. The tones and inflections he used when he wanted Potter to lose his temper. When he let insults slip off his tongue with a bite. The voice that made Potter go for his wand, and Granger say, "He's not worth it, Harry."

Living in Death Eater headquarters (if one could call it living) had been very informative. While the majority of the Death Eaters were cruel and exacting, they were also foolish, and were often drunk and loud regarding their plans and the secrets of their Lord. Draco had known about the prophecy since Christmas break. He'd heard his Aunt Bella crowing about Potter's supposed secret power, and from that point on Draco knew that Potter was going to win—simply because Potter didn't know how to lose. Draco knew all too well.

Then Potter had been in his house with Granger and the Weasel, and Draco had known them immediately. How could he not? He knew those vivid green eyes as well as his own.

And yes, he'd been angry, very angry when Potter had taken his wand, because it was his and he needed it—but it had all worked out rather nicely for Potter, hadn't it? Because no matter how many piles of shit Potter was thrown into he came out smelling like roses. Draco was certain that Potter had Felix Felicis running through his veins instead of blood like the rest of them.

Draco wondered if he was the only one who saw Potter for what he really was—just a tremendously lucky idiot, who'd made an art of flying by the seat of his pants. Maybe Granger and the Weasel, though they'd put it in sycophantic terms.

The stairs leading down to the dungeons were untouched, and the hall looked just as it had when he'd come up for dinner for the last time. The lower dungeons were the same, and Draco peeked into the Potions classroom, and Snape's private storeroom, just to assure himself that not everything was broken beyond repair. Some things had lasted. Surely the Slytherin dormitory would offer the same comfort.

Five years he'd been the Prince of Slytherin, but the last two… not so much. Not when Death Eaters were running the school, and he were so far out of the Dark Lord's favor that no one wanted to be near him.

But despite the last two years, Slytherin still felt like his. His domain, where he was strong, and untouchable, and his classmates looked to him when they didn't know which way the wind was blowing.

He stopped in front of the expanse of blank wall that was the entrance to the Slytherin dormitory. He sighed and laid his cheek to the wall. He was only here to fetch his things. Just to fetch his things and leave. He planned to flee to the home his family kept on the Cote de Azure in France. He planned to sit on the patio overlooking the sea, where he would soak in the sun and absolutely forget that the past two years had ever happened.

He stepped back and thought of how peaceful, how tranquil, how bloody therapeutic it would be.

"Parselmouth," he said, intoning the password.

He barely had time to feel panic as a tremendous amount of water, like the lake had been turned sideways, and was being funneled through the common room door, assaulted him. It threw him back into the wall, cracked his head hard against the stone, and Draco fell into darkness.

-oOoOo-

Harry Potter bit nervously at his lip as he peered up at the elegant house. Malfoy Manor from the outside was a beautiful country house done in a pale stone that somehow managed to be the exact color of the distinctive Malfoy hair. Delicate balconies jutted beneath tall arched windows, and ivy climbed in twisting patterns up the stonework. It did not look like the former headquarters of the Death Eaters. The house looked serene and cool, but also inviting—but Harry did not relish the idea of being inside Malfoy Manor again. Not when the last time he'd been inside he'd heard Hermione being tortured, and Dobby had died. He could almost hear her screams, and the tinkle of falling crystal.

A brilliant white peacock strutted proudly down the nearest hedge, and he had to fight down a wild laugh. "Only the Malfoy's would have live yard ornaments," he said to himself.

He took a deep breath, and reminded himself that this was the right thing to do… and besides, he knew no other way of finding Draco Malfoy.

"Are you going to stand there all day?" asked a loud, rumbling voice. Harry looked around in alarm; he was sure that he'd been alone on the country lane.

"Up here," the voice said.

Harry looked. At the top of the gate was a large Medusa head, snakes for hair coiling outwards in elegant swirls. And it was looking at him.

"Uh, hi."

"Yes, hello. Are you planning to greet the lady of the house sometime today? I'm not going to hold the passage open forever, you know."

"Oh, right. Sorry. That's some pretty impressive magic."

"Thank you," the head said dryly. "On you go then."

Harry hesitated, and the Medusa gave a great sigh and then one of the iron snakes grabbed hold of his sleeve and propelled him through the gate, which turned to mist just before he touched it.

Harry caught himself before he could fall, and brushed off his sleeves, turning to send a glare at the pushy guardian. He straightened his shoulders, and walked up the pebbled path to the front door. It swung open before he could knock.

