Chapter Text
Harry watched the tops of fir tree's fade into mountainous rocky caverns and lakes stretching out for miles as the Hogwarts Express sped through the countryside, making its familiar journey up the Scottish highlands. He'd never planned on going back to Hogwarts, after everything the previous year had put him through, the idea of going back to school, sitting in a classroom and doing homework seemed bizarre. He no longer felt like a child- not a man either- but stuck in that awkward space between.
The ministry had been eager to swipe him up as quickly as possible, they loved the idea of Harry being their poster boy- to use him as a way of fixing their rocky reputation. They wanted him to attend fundraisers and give interviews to the prophet on their behalf, to stand up and defend them. In their eyes, he was the perfect puppet. Because if the boy who lived said the ministry was doing good work- well the rest of the world would follow.
He'd turned them down instantly.
It had been Ron and Hermione of course, who'd convinced him to go back. They'd just been so excited, buying robes and books in Diagon alley like first years and the enthusiasm was catching. He'd found himself buying a new set of quills- just in case- when they'd dragged him along with them for moral support and then snuck back the next day for a new trunk. Whatever devious ploy they had in place, it had worked.
All it took was a few more weeks of Hermione pointing out that surely he needed to finish his NEWTS if he wanted to become an Auror? and Ron asking what are you going to do without us all year? Before Harry finally broke and decided that he might as well come along after all.
And so once again, Harry found himself on the Hogwarts express, with Ginny curled up on his lap, Ron bickering with Hermione and Luna trying to teach Neville the proper way to harvest leaping toadstools.
"I wonder if we're going to have to hire bodyguards for Harry this year." Ginny teased, "So he doesn't get mobbed by first years every time he tries to take a piss or eat a sandwich.
"Oh Merlin, I'm going to have to spend the whole year under the clock aren't I?" Harry groaned, leaning into Ginny's side and breathing in her familiar smell of lavender and candle wax.
"You know Harry..." Ron said thoughtfully, " I think Lockheart might have been onto something."
"Excuse me?" Hermione snorted.
"We are talking about the same man who faked all of his achievements and then tried to obliviate the both of us right?" Harry said, raising his eyebrows at Ron who shifted guiltily.
"Well yeah, obviously he was a massive prat and all...but selling your autographs might not be a half-bad idea. I'm sure there are kids out there who'd be willing to fork out a couple of galleons for one."
Ginny cackled as she caught wind of his mortified expression. "Don't worry Harry, if you start selling your pants to kids, I'll be sure to stage an intervention."
They all laughed except for Luna who smiled dreamily. "I wonder what would happen if I tried to sell my pants."
Hermione looked vaguely scandalised whilst Neville turned a brilliant shade of pillar-box red. Everyone knew he nursed a soft spot for Luna, who had turned him down gracefully at the start of the summer, saying that she couldn't possibly be in a relationship at that time and besides, Hannah Abbot was interested in him. Neville had taken it fairly well, and last Harry had heard, he'd been writing to Hannah all through the holidays.
"Ron, if I find you or Dean rummaging through my trunk, there will be hell to pay." He threatened with as much dignity as he could muster.
Hermione frowned slightly, "You might not be in a dorm with each other though."
All three boys turned to look at her, confusion etched on their faces. "What do you mean? Why wouldn't be together?" Neville asked in bewilderment and Hermione stared at them.
"You mean...you don't actually know?"
Very slowly, they all shook their heads.
"Oh honestly," Hermione sighed in exasperation. "It was all in the letter. You really ought to start paying more attention. All eighth years are being put together, we'll be sharing a common room and dormitories."
"But why?" Ron asked, aghast and Harry tried to swallow down the nausea building in his throat.
Gryffindor had been part of his identity, his home. The idea of that suddenly being taken away made him feel like he was losing a limb and judging by the others' expressions, they felt the same way.
Hermione shrugged. "I think it was McGonagall's idea. The board wanted to get rid the others altogether and this was the only way she could stop them. It's supposed to encourage inter-house unity."
