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Chapter Text

1

Harry has never been to Edinburgh before, but the moment he climbs out of the taxi that brought him from the train station to the the gates of Hogwarts campus, he finds he can only describe it in two words; bloody brilliant.

Getting the scholarship into the prestigious and insanely expensive Hogwarts is the best thing that has ever happened to Harry. Not only has he been granted an opportunity to study at the most highly rated university of the country, a place where only the elite and the most wealthy attend, but Harry has also been gifted the greatest gift he’s ever dreamed of: freedom from the Dursley’s.

Despite Harry not choosing to live with them when his parents died in a car crash when he was an infant, the Dursley’s have consistently treated him like he purposely came to them to burden their lives. Years of chores, borderline slavery, physical hits and beatings, starvation and punishments, and Harry has finally managed to find a way out. When he found out about the scholarships Hogwarts were releasing, a recent innovation they’ve developed to allow 'less fortunate' teenagers to attend and gain a more qualified education, Harry jumped at the chance. Years of keeping his grades lower than Dudley’s, which was a task in itself as Dudley’s intelligence is truly abysmal, Harry unleashed everything he could in the final years of secondary school. His grades skyrocketed when he finally found a new purpose to try, and it was worth every beating and every punishment that followed.

When Harry got the letter at the beginning of the summer, signed personally by the board of Hogwarts, saying that Harry has been chosen for a scholarship to attend the university with a free run and no payment fees, Harry cried. He sat in his bedroom, one he’d only had since he was 13 and no longer could fit in the cupboard under the stairs, and he cried with a happiness he’s never felt before. Relief consumed him, the anticipation overwhelming.

He told the Dursley’s a few weeks ago. At first they were horrified, angry that he’d managed to gain such a priceless opportunity when their precious 'Dudders' was deprived of it. When Harry reminded them it meant that he would be away from September to July for the next six years, they warmed up to the idea. Harry is pretty sure they threw a party after he left for the train this morning, but he doesn’t care. He checked online, and he has confirmed that the school allows students to stay on campus during Christmas and Easter holidays, so he doesn’t have to step foot in Surrey for the next 10 months.

Bloody brilliant.

Harry is brought back to Earth when the taxi man leans out of the drivers window and barks, "You mind shutting my door, lad? I’ve got places to be."

"Shit," Harry curses, jumping in surprise. "Sorry!"

He rushes to close the door, stepping further onto the pavement, wincing in apology. The taxi driver rolls his eyes, but nods in thanks and is quickly driving off, leaving Harry standing with his duffle bag hanging limply on his shoulder.

The taxi driver wasn’t particularly chatty, which suited Harry fine as he is also not very chatty himself, but the sudden loss of the first stranger he’s met since entering the entirely new country and city makes Harry feel strangely lonely. The first semi-friendly face is gone and he is once again, lost and alone.

Well, not lost, exactly. Alone, yes, but not physically lost. He’s standing outside the gates of Hogwarts campus, but he feels pretty small in comparison to the huge, old looking, intimidating university building.

Honestly, it looks more like a bloody castle than a university. Harry shoos away the sinking feeling that he doesn’t belong here. He already knows he doesn’t, but that doesn’t matter now. They’ve let him in, and he’ll be damned if he blows his one and only chance to get away from the Dursley’s for six years.

Hitching his bag more onto his shoulder and straightening his back, Harry takes a deep breath to settle himself before he begins to make his way in. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised by the busyness of the campus. It’s moving in weekend, and he knows he shouldn’t have expected any less, just he still finds himself uncomfortably weaving his way through the mass of people loitering around. He feels a roll of envy in his stomach at the sight of other first years surrounded by their parents, wheeling and carrying bags and suitcases of luggage.

Hogwarts is an usual combination of college and university rolled into one. First year starts straight from the end of secondary school, students of 16 choosing similar courses they would choose at college to progress them onto more specific courses when they turn 18 as if they were moving up to university. At Hogwarts, however, where students would normally advance from college to a new university, they instead move onto more specific courses until they’re 21 and 22 before they graduate. As well as the usual merge of both college and university into one, it’s also a form of boarding school, where students are housed all term and only return to their homes for holidays, which Harry is more than happy about.