Narcissa Malfoy was framed in the doorway, looking much better than he'd last saw her, which wasn't difficult or surprising, he supposed. She looked as cool and unapproachable as she had the first time he'd seen her at the Quidditch World Cup, though at the moment she was smiling in polite inquiry. Her eye's actually seemed to warm as she took in her visitor.

"Hullo, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Mr. Potter," she said. "Would you like to come in?"

"Oh, um... actually, no, if you don't mind."

"Not at all." Narcissa stepped out of the doorway and snapped the door closed behind her. She looked up at the house, and her lip curled in disgust. It was a familiar expression, as Harry had seen it on Draco's face many times. "I don't like to be in there either. We're shutting it up."

"Oh?"

"Draco and I can't bear it any longer. It feels too much like…" she trailed off. "Well, unpleasant, anyhow." Harry couldn't imagine why she was telling him this. He supposed though, that Narcissa probably hadn't been able to speak freely for quite some time, and perhaps he made an convenient ear to speak in.

A part of him wanted to hate her still, for the part she played in sending Sirius to his death, but Kreacher had played a larger part and Harry had forgiven the elf, and it seemed silly to be able to forgive an elf but not forgive a human being. Especially given that without her assistance he may not have been able to defeat Voldemort.

"Mrs. Malfoy, I wanted to thank you for what you did in the Forest—"

She shook her head. "We are quite even, Mr. Potter. Draco told me how you saved his life, and that is worth everything to me."

"Well," Harry started, and then decided to leave it be. He couldn't have left Draco to die in that room. He was physically incapable of such a thing. He also wanted to point out that if it hadn't been for her deception, Voldemort might still be alive today. He shrugged and decided to get to the point. "Actually, I was wondering if I could speak to your son."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I, uh…" Harry drew Draco's hawthorn wand from his pocket. "I wanted to return this. I wasn't sure if he even had a wand any more. Yours was lost in the fire, and, well… I can't imagine not having one."

Narcissa smiled slightly. "He pitched such a fit when you took it from him. And I'm afraid I cannot help you."

"Why not?"

"Draco is not here, and I will not see him for several weeks. You caught me packing, you see. I'm going to stay with my sister."

"Andromeda?"

"As my other sister is dead, yes, I'll be staying with Andie. And the baby." She smiled again. "I understand you were made his godfather."

Harry grinned. He was absurdly proud to be little Teddy's godfather, and anytime anyone mentioned it he couldn't help but smile goofily, and try to quash the urge to take out his wallet and show around pictures of Teddy.

Narcissa seemed to understand, and found it endearing. "I expect we will be seeing more of each other then. You'll find my son at Hogwarts." And she made to go back inside.

"Hogwarts?" said Harry, surprised. "What is he doing there?"

Narcissa shook her head in motherly dismay. "Something to do with the Slytherin dormitory being flooded. He's hell bent on fixing it." She gave an elegant shrug. "Goodbye, Mr. Potter. I look forward to seeing you again."

And she disappeared into the house.

Harry frowned. "Flooded?"

-oOoOo-

One week after the final battle, after all the funerals, as the Ministry was trying to put itself back together, the Muggleborns were slowly trickling back to their former jobs and lives, and lawyers and Ministry officials were in a frenzy of putting together cases against suspected Death Eaters, Minerva McGonagall returned to Hogwarts.

She was Headmistress now, and held the letter from the Board of Governors in her hand as she approached the bruised and battered school. The house elves had been busy while she'd been away. Broken glass, dust, and blood had been cleared from the floors and walls, and a large but organized pile of broken masonry was littering the scarred lawn.

She stood on the path and gave a great sigh.

"We'll never be able to open in time for term," she said to herself.

After the battle, no one had stayed long. There was much to do, friends and family to contact and to bury. They ate and drank in small celebration, and then before the day was out got down to the business of putting their war-torn world back together.

Minerva had spent the last week in London arranging for magical architects and building inspectors and curse breakers to come to the school, assess the damage, and then arrangements would be made to hire wizards and witches to make the repairs. Even with magic it would be a long and difficult process.

She entered the school, intent on going to the Headmaster's Office (Headmistresses now, she supposed), and getting a report from the House Elves on what they had found and hadn't been able to deal with themselves.

A small pop to her left told her that her return had been noted. "Headmistress McGonagall is back!" the elf said happily.

"Indeed I am, Gigi."

"The Head Boy is needing Mistresses help."

Minerva turned sharply. "What on earth do you mean?" There wasn't meant to be anyone in the castle, let alone…

"Master Draco has been here all week! He is working very hard. Hardly eating or sleeping, he is."