"By making you share with a bunch of Slytherins?" Ginny exclaimed.
"I didn't think any of them would come back," Harry admitted, vaguely surprised by the idea.
Neville nodded solemnly. "A couple have yeah. Mainly the pureblood kids whose parents want them to uphold their reputation."
There was a moment of silence before Ron interrupted it with a sudden thought. "Wait, surely Malfoy's not back?"
Harry's stomach clenched. Malfoy.
The last time he'd seen him was across the courtroom at his trial. Malfoy had looked younger than he'd done in years, his face pale and hollow with dark circles under his eyes as though he hadn't sleep in days. There was something haunted in his expression, Sirius had it too. It was the look of someone who'd spend too long in Azkaban.
It was that look which had motivated Harry to testify for Draco. He didn't want it becoming permanent.
In the end, Malfoy and Narcissa had escaped with just probation but Lucius was sentenced to ten years. Harry tried too hard not to think about the way Malfoy's face had crumpled when they announced his father's fate.
Just a few days later, an elegant tawny owl had tapped on the window of Grimald place, a bottle of wine and a later embossed with the Malfoy family crest attached to its leg.
Potter,
A thank you from my mother and me, as there is no doubt that if it wasn't for your words, we'd both still be rotting in a charming little cell in Azkaban.
Yours,
Draco Lucius Abraxas Malfoy
He'd found himself reading the letter over and over again in the days that followed as if trying to uncover some deeper meaning. But each time, his frustration would grow. It was just so hollow and superficial. He didn't know what he was expecting- an apology maybe? An explanation? He knew he was being stupid, this was just exactly the sort of thing Malfoy would do. He could practically hear his snobby voice echoing off the parchment.
"Oh yes, Draco's coming back." Luna declared, and Harry stared at her in surprise. "He didn't want to but Narcissa insisted. She wants him to get his NEWTS so he'll be able to get a job."
"Luna..." Harry asked, "How do you know all this?"
She smiled, unaware of the confused looks being shot her way by everyone in the carriage. "Draco's my cousin. We owl a lot."
"Pardon?" Harry spluttered.
"Well, second cousin maybe? I'm not too sure. All pureblood families are so intercrossed these days."
Hermione looked horrified. "But Luna, they kept you captive in their basement!"
Luna simply shrugged and fiddled with her tie. "Oh but that wasn't Draco's fault. He kept me company most of the time I was there anyway. He reached out over the summer to apologise and now we get along quite nicely. We've made plans to visit Malaysia next year and go hunting crumple-horned snorkacks."
Harry suddenly felt a random burst of resentment towards Luna and Malfoy. So he'd taken the time to apologise to her? And not him? How many more of his friends were secretly bonding with Malfoy?
"Harry?" He broke out of his sulk by Hermione, who was watching him with a strange expression on her face. He squirmed under her gaze, feeling like a child who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"Sorry," He said, clearing his throat, "zoned out. So shall we take bets on which teacher will try to kill me this year?"
***
A few carriages down sat Draco Malfoy himself, stretched out across the plush velvet seats with his head in Pansy Parkinson's lap. Blaise Zabini occupied the other side, leisurely resting his long legs on Draco.
The three of them have always been inseparable, ever since a five-year-old Pansy had marched up to Draco during a stuffy sacred twenty-eight party and introduced herself with Blaise trailing around after her, already batting his long eyelashes at whoever took his fancy. After that night, barely a week went by without the three of them seeing each other.
It was probably their closeness and open affection towards one another that fuelled the rumours about the three of them. Draco's favourite was there one where they're secretly in a polyamorous relationship and occasionally have foursomes with Justin Finch-Fletchly. He highly suspects that Justin was the one to start that particular rumour.
However, it was most widely believed that Draco and Pansy would marry once they left school and pop out some perfect pureblood heirs. They'd tried dating around the fourth year, but that also happened to be the year of Draco's big gay crisis and needless to say, it didn't work out. In the aftermath, he and Blaise had fooled around a couple of times but nothing ever came of it. The three of them were just too close, dating seemed incomprehensible.
