Everything was different, and yet everything was the same.

It was the familiarity that had drawn Harry back to finish his final year at Hogwarts, that need to reassure himself that the world was still there after all the horror of the war. The many, many differences ensured he would never forget all that had happened, all that had been lost, but there were consistencies too that had calmed and anchored him back to a life no longer filled with danger and despair.

The library was one such constant. Barely touched during the battle, its restoration had left it looking more or less how it had always done during the six years Hermione had spent dragging him and Ron along to it, convinced it would be the answer to any and all their earthly problems. Right now, all Harry needed an answer to was a particularly tricky potions assignment, and the mundanity of the task was akin to a warm hand rubbing tired and knotted muscles.

He sighed contentedly and moved along the aisle, fingertips gracing along the old spines. He didn't have to be there, he could have moved straight on to Auror training according to Gawain Robards, head of the division over at the Ministry. He could have asked for whatever he'd wanted after defeating Voldemort.

But Harry had wanted time, and space, and so it was only natural he'd gravitated to the only place he'd ever considered home, to the walls that had always done their best to protect him since he'd been eleven years old. He needed time to grieve and to grow, he needed space to discover exactly who he was without the threat of death looming over his head.

It hadn't been easy, but now they were nearing the start of spring, enough months seemed to have passed that people weren't always coming to him for support, looking to him to heal their raw wounds or stave off the nightmares. With blossom on the trees and lingering warmth in the gradually lengthening days, hope was drifting through the air, and people, Harry included, were finally feeling brave enough to look towards the future.

Not everyone of course, Harry reminded himself as he rounded the corner into a new aisle and stopped at the sight of Draco Malfoy stood several feet away. He had a book cradled in the crook of his arm, and he was pouring all his attention down onto the page, blond hair falling in a soft curtain that hid his face.

Another constant for Harry had been the way he could always rely on how his attention would be drawn to his former Slytherin rival, whether consciously or not. They had been pulled together by the end of the war, having saved each other's lives. If they'd been inexplicably bonded before, it had become an almost tangible connection after.

Harry hadn't been able to properly explain to his friends his fierce need to speak on behalf of both Draco and his mother at their trials, but he had done so without question. He had made it inescapably clear that without the two Malfoys' protective lies, he would have died twice over, and he'd experienced a level of relief that had taken him by surprise when they had received their lenient sentences.

Narcissa had been put under house arrest for a year, but it was Harry's understanding she had been hell-bent on nothing else but restoring her home after Voldemort's reign there in any case. Seeing as she was allowed visitors and the freedom of the grounds closest to the Manor, Harry had felt she had emerged relatively unscathed.

Draco's parole had involved completing his education, where Harry suspected the teachers could keep a watchful eye on him. If they had been expecting his old swagger though, they would have been rather disappointed. Harry hadn't been sure what to expect if he was honest. He had swapped only a few words with him after the trial, when he had sought him out to return his borrowed wand, but Draco had been understandably shocked and subdued, unable to give much of an indication of what was going on behind those silvery-grey eyes.

Once back at school, it had been easy for Harry to fall back into old patterns, to find his gaze restlessly searching for a flash of blond hair in the dining hall, or to strain to catch his particular drawl whilst walking the corridors.

But Draco had been the only Slytherin to return. Gone was the gaggle of admirers and the henchmen lurking by his side, instead was a young man who seemed to take up as little space as possible, who was willing to answer question in lessons, but otherwise spoke to no one, concentrating solely on his studies. At first, Harry noticed this in a passive way; Draco was there, but Draco was not really there. He wasn't causing trouble though, so as long as he went about his business there wasn't really much for Harry to worry about.

But then he and Ginny had drifted naturally apart, and with Ron and Hermione wrapped up in one another, the corner of his mind that had always harboured his interest in Draco had grown slowly but steadily.

They still didn't talk much – Draco didn't talk to anyone – but over the months he had become 'Draco' in Harry's mind, no longer Malfoy, and Harry had gone out of his way to say hello every now and again. They'd even worked together in a class or two, and Harry had wished him a Merry Christmas before they'd departed for the break in December.

It was this time away that had afforded him a fresh perspective on his former rival when they'd returned in January. He was struck by how much Draco, like the school, was the same, but different. It was the kind of change that crept up, but after almost three weeks apart, Harry found he was seeing Draco in a whole new light.

Unlike his boisterous nature, which had shrunk as far as it could go, Draco himself had grown, much like the crevice of Harry's mind dedicated to knowing everything about him. He'd gotten taller, his shoulders broader, his hair longer. But the change that struck Harry the most was how he'd filled out as a whole. Gone were the angular limbs and sharp cut of his face, and in their place was a softer, fuller man who Harry was mildly horrified to admit he longed to wrap his arms around.

It was this thought that predictably reared as Harry saw Draco in the library, and he stilled as Draco lifted his head to see who had joined him. Harry refused to let his strange feelings get the better of him though, so he merely smiled and moved to inspect the section of books he'd been heading towards before. Draco rewarded him with a smile back, and Harry wondered briefly if it was normal for his insides to flutter like that?