"Where is Mr. Malfoy now?"

"The library, Mistress, Gigi thinks. But he could be down in the water again. The water is giving him many troubles."

Minerva felt as though her head was spinning. Water? Troubles? Malfoy… "Oh, thank you, Gigi. I will see what Mr. Malfoy is up to immediately."

"I will tells him," she said, and went to snap her fingers.

"No! Wait!" said Minerva. She very much wanted to see what Draco Malfoy was up to before he knew that she was there. "Walk with me."

Dumbledore had appointed Draco as Head Boy, and Severus had followed through with the instruction, though Draco hadn't been at school often. (And their Head Girl hadn't been there at all.) Minerva wasn't sure where he went to, but she could make a good guess. He always looked white and terrified before leaving, and returned green and trembling. And she would have had to be blind not to notice how far out of favor Draco had fallen with his Slytherin classmates, especially those whose parents were serving Lord Voldemort.

Draco hadn't been a very effective Head Boy, because none of the students would go to him for help – not the Death Eater's children, because they'd lost faith in the Malfoy name, and certainly not the others who were still wary of it. All in all, Draco Malfoy had not been a very good choice, but Minerva had thoughts on who would be in the coming year, if he decided to return.

She had seen the boy briefly following the battle wrapped in his mother's arms, his hands clasped within his father's, who'd had his head bowed and was begging his family to forgive his mistakes. There was no danger from that quarter.

So while she didn't think Draco Malfoy had been up to anything sinister this past week, where he'd seemed to have free reign over the school, she couldn't help but be suspicious. She told herself that had it been Harry Potter lurking in the library at this moment, she'd act the same.

The first thing she thought upon entering the library was that Irma Pince was going to have a coronary.

The domino effect was in full evidence here. Every freestanding bookshelf was on its side, and books were everywhere. Just the library itself, Minerva thought, was going to take until Halloween to put to rights.

A study table in the middle of the room had the air of being in the middle of a book explosion. A pale haired figure was sitting hunched over an open book, quills and ink and several long rolls of parchment before him, and all around in a wide circle with the air of selecting and setting aside in frustration were at least twelve piles of books, all at least as many high.

Draco pushed the current book he had his nose in aside, dropped in on a pile, and picked his way over to the scatter of books on the floor. He knelt and picked through the mess at his feet, stacking books as he discarded them. He made a noise that sounded like, "Ah ha!" and rose, already thumbing through the thick tome.

"Mr. Malfoy."

He started, and dropped the book on his foot. "Ow! Son of a—" He looked around, and started again. There were purple shadows under his eyes, and his clothes and hair looked strangely damp. "Hullo, Professor. Er—Headmistress."

"What on earth are you doing here? I thought the school was empty."

"It is. Mostly." He picked the book up off his foot. "I've just been, um…"

Minerva had never heard the boy at such a loss for words. He was usually full of them, and always when she wanted him to be quiet.

"You've been tidying the library?" she asked dryly.

Draco looked around, as if just noticing the devastation. "No, Professor. I was researching."

"Mr. Malfoy, I hardly think this is the time for extracurricular research. And in any case, I was given to understand that Malfoy Manor has quite an extensive library, and I'm almost certain that it is in better condition than this one. Perhaps you should do your research at home."

"Professor—Headmistress. You don't understand. I've been… well, I've been trying to help. The house-elves all think I'm mad, which is really saying something, considering."

Minerva pinned him with a hard stare.

"Er, here." He selected a roll of parchment, the largest of the lot, and handed it to her. Minerva unrolled it and began to read, eyebrows raising in surprise.

It was a catalogue of damages to the school, color coded to indicate what should take first priority in the repairs, and at least one fourth of the list was already marked completed.

"You did this?" If all was correct, it would save her a week of work.

"Gigi and the other house-elves helped out quite a bit, but I wrote it all out and she's been overseeing the other elves to get what they were able to done. And the others have—"

Minerva's eyes stuck on one item that was marked in red. "The dungeons are flooded?"

"Yes. It's been getting worse. The kitchens and the Hufflepuff dormitory are safe for now, but Slytherin is completely underwater, and the Potions class is half filled. It's getting higher every day."

"Is that why you're—" she gestured to his still damp hair and clothes.

"Yes. I went down with a Bubble-Head charm to see what happened. The windows in the Slytherin common room shattered, I think because of the giants stomping around and battering the walls, and the pressure put cracks in the outer wall. That's why it's still filling up."