"Draco darling, please relax. I can just feel the tension radiating off of you." Pansy sighed, twisting her manicured fingers through his hair.
"Lay off Pans." He finally brought up the topic that had been lingering in the air since they boarded the train but none of them wanted to confront. "You know as well as I do how dreadful this year's going to be for us."
Pansy's fingers froze for a second but resumed their stroking when Blaise spoke, using the tone of voice he usually saved for seducing people into business transactions. "I've been thinking about that a lot." Of course, he had, always one step ahead. "And we need to be very smart. Slytherin house is obviously going to be targeted, we're the scapegoats after all. Draco, they'll go after you in particular."
Draco snorted, "How shocking." Pansy flicked him angrily and he subsided. "Okay, okay. Sorry. Carry on."
"My first tactic would be for us to keep our heads down. But we can't run the risk of looking weak, we need to present a united front but without looking cocky. I would say our best bet is to befriend the Gryffindors."
"You've got to be joking!" Draco exclaimed at the same time Pansy rolled her eyes.
"Come on Blaise, there's no way they would fall for that."
"It doesn't have to be some ploy. I'm suggesting we make a genuine effort. That way our actions will look natural. They have the most influence, especially Potter and his crew. Going against them would be publicly painting a target on our backs. " Blaise replied cooly, and its moments like these where Draco can see his mother coming out in him.
Almost six foot tall with dark skin and hair which glittered like the sun, Maria Zabini looked like a goddess amongst people. The first time Blaise introduced her to Draco, he had dropped the glass he was holding and instantly understood how men were so enchanted by her, despite knowing full well what happened to her husbands. She oozed charisma and charm, knowing exactly what to say to captive people- a skill she had taught Blaise. He'd seen in it action before, teachers being turned into blushing schoolgirls as he flirted his way out of detention or when a sixth-year boy had done his transfiguration for a month just because Blaise had smiled at him. And now Blaise was going to use it to stop Draco from getting hexed into oblivion by angry fourteen-year-olds.
"I suppose we can try but don't expect to see me making daisy chains with Longbottom or knitting jumpers for the Weasel anytime time soon." Draco drawled and Blaise chuckled fondly.
"Darling I might curse you myself I saw that." Pansy raised her eyebrows and he sat up, wrapping an arm around her shoulders loosely.
"Never. You would miss my face and hilarious quick-wit too much."
"Oh I don't know, I heard Jessica Houston has a new ferret who could replace you just fine." She replied dryly and Draco gasped indignantly, drawing away from her and pouting whilst Blaise laughed at him.
"Chin up Draco, we can find a pug somewhere for Pansy." He pointed out to Draco's amusement and Pansy's horror.
Although Pansy was beginning to look significantly less pug-ish as the days went by. She'd grown out her chopping bob and her grown into her face, the result being rather stunning. He'd always known she was attractive but now it seemed to have blossomed. He'd have to be stepping into protective best friend mode to prevent her heart from being broken by some gangly limbed twat.
"Have you heard from the others much? Greg's in hiding up in Russia with his mother." He changed the subject before Pansy could inflict her wrath. "I'm not sure what they're expecting. It'll only be a matter of time before the ministry tracks him down."
He'd tried so hard to talk him out of it, convince him that it would be better to be sentenced now rather than later. But Greg knew that if he did, they'd be quick to throw him in Azkaban and chuck away the key- to make an example of him. Truth be told, Draco couldn't blame him for running away. The three months he'd spent in Azkaban before the trial almost killed him. The dementors took every last shred of joy and happiness out of him, tearing him apart bit by bit until he was left delirious with grief. The guards weren't any better. The ministry had a penance for hiring the victims of war crimes, people who'd lost their families to death eaters. In their eyes, Draco was their chance at retribution, a way to take out their own anger.
The day before his trial, he tried to hang himself with his own bedsheets.
