soles occidere et redire possunt -Catullus 5.4

When Bill was young, he had his own bedroom, his own owl, and a real racing broom. They didn't have a lot of money, even then, but he was already at Hogwarts when Percy was born, and his dad's salary stretched a lot farther when there was only four of them.

The hardest part about leaving for school was learning how to live with other people. There were six other Gryffindor boys his year, and the sound of their breathing, soft as it was, kept him awake at night well past Halloween.

It's quiet now.

There are children at Hogwarts, but not enough. Parents panicked, pulled the kids home, and so many died because they weren't safe. The oldest left to kill, the young ones to be killed, and everything is smaller than it used to be.

The first year class has a good thirty-five students less than Bill's did, and they're the biggest.

He has 6 new boys and 4 girls, 7 second years, 7 thirds, 5 fourths, 6 fifths, 4 sixths and only Sarah Pritchett in 7th -- she started a year early, and wasn't old enough to fight. Few of the students this year are 17.

40 Gryffindors, plus teaching, plus his duties as Deputy Head. He's the youngest Deputy ever, to the youngest Headmaster since the Founders, but even his Mum doesn't brag of it -- Snape was the only Senior Staff member left. His eyes still reflect the deadness of Azkaban, of 2 and a half years arrested by Fudge on suspicion of "being dangerous." Or maybe they're just dead -- Merlin knows, everyone else is.

"Hey there."

Bill turns from the window, and Draco gives him a smile. It's wan, pinched and worried, and probably the best smile Draco can muster right now.

"Hey," Bill says, and wraps his arms around him. Draco is just short enough that he can press a kiss to his temple without bending his head. "It'll be okay."

"25, Bill. Only 25 Slytherins."

"Next year there'll be more."

Draco's silent, and Bill tightens his arms. "There'll be a next year," he says. "There'll be a next year now."

"Assuming one of the first years doesn't blow me up in class..."

"Severus said you did fine."

"Severus--" Draco stops, but Bill knows what he's thinking -- Snape has always favored his own.

"You may be Head of Slytherin, Malfoy, but Severus wouldn't give his Potions lab to anyone unless he knew they'd take care of it. Not to mention his Slytherins."

"The lab more than the students," Draco scoffed, and Bill cracked a smile.

"Either way," he murmured, "you'll do fine."

"Of course I will," Draco snapped, offended at the implication he needed soothing, "I'm a Malfoy, I had more N.E.W.T.s than anyone my year except Granger, and I excelled at Potions."

Bill grinned, which only served to enrage Draco further.

"What?"

"You know you're gorgeous when you're angry?"

"Weasley--"

"Your cheeks get all flushed, and your eyes flash, and it makes me think the most--" Bill kissed Draco's neck "wonderful" behind his ear "things" his cheek.

"Bill--"

His lips.

Draco moaned, pressed closer, and filled their rooms with sound.

Bill fell asleep to the sound of his breathing, the rhythmic puff of air against his neck, and the children were forgotten for the night.

It was okay -- tomorrow would come in its turn.