That was… oh, she hardly wanted to think about it. Very bad indeed.

"This is very good work, Mr. Malfoy. May I ask why you've done all this?"

Draco looked pleased for a moment, then shrugged, and muttered something about not wanting to be at the Manor any longer. "I was planning to just get my things and leave, but then… well. The flooding in the upper dungeon is my fault. I opened the common room door, you see, and…"

Minerva could imagine the wall of water that had assaulted the boy. "You're very lucky you weren't killed!"

"I think I nearly was. I woke up in the Entrance Hall with a splitting headache, and this one," he gestured to Gigi, "standing over me. She says that she popped me out of there."

"Master Draco almost drowned," Gigi said, wringing her hands in remembered worry.

"And then," he went on, "I was worried that I'd be in, well, even more trouble than I already am in, so I tried to fix it… and well, the Elves were so overwhelmed. They'd no idea what to do, and there was so much else… The whole thing just snowballed." Draco fidgeted with the sleeve of his robe, and determinately did not look at her.

Minerva pinched her lips to hide her approval. "You're doing an excellent job in your position as Head Boy, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco chanced a glance at her, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Thank you, Professor."

She thought, with some self-recrimination, that it was the first time she'd ever praised the boy for anything.

"Perhaps you could show me the research you've already done?" she said. "I suspect it was a charm that failed before the windows broke, and while that is not my area of expertise I can contact Professor Flitwick to see what his thoughts are on the matter."

Draco brightened further, and unrolled a second scroll. "I thought it was a charm too, Professor, but according to an early edition of Hogwarts: A History, it might have been a combination of charms and a potion tempered into the glass of the windows…"

The Headmistress and Head Boy put their heads together, and bent over the scroll.

-oOoOo-

Harry walked into the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts, taking note of the great oak double doors that were propped against a far wall, and wondered why they hadn't been replaced yet. Then he really looked at the Hall, and doors off hinges seemed to be the least of the problems there. The large window above had no glass in its pane, scorch marks from missed spells burned the walls at irregular intervals, and great chunks of the main staircase's banister were missing.

Even with all this, it looked better, if only cleaner, since the last time he saw it. The House Elves must have been very busy this past week.

The voices of two boys were drifting into the hall from the stairwell down to the lower levels.

"Hullo?" said Harry.

The voices stopped, and one called, "Draco, is that you?"

Harry made his way down the steps and was met with a very bizarre scene. Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott were in the upper dungeon corridor, and along one wall school trunks were stacked three high, oddly dripping water. Both boys were wearing swimming trunks.

Harry felt as though he'd just walked in on some elaborate prank planning, and couldn't stop a grin. "What are you two doing?"

Nott looked at him as though he'd gone round the twist, but Zabini grinned back and said, "Well if it isn't the Chosen-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice-Conqueror, King of us All—" Zabini trailed off, frowning. "What are they calling you these days, Potter?"

"No idea. I'm hoping they'll eventually figure out my name is just Harry, but I'm not holding my breath. Have you been swimming?"

"After a fashion," said Zabini.

Nott, still looking as though Harry would turn around and snarl any moment said, "The Slytherin dormitory flooded. We've been bringing up the other's things. Figured they'd want them, even if they are waterlogged."

"Ah," said Harry. "Malfoy's mum said something about that. Is Malfoy around?"

"He's in the library trying to find out how to fix it. McGonagall's with him now," said Zabini.

"How bad is the flooding?" asked Harry. While the scene he'd happened upon was rather amusing, he hadn't counted on finding Hogwarts in such a state. Even seeing the destruction during the battle and after hadn't prepared him. Somehow he'd thought Hogwarts would be healed when he walked through the doors, though he knew it was stupid. Magic could do many things, but there was a limit to the miracles it could perform.

"All of Slytherin, and the lower two dungeon levels, and getting ever higher. Hufflepuff is safe for now, but if it isn't fixed that will be under water in a week or two," said Nott.

"Well, shit," said Harry.

"No kidding," laughed Zabini.

"I've got to talk to Malfoy for a minute, but I'll come back and help out, all right?"

"Sure," said Zabini easily. "We're breaking for lunch, but we'll make another trip after that. It's kind of fun. Surreal, actually."

It sounded it. Swimming, diving really, into the depths of Slytherin House, and who was Harry, with his brand new Voldemort-free life, to turn down an opportunity like that?

Harry told the two Slytherins that he'd see them in a bit, and headed towards the library. Nott's voice carried to him, remarking to Zabini, "When did Potter become such a cheerful bastard?"