It took weeks for Draco to function properly again, weeks of waking up screaming, drenched in his own sweat with Pansy held him close and Blaise made tea. He wouldn't have survived without them. The pain subsided eventually, he stopped having panic attacks every time he saw a dark hood in public or flinching whenever a wand was raised. It happened bit by bit and then all at once. His humour came back, his appearance improved- he felt like himself again.
"The last I heard Millie was courting some socialite in Paris. Tracy's not coming back, she got an internship at Madam Malkins. Daphne spent most of the summer with Th-" She stops abruptly, exchanging an anxious look with Blaise. "Oh, I'm sorry Draco, I wasn't thinking."
"It's fine Pans. You can say his name don't worry- I'm over it, really." He can't stand her sympathetic gaze, she means well but he's not ready to talk about Theo. Not yet.
Blaise caches on and diverts the conversation to safer territory, giving Draco a moment to breathe in relief.
"So did you hear about Marcus Flint and Oliver wood?"
***
If Harry didn't know any better, he would say that this years feast being based entirely around his favourite foods was just a coincidence. However, he does know better and after seeing twelve enormous treacle tarts on the Gryffindor table alone, as well as all his favourite side dishes, he is growing slightly suspicious.
Upon voicing this particular theory to Ron, the redhead had just shrugged, before saying through mouthfuls of chicken, "Probably mate. You know what the house-elves are like- they all idolise you down there."
Harry felt faintly horrified by the idea that the meals for an entire school are being tailored around his eating habits and made a mental note to visit Winky and ask her to talk them out of it.
Apart from this, Hogwarts felt relatively the same. It had undergone months worth of magical construction over the summer to undo the damage that was caused during the battle. A task Harry has assumed would be simple enough, but Hermione had explained in depth that Hogwarts magical core had been damaged and it would take more than a few mere repairos to bring the castle back its former glory.
However they had clearly managed it, the castle seemed to thrum with magic, counteracting the melancholy air brought with the students. It was the shortest shorting ceremony Harry had ever seen, only twelve first years. Most parents opted to send their children abroad, to Illvermorny or Beaubatons instead. The majority were muggle-born, who's parents were unaware of the school's recent history.
After the ceremony, McGonagall had stood up in front of the school and Harry had noticed that her face looked a little more lined and tense than when he'd last seen her, an after effect of the war.
"Welcome back. We as a school have faced challenges no others have, you have seen things no other children should have to see. And yet we are here together today, strong, united and victorious." She took a shaky breath, the slight glint of a tear in her eye.
"But as we all know, victory does not come without losses and each and every one of you has been affected by that. This year we must honour the sacrifices made by those before us and do everything in our power to keep their memory alive. I implore you, this year to support those who need to be supported, ask for help when help is needed and do not fight prejudge with prejudice."
"What was all that about prejudice?" Harry asked over tremulous applause.But before Hermione could answer, McGonagall continued to speak.
"This year, we welcome into our ranks, Professor Sykes who is to be our new of potions teacher following Professor Slughorn's retirement." She gestured to a tall dark-haired man sitting at the end of the teacher's table. He was thin with dark eyes underneath his spectacles and his pointed beard was flecked with silver. He reminded Harrys somewhat of a raven or a magpie.
"And Professor Bellamy who has arrived fresh from Beaubatons to fill our post as defence against the dark arts teacher and head of Slytherin house." A smaller curvy woman with auburn hair and olive skin smiled out at them, giving a little wave. She looked young, mid to late twenties and Harry couldn't help but be surprised that she was already being given such a high ranking job. '
"Oh, I've heard of her! She played for the Hollyhead Harpies before becoming a teacher!" Ginny exclaimed, looking at the new professor starry eyed.
"Blimey," Seamus muttered. "Wonder why someone like her's head of Slytherin."
"Isn't it obvious?" Hermione asked, rolling her eyes when she was met with blank looks. "They're trying repair Slytherins reputation and they're hoping that by bringing in a pretty new teacher it might help. It's what McGonagall's speech was about. They're worried that students might start attacking the Slytherins."