Harry follows the arrows and signs, and the general movement of the crowd until he finds the wide open court yard to sign in. He manages to easily make his way over to one of the girls behind the table, who smiles brightly at him as he walks up.

"Hello! Welcome to Hogwarts!" She says. "First year?"

Harry nods.

Her smile doesn’t seem to falter despite his wordless answer. "Wonderful. What’s your name?"

"Harry Potter."

She nods, flipping through the papers on a clipboard. Finally, she nods, smile growing encouragingly. "Here you are. So, you’ve been put into the house of Gryffindor. Don’t worry, it doesn’t mean anything whatever house you’re put in, it’s only for dorm organisation. Here’s your welcome and orientation package, and your dorm key, and here is a map. We’re here, if you follow the arrows it will take you right to your dorm building. Inside the pack is another map of the whole campus and details of what is where. Did you attend one of our open days?"

Harry shakes his head, feeling his cheeks warm.

She smiles kindly. "It’s not a problem. As you haven’t been here before though, make sure you read the pack about the campus and whatnot so you get a bit of a familiarity of where to go for things like meals."

"Okay," Harry nods, feeling overwhelmed. "Thank you."

"You’re welcome!" She replies. "Best of luck, Harry. You’re going to love it here."

Doesn’t matter if I don’t, Harry thinks. There is no way I can go back now.

Map and welcome pack in hand, Harry makes his way further into campus.

The grounds are truly breathtaking. It looks like something out of a 70’s vintage magazine. Old brick, carved stone, cobble pathways. There are high arches over walkways, courtyards with patches of neatly cut green grass, victorians windows with aged wooden frames. Harry barely refrains from gawking as he walks around, vigilantly dodging other people and following the map to where he’s supposedly staying.

Looking around, Harry feels like he’s stepped off the train into a different time, a different age, and different alternate universe. Edinburgh is so different from Surrey, as if it hasn’t caught up with the modernisation of cities and elegantly maintained it’s history, it’s grace.

It’s another reminder that Harry doesn’t belong here.

Though, Harry didn’t belong in Surrey either.

To belong somewhere implied to be accepted, to feel integrated and comfortable. Harry doesn’t even begin to belong in Surrey.

Right now, it’s Hogwarts or nothing.

The first year dorms is a huge building that, like the rest of Hogwarts, looks about three centuries behind the times. Inside, there is huge expanse of what is labelled as the common room, with four doors leading off of it. Each of them, with their own coloured flag hoisted and raised by the doors, are named in what Harry assumes are the four houses. There’s a fair amount of people checking out the shared common room, so Harry doesn’t torture himself with lonesome lingering and quickly makes his way to the Gryffindor door.

He counts the door numbers all the way to the third floor, when he finds the number that matches the one engraved on the key in his hand.

It takes him a moment to find the courage to open the door. Standing outside like a strange loiterer, Harry forces himself to breath slowly.

This is it, he thinks. This is your fucking moment, Harry Potter. You've waited 16 years for this.

Unlocking the door, Harry opens it to reveal the room he’s going to directly call home for the next year.

On the wall opposite the door, is a huge window, filing the room with a generous amount of natural, bright light. There’s two single beds, with a trunk each at the feet them. Each side of the room has a matching desk each, a chest of draws, and built in wardrobes in the walls. There's a door to the side what Harry assumes is the shared en-suite. To some, it might be considered small. To Harry, it looks like a dream.

Suddenly filled with an adrenaline-like anticipation and excitement, Harry barely resists running into the room. He puts his bag down on the bed, privately running his fingers over the soft, smooth bedspread over the duvet. Outside the window, they have a priceless view of a green courtyard.

It’s perfect, Harry thinks. It’s more than perfect.