Harry smirked to himself, and carried on.

-oOoOo-

Draco had never really liked Professor McGonagall, but that was mostly because she'd never liked him. At the moment she was treating him like a prized pupil, and it was going a long way to making him warm to her.

He had done a lot of research on what exactly had been keeping the water from flooding the common room, and trying to figure out why the magic had failed. He was sure it had something to do with the giants.

A possible answer came from an edition from Hogwarts: A History, printed in the late fifteenth century, which told how Slytherin had flooded once before, due to a renegade clan of merpeople battering the windows with pikes. The damage had been repaired and the castle defenses under the lake had been improved to guard against another such attack.

McGonagall suspected that those protections had weakened over time, and perhaps the giants thrashing the castle walls had been too much and they'd finally broken. It was just lucky that no one had been in the Slytherin dormitory at the time.

There was very little regarding what spells had been used in the fifteenth century, but there were enough clues to draw from if one knew what they were looking for.

"A break, I think," said McGonagall. Draco began to protest. "Mr. Malfoy, you must eat. You look like death warmed over as it is, and there is no nurse here to care for you if you should fall ill."

Draco inwardly rolled his eyes. If she thought he looked bad now, then she'd obviously not been paying him much attention over the past two years.

On the other hand, he probably did look like crap. His father was back in prison, awaiting trial, and it was only a matter of time before Draco's neck and his mother's were called to the chopping block. As it was, he suspected the only reason he hadn't been taken away just like his father was because the Ministry was in such turmoil.

The door of the library swung open, and the last person Draco wanted to see walked through.

"Oh my God," Potter said, looking at the library in dismay. "Hermione is going to have a coronary."

McGonagall, for some unknown reason, laughed.

"Hullo, Professor," Potter said, smiling at his former Head of House.

"Hello, Mr. Potter. Have you come alone, or have you brought a horde of invaders with you?"

"Just me," he smiled. "I came to see Malfoy, actually."

"Why?" Draco asked, startled.

He really hadn't wanted to see Potter again, because he owed Potter, and Draco didn't like it. He owed Potter a life debt for pulling him out of the Room of Requirement, and taking down that Death Eater afterwards, and he owed him gratitude, of all the horrible things, for ridding his life of the Dark Lord. He was of half of mind to throw a hex, but McGonagall was there, looking between them as if just waiting for one or the other to pick a fight.

Well, it wouldn't come from him, he decided. He'd only just gotten into the woman's good graces, and he wasn't about to undo all that hard work. So he only raised an eyebrow at Potter, and fought back the instinct to sneer.

"I wanted to return this." Potter pulled Draco's hawthorn wand from a pocket and held it out.

Draco blinked at it, stunned silent. The wand he was currently using had once belonged to his grandfather, and it only worked in starts and sputters. He suspected this was because his grandfather had been a devout supporter of the Dark Lord, and somehow the wand knew that Draco had not been happy about being in the service of the same.

That wand though, which Potter was still holding out to him, had been his since he turned eleven, and in the time since had defeated that same Dark Lord. A part of him wanted to lash out and snatch it, but something was holding him back.

"You won it though," he said, trying to sound indifferent. "It probably won't work for me anymore."

"Only one way to find out." Potter twiddled it between his fingers, and the smirk that pulled at his lips was saying, 'Scared, Malfoy?'

Draco, never able to back down from a Potter issued challenge, roughly grabbed the wand, and after a pause, gave it a wave. A rush of familiar warmth ran down his arm and through his fingers, and a shower of blue sparks fell from the tip.

Potter nodded in satisfaction, and turned to McGonagall. "The castle looks terrible."

She smiled thinly. "I'm aware, Potter."

"Can I help?"

She raised her eyebrows. "If you like. But we will discuss this over lunch. Mr. Malfoy, please bring—ah, yes, that scroll." She turned to Draco, "Are the kitchens in order?"

"So far as I could tell," he said. "I don't think there was any damage to it, aside from the cutlery."

That he had insisted be thrown out, and the house-elves had agreed. The thought of any of the knives and such used to attack Death Eaters being used (even after a thorough cleaning) to prepare food made him ill.

Blaise and Theodore were sitting down to eat when the party of three arrived. They stood, looking anxiously at the new Headmistress, and McGonagall turned to Draco. "All right, Mr. Malfoy, how many more of you are there?"

"Just us, Professor, I swear. I owled Blaise and Theo to help."

"We've been diving," grinned Blaise.

"Dare I ask?" she grimaced.

