Harry shook his head and busied himself looking for a particular text on rare fungi, which he would imagine was enough to quash any sentiments of longing, if there had even been any there to start with. Or so he thought.

As Eighth Years, they'd had many new freedoms allowed to them to emphasise the fact that they were adults who (aside from Draco) were there at the school of their own free will. They shared a common room and took their lessons as a year group, house pride not forgotten, but left in the past as they moved forward with their lives in a Voldemort-free world. They didn't have to obey curfews and were allowed off grounds any time they wanted, as long as they informed a member of staff.

Harry's favourite change though, was the lack of school uniform. They had been informed that they could dress however made them comfortable, and many of the year had opted for a wardrobe of largely Muggle clothing. Surprisingly, Draco Malfoy included.

He was currently clad in a pair of jeans and a hooded jumper that didn't hide his body the way his school robes would have done, and Harry couldn't help but glance over and appreciate the fullness of his legs and backside with the denim clinging resolutely to them. Not for the first time, he wondered what this said about his sexuality, but as he was doggedly not worry about anything at present that didn't involve his NEWTs, he just relaxed and enjoyed the surreptitious glimpses.

The two of them were content in their browsing for a few minutes, until the rustling of clothes and scuffing of shoes alerted them that someone, maybe two someones, had moved into the aisle behind the books they were studying.

"-Blaise Zabini though," one of the voices was saying in hushed tones, a young girl by the sounds of it.

"Oh yeah," another girl whispered back. "Of course, he was sickeningly hot, I was gutted he never came back. But I still say Harry's the best."

He cringed visibly at the mention of his name, and resisted the urge to look over at Draco, despite the fact they were obviously talking about one of his best friends. (Or was it former best friend now?)

The first girl clicked her tongue. "Well obviously," she said. "That goes without saying, he's a hero and I heard he's still single after Ginny Weasley dumped him."

Harry bristled at that. It had been perfectly mutual, thank you very much. He and Ginny were actually very good friends.

"Neville Longbottom then," the second girl countered.

"Ooh yeah," the first girl said, getting a bit too excited before remembering to lower her voice lest they risk the wrath of Madam Pince. "When did he get so gorgeous? I'm telling you, it's the whole hero thing."

"Hmm," said the second girl, and there was a merciful pause as they shuffled a couple of books around. Harry sort of wanted to bolt. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop and this was just plain embarrassing in front of Draco, who, he'd established with a quick glance, was still there.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," the first girl prompted after another minute or so, but her giggle suggested she wasn't entirely serious.

"Eww!" girl number two hissed unkindly. Harry wasn't exactly best buddies with Justin, but he was hardly repulsive, and their derision didn't sit well with him. "Too much chin!" They giggled as quietly as they could for another few moments. "But how about Terry Boot?" the girl continued once they'd got their breath back.

"Really?" the first girl said sceptically. "He sort of looks like he needs a wash-"

"It's called grunge."

"-and," the first girl carried on. "I heard he's got a tattoo?"

The second girl made a scornful noise. "Yeah but it's cool, it's not like we're talking about Draco Malfoy here."

Harry froze, horror flooding his system.

The first girl tittered. "Urgh, what happened to him?" she complained. "At least before he could pull off that fugly Dark Mark because he was hot."

"It was sort of an emo hot, wasn't it?" the other girl agreed.

"Now," the first girl said with emphasis. "He's just a pudgy loser. It's tragic."

Harry couldn't help himself, he turned as if in slow motion to see Draco rooted to the spot. His face was slacken, and he was staring down at his left arm like it was on fire. But Harry's movement startled him back to his senses, and in a flash the book he'd been holding was thrust back into the stacks and he took off like the devil was on his heels.

"Wait!" Harry tried, but he was already gone.

He practically felt the two girls seize up on the other side of the bookcase.

Anger raced through Harry's veins, and before he could properly consider what he was doing he found himself marching around the corner to confront them.

Two Ravenclaws met him with wide eyes. Harry guessed they were perhaps Fourth Years, and he was not moved by how they practically melted at the sight of him. "Oh, hi Harry," one of them breathed, the first girl he figured, but he didn't really care. She clung to her friend like she might swoon. "How's it going?"

"It was going fine," he ground out between clenched teeth. "Until I had to overhear that disgusting display of objectification."

The two girls' faces drained of all colour.

"You heard that?" the second one squeaked.

The first one tried to laugh. "We were just having some fun," she tried to say lightly, but she was looking up at Harry like she might be sick.

"What you were doing," Harry said, a little more heated than was perhaps strictly necessary. "Was ridiculing a survivor of a war."

The second girl's mouth opened and closed, but the first one managed to rally herself a little. "Do you mean Malfoy? He was a Death Eater," she spat. "We've all seen his mark!"

"He may have been on the wrong side," Harry found himself saying, probably loud enough to get kicked out any moment now. "But he saved my life. I suggest, in the future, you restrain yourselves from idly gossiping about things you have absolutely no understanding of."

With that, he turned sharply on his heel and stormed straight towards the exit of the library.

He was so angry his ears were ringing, and really, he knew he'd been growing a little fond of Draco, but he never would have predicted reacting so strongly to hearing him insulted, not in a hundred years. He was almost dizzy with it, and he had to lean against the wall of the corridor as he took a few deep breaths. He probably shouldn't have shouted at those girls, but he couldn't honestly say he regretted it.

Once he'd got his wits about him again he thought to look left and right, but of course Draco was long gone. He growled in frustration. He had his last class of the day to get to, and he couldn't afford to miss Transfiguration so he'd have to hope Draco was there too, and they could maybe talk afterwards.