Chapter Text
Harry was different after the war. Not in a noticeable way, but in a quiet way. It was subtle, no one seemed to notice. Not even Ron and Hermione.
Harry had never been very arrogant. His humility was the thing that had kept him alive a lot of the time. He’d never considered himself “valuable” even when others, like Dumbledore, had insisted he was.
Harry simply didn’t think of it that way. It was a part of his charm (according to everyone else). He mostly thought of himself as extremely unlucky, almost targeted. And who could blame him, really?
But now that all of that was over. There was no more Voldemort or Death Eaters or Defense Against the Dark Arts professors secretly intent on killing him. The target on his back had seemingly vanished, leaving only the trauma of the past behind.
The only problem was… no one else seemed to share this sentiment. They were always just… looking at him. It was uncomfortable to say the least. Harry didn’t know what they wanted from him. He couldn’t save the Wizarding World again. There was no more Dark Lord looming over them. No secret threat to tackle.
And still, Harry’s life felt… expectant. Like everyone was constantly on the edge of their seats, waiting for him to do something heroic or worthwhile. But none of them knew the truth. None of them knew how painfully uninteresting Harry really was. When there was no overwhelming danger or scheme within the school, Harry was just ordinary. It was terrifying for him to discover that no one had seemed to notice how plain he was, and they now expected him to be some extraordinary person.
Harry had changed, sure, but if anything, he was less interesting. Before the Battle of Hogwarts and the encounter in the forest (you know, when he walked to his death) he’d been determined, brave, loving, kind, and a lot of other things. And while he’d kept his kindness, he felt his bravery slipping from him day by day. Determination? He couldn’t even find motivation.
After the war, Harry’s thought process had become… darker. He kept secrets held within him at a dangerous rate. The way his mind attacked him during the night, or even during the day, he kept to himself. Ron and Hermione had noticed a bit, but they hadn’t realized just how terrible it had become.
There was really only one consistency from before the war in his life. And, unfortunately, that consistency was Draco Malfoy annoying him.
Eighth year had swept up Harry, Draco, Hermione, Pansy, Ron, and Neville and sent them back to Hogwarts, for one more year. Seeing Draco again had been like whiplash, and he’d hoped maybe they wouldn’t have classes together. But, of course, that didn’t quite work out. It also didn’t help that Ron and Draco were roommates, due to the eighth years being squished together. McGonagall, who was now Headmaster, wanted different houses to room together, in order to promote house unity. Ron and Draco were equally displeased. Fortunately, Harry had managed to avoid many conversations with the former Death Eater.
They’d spoken only once so far this year, and it had gone something like this:
“Hey, Potter,” Draco had said on the second day of classes, right after DADA. His voice had an interesting hilt to it, and it had made Harry turn around. The first thing he had noticed was how different Draco looked. He was significantly skinner, all the muscle from Quidditch lost, and the dark circles under his eyes were deep and purple. Harry had been walking with Hermione at the time, suspicion lining her brow. Her eyes had raked over Draco, a menacing glare attached to them.
“Oh, hey, Malfoy,” Harry had replied after a moment of not knowing where this was going, “You go ahead, Hermione.” He noted her wary glance before relenting and walking away, probably to find Ron.
Draco had watched her walk away before continuing, “I just thought it would be a good idea to um-” he’d suddenly paused, seeming very unsure. Harry had just stared at him, dumbfounded over the fact that Draco Malfoy didn’t know what to say. His pale gray eyes darted around, like he was searching for the answer somewhere. His demeanor had been so nerve-wracking it’d started to irritate Harry. How hard was it to finish a sentence?
Apparently, very hard, as Draco had stuttered out, “I guess I wanted to say thanks for not letting me die. And also sorry if it’s weird that I’m here.” Harry had raised his eyebrows as the Slytherin winced, as if in severe pain. It probably was painful for someone like Malfoy to apologize. Harry had found himself flushing with secondhand embarrassment, wanting more than anything to end this conversation.
Deciding to extend an olive branch, Harry had replied, “Uh, well, thank you for throwing me my wand.” He wasn’t ever going to mention it to Draco, that fleeting moment in the midst of battle. But, then it seemed more appropriate than ever, if only to wipe that beaten look off of Draco’s face.
Draco had furrowed his brow at that, leaving Harry confused. Was Luna not meant to pass on the message? He’d assumed the throw was Draco’s own attempt at making peace, so that his legal troubles would be lessened.