This only made Blaise grin more. "We've been fetching trunks and other belongings. We figure the others might come for them at some point."

She nodded. "Very good. I'd give you all points if it were term."

"Thanks, Headmistress," Blaise chirped.

Over the past week Blaise had become obnoxiously happy. Draco could not remember the boy ever being so… bubbly. And all Blaise would do when his behavior was commented upon was laugh, and say that he was just glad 'all that war nonsense' was over with.

Blaise's mother, being the only family he had, had never been a Death Eater, nor a vocal supporter of Pureblood ideals, and over the past year with Death Eaters teaching the Dark Arts and a biased version of Muggle Studies, Blaise had been all but silent. Never saying a word, never calling attention to himself, he just kept his nose down and did his work and tried not to piss anyone off.

This had worked, mostly because Blaise had never called much attention to himself in the first place. He'd been an average student, more attractive than most, but Blaise was a plotter and not a proclaimer.

Theo had a similar approach, but Theo's father was a Death Eater. So while Theo was relatively safe from the Carrow's wrath, he was also more noticeable to them, and his behavior in their classes was more closely scrutinized. So Theo had gone out of his way to make himself less visible. It hadn't always worked.

Either way, the three of them had made it through alive, and Blaise felt this was cause for a lot of celebration, and apparently he meant to spread that overdosed-on-Cheering-Charms feeling around.

Theo was much more subdued about his relief, but Draco had noticed that Theo looked more relaxed than he had seen him since news of the Dark Lord's return broke at the end of fourth year. He was quicker to laugh and to tease, and between the two of them, Draco felt that maybe everything would turn out all right.

Which was why, when he'd decided to stick around and fix the flooding problem, he'd only sent owls to Theo and Blaise. Because he knew Pansy couldn't be arsed to help out with something like this, because he knew Theo wanted something else to do this summer than wait for his father's trial to begin, and because Blaise would make sure that they had fun.

Draco resolutely did not think about Crabbe, who was dead, and Goyle, who'd stupidly followed his father to Azkaban.

Potter unrolled the parchment, and goggled at the list. "This is…"

McGonagall made a sound of agreement.

"Will Hogwarts be able to open in September?"

"I don't know, Potter," she said. "I have a magical architect, several building inspectors, and a team of curse breakers coming next week. In the meantime, I would like to confirm this list, make sure there is nothing we missed—" she turned to Draco, "Not that I'm doubting your work, Mr. Malfoy. And remedy as much as we are able."

Potter went over the list again, and said, "We're going need more people."

McGonagall made a 'hmm' of agreement. "Am I right to assume the four of you will help?"

Draco and Theo nodded, and Blaise said, "I've nothing better to do this summer."

"And can you manage working together with the bare minimum of fisticuffs?" she asked, looking between himself and Potter.

Potter shrugged, and Draco gave a terse nod.

"Excellent," she said briskly. "Where have you boys been sleeping?"

"Hufflepuff," said Draco. "It's the only dormitory that didn't sustain any damage."

"What happened to Gryffindor?" Potter asked.

"Some of the windows were blown in, and there's a rather large hole in the roof," said Theo.

"Oh." Potter looked pained. Draco wanted to poke at the wound, but he knew how Potter felt. Once he'd gotten over the shock of Slytherin being completely immersed in lake water, he'd been very near tears. The tears weren't just because of Slytherin, but it was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. His domain at Hogwarts being in ruin had just pushed him nearer the edge.

"And Ravenclaw wouldn't even let us in. The tower is still standing, but the door guardian said it was too dangerous to even risk a look," said Draco.

The house-elves brought over a lunch spread that would have fed twelve, and they all tucked in. It was especially odd to eat a meal with McGonagall, but it seemed to be no deterrent at all to Blaise, who told several stories about what he'd gotten up to in the past week, complete with drunken imitations.

"I can send out sent out some owls," Potter said, when the meal was done. "See if anyone wants to come help out."

"I suppose I could ask Pansy," Draco said.

Blaise and Theo snickered. "Good luck with getting her to help," said Blaise.

McGonagall stood. "Sixth and seventh years only, please, and written permission from their parents if they are not of age. I'll leave you boys to your diving expedition. Please be careful."

"So, Potter," said Blaise, with a gleeful smirk, "got any swim trunks?"

-oOoOo-

A/N: I have eight chapters of this story written, which comes out to approximately 56K words of slashy goodness. It's only the last chapter and an epilogue which are a bit piece-y at the moment. Please let me know what you think so far. I live for reviews!