Harry grants himself a few minutes, in the silence of the room, to take in the sudden, overwhelming feeling of peace. He clasps the key in his hand like a piece of treasure, eyes hungrily drinking in the sight of each inch of the room. He sits on the bed, sinking into the plush mattress, already knowing it’s going to be unimaginably comfier than the one he was given with the Dursley’s.

It doesn’t take long for Harry to unpack. He only had a duffle with a couple of sets of clothes, the only coat and shoes he owns already being on his back. He places his meagre amount of books on the bedside table, all the covers tatty and battered from old age and being passed down in second hand shops before Harry managed to get them for pennies. He managed to swipe some coins from Dudley’s wallet before he left so he could get himself the necessary toiletries from a shop at the train station.

Once he’s finished unpacking, which only takes him a few minutes, he looks around the room that looks almost exactly the same amount of emptiness before he even started. He knows he’s going to have to get a job soon to be able to pay for school supplies, such needed new clothes, and any food or drink he wants that isn’t supplied by the meals in the hall.

When he’s done, Harry sits on the bed and opens the welcome pack. He reads through the welcome manual that explains about meal times in the 'Great Hall'. Breakfast is from six till 8:30, lunch is from 12pm-1pm, and dinner is from 5pm-6:30pm. There is a cafe on campus run by the prefects open from 8-6 everyday, and the library is open 24/7. He reads that first and second years share dormitories in duel same-sex rooms in their designated houses, and from third to sixth year students get their own rooms and all the houses are merged together. Harry assumes it happens this way as by the time students get to 18, he imagines the number of students that enrolled for first year dwindles down.

There is a welcome pack on societies and opportunities to join, but Harry quickly throws that down. He doesn’t have any interest or spare time to be committed to something that isn’t his studying or a job (when he gets one).

He has a handbook for each course he’s chosen, including a reading list for each of his three courses: English, History and Art. He puts the lists to the side to see if any of the books are in the library so he can make sure he’s as up to speed as his peers before he takes a look at his timetable.

Just as he’s browsing the map of the campus, feeling overwhelmed with the size of it and the complexity of the routes, the door to the dorm unlocks and swings wide open.

The boy is tall, with a head of short cut dark hair. He’s got two huge front teeth that seem too big for his mouth, but a smile that is beaming and slightly goofy. He seems excited, lighting up when he notices Harry by the bed.

"Hi!" The boy grins, letting go of his suitcase to hold a hand out to Harry. "I’m Neville!"

"Harry," Harry smiles, standing up and shaking the hand politely. He cringes when he realises his hands are clammy, but Neville either doesn’t notice or is kind enough not to mention it.

Now they’re standing, he notices that Neville is a whole head taller than him. He’s scrawny, like Harry, but seems to carry it better his with broader shoulders. Even Neville’s hand seems to dwarf his own.

When they let go, Neville continues to beam happily around the room. He drops his rucksack on the bed Harry hasn’t occupied.

"Is this your dorm too?" Harry asks, wiping the sweat off his palms subtly on his trousers.

"Yeah," Neville beams. "Looks like we’re room mates!"

"Looks like it," Harry nods, feeling uncomfortably nervous. "You ever shared a bedroom before?"

Neville shakes his head. "No, I’m an only child. Have you?"

"No," Harry shakes his head too. He decides not to mention that he technically isn't an only child as he has a Dudley at home, especially considering the only thing they’ve ever shared is a mutual hatred for one another.

"This could be interesting then!" Neville laughs. "Don’t worry, I’m not messy."

"Neither," Harry chuckles.

"We should get along just fine then."

Harry just nods. He’s not holding his breath on it, but he doesn’t tell Neville that.

Friends is not a thing Harry is familiar with. Dudley has always managed to sway anyone away from ever liking, befriending, or merely acknowledging Harry. Dudley successfully ruined any chance of friendship Harry ever had a chance of having before he even had the chance to try. After a while, growing up with all his peers hating him from the get-go, Harry has become content with the isolation. He realised it was safer that way too.

After all, you can’t get hurt by people if you don’t surround yourself with them.

Another knock at the door has Harry looking at Neville in question.