Harry, not wanting to make it a big thing, had hastily added, “And also it’s not all that weird that you’re here. It’s pretty much the only consistent thing I have from the old days, you know?” Harry hadn’t really been lying, and he’d found himself offering a small smile at his former enemy. Draco’s jaw had dropped wide open, and Harry had found himself stifling a laugh.
He’d seemed to register that his mouth was open and quickly shut it before managing out, “Wow, I did not know you saw me throw it. I even told Luna to take credit for it.” As he said it, Draco’s eyes had filled with realization. Harry couldn’t help but smile gently thinking of Luna, she was always trying to show the best in people.
As fun as this had been, Harry had needed it to be over, “It’ll be okay, Malfoy, just one more year to survive, right?” He’d tried to give Draco an easy out, praying he’d take it.
To his relief the boy had replied, “Right.”
And that was the end of his first and only conversation with Draco Malfoy this year. It was now December, and throughout the months, the only interactions he’d had with his former adversary were in DADA and Potions. These “interactions” consisted of Draco repeatedly coming to class looking like he’d been hit by a truck and Harry being unable to stop staring at him, wondering how the hell he’d gotten that way.
Draco was still on probation, forced to attend Hogwarts for security purposes, so Harry didn’t think him foolish enough to be plotting anything. Still, something was going on and Harry desperately wanted to know what it was.
He’d been patient, hopeful that one day someone would say something. But, three months had passed to no avail and Harry was growing restless. This mystery was keeping him up at night, why was Draco showing up so bruised? Was he running a fight club? Or, more accurately, was someone giving him a hard time?
Harry was sick of losing sleep over this, so today was his breaking point. They were in the middle of Potions and he had been watching Draco the entire class. There was a bruise along the boy’s jaw and down his neck. He also had two black eyes. If he’d been anyone else, the professor would’ve immediately asked him what happened. But it wasn’t anyone else, it was Draco Malfoy.
After class, Harry watched Draco walk toward the eighth year dorms, as he usually did. But, Merlin help him, he just couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Draco?” Harry had called. He pronounced the name as a question, not knowing if he should call him by his first name. But, he wanted this conversation to be friendly, not threatening.
The boy slowly turned around, “Potter.” His response was dry and his mood seemed piss-poor. Harry almost swore, just his luck that the day he finally decided to push this was the day Draco was in a bad mood.
Harry walked towards him, and looked the boy up and down. He was in bad shape, even his blue, oversized sweater wasn’t enough to hide it. He tried to think through his words carefully, so that Draco wouldn’t be offended or scared away. He needed something friendly, maybe a joke.
Instead, Harry said the stupidest thing he could think of. “You’ve been… quiet.” Oh, Merlin. There it goes, this conversation crashed and burned, all thanks to Harry and his stupid, impulsive mouth.
Draco grinned maliciously and spat, “What do you want me to do? Let Fenrir Greyback back into the school? That’s currently not an option.” And suddenly, Harry was not the stupidest one in the conversation. He felt a twinge of rage at the mention of the sixth year attack. How could Draco joke about that?
“That’s in bad taste,” Harry felt himself scowling, and was honestly just proud he didn’t assault the Slytherin boy. Draco just blinked, presumably processing what Harry had just thrown at him.
Harry braced himself for a snarky remark, but all Draco did was sigh and ask, “What’s the point of this conversation, Potter?”
Puzzled by Draco’s reaction, Harry struggled out, “I just-” he thought for a moment and just looked at the boy in front of him. He took in the bruises and the dulled look in Draco’s eyes. He felt… different than the boy that had relentlessly teased him in fifth year.
“What happened to your face?” was all Harry could think to ask. Draco seemed surprised by this, his eyebrows knitting together.
“Why.”
Harry frowned at the monotone response. It couldn’t be mistaken as a question, it was a simple need for explanation. A demand. He suddenly felt defensive, why did he need to explain himself? Why didn’t Draco explain his suspicious activity?
“I’ve been noticing you coming into class looking like a punching bag every damn day, I was just wondering what you could’ve possibly been doing to get that way,” Harry blurted, annoyed at the boy’s avoidance.
He realized his mistake immediately, but it was too late. The Slytherin paused for a moment, a shadow crossing his beaten face.
He recovered quickly and grit his teeth, “You mean who have I been scheming with, don’t you?” Draco sneered, “In case you haven’t noticed, both my parents are in Azkaban, so there’s no one giving me orders anymore.”