Ron's eyes widened in understanding whilst Harry twisted in his seat, craning his head towards the Slytherin table instinctively searching for a glimpse of white hair.
It was a movement which Hermione clearly didn't miss, tugging his arm back. "Come on Harry, let's try to have a year free from Malfoy obsession."
Ron nodded in agreement whilst Harry spluttered indignantly. "Obsessed? I'm not obsessed!"
"Whatever you say, mate." Ron sighed, helping himself to a spoonful of peas. "I'm just not looking for a repeat of sixth year."
"You did go a bit mad Harry," Ginny said softly, stealing a potato off his plate.
"Are you forgetting that he was actively trying to kill Dumbledore! I was doing the right thing!" He protested, glowering at all three of them.
"Yes, we know that," Hermione said, using the tone of voice one might save for talking to a toddler or very old person. "But he's not up to anything anymore. So let's just leave it okay?"
Harry just ignored her, instead opting to cut up his chicken with a little more force than necessary. Ginny slid her hand under the table, wrapping their fingers together. It doesn't give him the butterflies it used to, nor does it bring him any warmth. Instead, a prickle of irritation ran down his spine. That had been happening a lot lately. He loved Ginny, he really did. She's perfect for him, everyone said so. She was gorgeous and funny and loving her was easy. And easy is all Harry needed at the moment. Molly's had already begun dropping engagement hints at every opportunity she got.
After the feast, McGonagall led all of the eighth years up past the seventh floor and the astronomy tower, stopping outside of a large mirror the size of a doorway that Harry had never seen before.
"This is the entrance to your common room," McGonagall announced. "All you have to do is stand in front of it and it will recognise you as eighth years and let you in."
A hand shot up and McGonagall nodded at it.
"Are younger students allowed in?" The question came from Susan Bones who Harry knew had a sister in the fifth year.
"As long as they're accompanied by one of you, " McGonagall answered and Ron elbowed him excitedly, obviously thinking about Ginny.
One by one they entered, standing in front of the mirror which would turn milky at their reflection before swinging open to allow them access.
The common room itself was immense. Huge with a large circle of sofa's in the centre of the room, surrounding a fireplace which came up from the ceiling. There were four large tapestries coming down from the wall, one for each of the house, and the floor was covered in sheepskin and Persian rugs.
McGonagall gathered them around a noticeboard attached to one of the walls, cutting off the chatter with a commanding voice.
"Behind me are the room lists. If you have any complaints please take it up with me personally. As all of you are of age, you will be granted certain privileges which I expect you not to abuse."
"What kind of privileges miss?" Micheal Corner asked, shrinking under her stern gaze.
"You will be permitted to visit Hogsmead at any time, instead of being limited to certain weekends. On top of this, you will also be able to make floor calls on the weekend, on the condition that at least member of staff is aware of where you are."
"Wicked." Ron breathed in Harry's ear.
She moved away from the board and they all surged forward, desperate to get a look at who they would be forced to share a room with for the rest of the year. Harry found himself being pushed to the front, where he spotted his name easily.
Terry Boot
Anthony Goldstein
Harry Potter
Blaise Zabini
Draco Malfoy
Oh. Oh no. Fuck.
He's sharing with Malfoy.
"You've got to be joking!" Ron groaned next to him and Harry saw that Ron was sharing with Dean Thomas, Theodore Nott, Ernie Macmillan and Micheal Corner.
"At least you've got Dean!" Harry protested. "I'll probably be hexed in my sleep!"
"Sorry, mate," Ron said sympathetically, resting his hand on Harry's shoulder. "We can go to McGonagall tomorrow...who have you got Mione?" He turned to where Hermione was looking very pale.
"Oh, merlin." She breathed. "I'm with Pansy."
"Well, there's certainly no need to sound so disappointed Granger." They whirled around to where Pansy Parkison was stood, eyes glittering mischievously. "I'm sure we'll have a wail of a time."