Harry’s blood rushed with alarm, “No, that’s not what I-”
Draco cut him off, obviously on a roll, “Don’t think I don’t see you watching me all the time, Potter. I see you and your friends constantly keeping tabs on my life! I get it, I’m horrible. Now, leave me be and let me be horrible alone,” he snarled and whipped around, storming off in the direction of the dorms.
Shit, Harry cursed to himself. He should’ve been kinder, he’d seen the state that Draco was in. Obviously he wasn’t going to take well to Harry trying to pry information from him. Harry let out a defeated sigh and slowly began his walk of shame to the dorms, hoping Draco would already be in his room by the time he got there.
It was now Friday afternoon, and Harry was with Ron, waiting on Hermione. They were celebrating not having classes for the weekend and had decided to practice their normal routine of getting drunk in the common room when she’d come bursting in.
“Library, now. I’ll meet you there in a second, I need to do something first,” she’d ordered them, not sticking around to explain herself. Ron and Harry had shared a confused look, but had obeyed her. They’d learned by now that she usually knew what was best.
So now, they were in the library, which was completely dead. Not a soul to witness this.
Just then, Hermione opened the doors to the library with a worried Pansy Parkinson behind her. Ron and Harry shared another confused look, why was Pansy here?
“Thank you for listening to me,” Hermione stated, a genuine look of guilt on her face.
“We’ve learned by now what happens if we don’t,” Ron smiled at her fondly. She gave him a similar look and laughed.
“I was talking to Pansy, but I appreciate the sentiment, dear,” she pressed a kiss to his cheek which made Harry and Pansy groan in disgust. They locked eyes for a moment in solidarity and smiled, before turning back to the situation at hand. They all took a seat at the table and waited for Hermione to explain herself.
She took a deep breath before she launched into an explanation, “As you both know, Luna is completing her second semester in France, to take care of her cousin.” Ron and Harry murmured in agreement.
“Well, Ginny and I were thinking that we could throw her a birthday thing next week. We would invite Neville along with all of us, of course. But, I have another suggestion that I need to run by you,” Hermione looked uneasy, which made Harry uneasy too.
Pansy seemed to be farther ahead of Ron and Harry, “Wait, you don’t mean…?”
Hermione turned to look at her, “She wants him there. I asked. I just want to know if we think it’s a good idea, or if he’ll even come.” Pansy sighed and seemed to think for a moment.
“Sorry, I’m lost, who are we talking about?” Ron asked, eyes shifting between the two girls sitting across the table. Pansy said nothing, just waited for Hermione to elaborate.
“Malfoy,” his friend finally explained. Harry’s veins turned to ice and he felt dread sink in his stomach. He had no idea the state of Draco, and didn’t want to bring up the conversation they’d had today.
“Are you mental?” Ron deadpanned, looking at his girlfriend like she’d grown an extra head. Hermione cleared her throat and motioned her single head to Pansy, who had a murderous look on her face. Ron grimaced and muttered out an apology, which Pansy seemed to accept.
“I don’t know, honestly,” she admitted, “I love Draco, but he’s dealing with a lot right now. I’m not sure how he’ll do with a group event.” Hermione and Harry nodded, both of them looking at the other strangely.
Hermione sighed, “I want him to come,” she confessed, “It’s important to Luna and I think he’s more agreeable than usual.”
Ron threw his hands up in disbelief, “More agreeable? I mean, do you hear yourself ‘Mione?” Then, after glancing at Pansy, amended, “No offense, but let’s look at past precedent.” Draco’s friend couldn’t say much to that and shrugged.
Harry thought about this whole thing for a moment. He thought about Draco’s demeanor in the beginning of the year and then today. He certainly didn’t seem more agreeable. But he did seem like he needed more help. Whatever he was going through was really bad, from what Harry could tell, anyway. Maybe something like this was what Draco needed to get better. Harry wasn’t sure why he cared, but he did.
The three goons were arguing intently as Harry spoke up, “You want to know what I think?” The silence that followed was deadly. Pansy and Ron were looking at him like he’d lost his mind and Hermione was looking at him with a quiet hope in her eyes.
“I think we should ask him. Be honest with him and give him all the facts,” Harry suggested, “He can decide for himself.” Pansy met his stare and the expression on her face was something akin to… pride. Like that was exactly what she wanted to say.
“I agree,” the Slytherin said, turning to Hermione, who smiled and nodded in agreement. Ron had a permanent horrified look on his face and just moved his hands around, gesturing to nothing. Hermione reached across the table and slapped him on the shoulder, giggling. He softened at her touch, even teasing as it was. He sighed and looked at the three of them.
“Alright, it’s your bloody fault if this goes to shit.”