"Piss off Parkinson," Ron growled and she raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him.
"Charming as ever I see Weasley. Oh, how I've missed our little chats!"
He rolled his eyes. "Come on let's dump our things before the rest of them get here."
Harry was relieved to find his room empty when he arrived. It was fairly large, with five just five beds and to his delight, the ceiling had been enchanted to show the night sky, much like in the great hall. He chose the bed nearest to the window, showcasing a spectacular view over the grounds.
After Ron had also unpacked, they headed back down to the common room where Hermione was curled up in an armchair, pouring over her battered copy of Spellman's Syllabary.
"It's nice isn't it?" She said as they sat down next to her. "Does yours also have the ceiling?"
"Yeah." Harry agreed at the same time Ron nodded.
"Pavarti thinks it's a way of helping anxiety. Most people find it calming."
Unfortunately, Harry didn't hear any more as that was the moment that the common room door opened and he promptly forgot how to breathe.
Draco Malfoy had sauntered in, flanked by Zabini and Parkinson who were looking like guard dogs, primed to attack anyone who dared to look his way.
Malfoy looked good. His hair fell in white blonde curtains around his face which suddenly looked more aristocratic than pointy. Somehow, he still managed to project that causal self-assured cockiness which got under Harry's skin so well. It was utterly infuriating. Of course, Malfoy would turn up looking like he'd just stepped off the pages of witch weekly despite being a social pariah and spending months in Azkaban.
Typical.
Malfoy barely spared him a glance, before sinking onto the sofa where the rest of the Slytherins were gathered. Harry followed his gaze to where Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass were draped over each other in a nauseating fashion. Something seemed to flicker in his eyes, something no one else would notice, but Harry- who had years of Malfoy watching under his belt- immediately recognised it as irritation.
It was peculiar, the only thing Harry could think to justify it was that Malfoy liked Greengrass- but he'd been so sure that he was dating Parkinson. Whatever it was, he was desperate to find out.
A little while later, Harry bid Ron and Hermione goodnight before heading up to bed. Terry and Anthony were sitting together on the other side of the room, heads bent together in a whispered conversation. Malfoy was splayed out on a bed near Harry's with Zabini. He broke off whatever he was saying when he saw Harry walk into the room, his expression changing into one of blank indifference. Zabini on the other hand broke into a shit-eating grin.
"Ah Potter! Fancy a game of chess? Cards?" He shot Harry a wink, "Drinking game? God knows Draco has enough fire whiskey in his trunk to last a lifetime."
Harry had no idea to say, his throat felt like it had closed up. The whole situation was bizarre and he wondered for a second if he'd accidentally walked into an alternative reality. He'd never said more than five words to Zabini before this point but now the boy was acting although they were lifelong friends.
However, he was saved from having to answer as Malfoy's cool voice cut through the air, inexplicably sending a shiver down his spine.
"Do shut up Blaise." He still refused to meet Harry's eyes. "You'll scare the saviour."
"Oh fuck off Malfoy." He spat, but to his immense annoyance, the other boy didn't take the bait, instead, he just rolled his eyes and carried on his conversation with Zabini as though Harry wasn't even in the room.
He turned away, grabbing his least embarrassing pyjamas out of his trunk and stalked towards the bathroom to change. There was no chance he was going to strip down in front of the Slytherins.
He inspected his body briefly in the mirror, he was in better shape than he'd ever been before and his skin was vaguely tanned from the long days he would spend sitting outside of the burrow with Ron when the grief in the house got too claustrophobic.
Once he'd changed into a pair of jogging bottoms and a chudley cannons t-shirt he'd nicked off Charlie, he went back into the dorm. The room was dark and the others were already in bed. The curtains were drawn tightly shut around the bed next to Zabini's which Harry assumed was Malfoy's. Zabini gave him a cheeky salute before closing his own curtains.
Harry eventually fell into uneasy sleep filled with quidditch, fire and dragons.