"That's probably my mum and dad," he smiles, abandoning his bags and going over to the door. "Are your parents here to?"

Thankfully, Neville asks the question just as he opens the door, so Harry gets away with not answering the question as moments later, two adults are walking in.

It's clear from the get go that they're Neville's parents. He shares the same dark hair as the both of them, he has his mothers striking blue eyes and his fathers thin, long face.

The two of them radiate warmth. Wrapped in peacoat’s and a small, burgundy scarf wrapped around the woman’s neck, they step into the room beaming.

"It’s lovely, sweetheart," the woman says, pulling Neville into a hug. "Do you like it?"

"Yes, mum," Neville nods. Then, he looks at Harry. "Mum, dad, this is Harry. He’s my roommate for this year."

"Hello, love," the woman says. "My name is Alice."

"Nice to meet you," Harry replies quietly.

"Frank," the older man smiles, shaking Harry’s hand. "Where are you from, lad?"

"Surrey."

"We’re from London," Alice replies. "Did you get the train?"

Harry nods.

"We drove. It was a hellish journey, but worth every moment now that we’re here," Alice says, grinning at Frank with excitement. "We're going for lunch in the city, would you and your family like to come?"

"Oh, n-no thank you," Harry stammers foolishly. "I'm... I'm just going to check out the campus, find the library and all that."

"Of course," Alice smiles. "It was lovely to meet you, Harry."

"You too," he replies weakly.

"See ya later, Harry!" Neville beams, and then they're all gone.

When the door clicks shut behind them, the silence is suddenly deafening.

Harry once again squashes the feeling on envy over Neville’s parents, and instead puts his shoes and coat back on.

The campus is in intimidatingly huge, but also breathtaking.

The library almost makes Harry weak in the knees. Huge high ceilings, old wooden beams and fine brick work. It’s lit by lanterns and classy chandeliers, casting a soft glow on the floor to ceiling book cases and rows upon rows of books.

Harry doesn’t resist gawking as he walks around. Eyes as big as saucers as he drinks in the sight of the endless book spines, the old tables with desk lights. Its so quiet, and Harry wants to bring his duvet and move in forever. Harry finds a handful of the books from the reading lists and settles down at one of the tables. No one else seems to be sitting, only people and their families coming in to look around, commenting on it’s elegancy, and then leaving. Harry becomes engrossed in the books. He only manages to get through the best part of a novel for his English class, but after a couple of hours, he realises he needs to go to the hall for dinner.

He debates skipping it, but after not having had anything to eat apart from the heal of a loaf of bread the day before, he decides he can’t ignore his stomach any longer.

Harry arrives at the Great Hall at six o’clock. The hall is as majestic, large, and extravagant as the rest of the campus. It’s also, incredibly full.

Only the first years have moved in so far, the rest of the student body returning from their summer holidays in two days time to give the first years the freedom of a quiet and easy campus. Harry figures they’ve laid less tables and chairs out as they’ve only got only a sixth of the student population on campus, but it’s still full to the brim. There are four tables,  each of them with the house flag hoisted above them.

Harry heads towards the Gryffindor and spots Neville sitting at the end. Harry sits opposite him, flashing him a smile as he does so.

The sight of the food platters in the centre of the tables has Harry almost gasping. Plates and bowls and dishes of every food he can think of. Vegetables of every kind, roasted and boiled and fried. There is different meat, rolls, soups, pasta, and potatoes of every kind. Everything looks delicious, the smell of all the different foods practically assaulting him. He doesn’t know where to start, wanting to try everything.

He settles for some chicken, cheese mash potato, and some roasted vegetables and a small bowl of soup. He’s not used to eating like this, and he doesn’t to humiliate himself on the first day by overindulging and throwing it back up.

For a while, him and Neville don’t speak. Neville initially tells Harry about his trip into town, and Harry reveals he found the library, but then they settle into their food and allow for the noise of the Great Hall to wash over them.

"It’s nice to be with someone who’s as much of an outcast as I am," Neville says suddenly.

Harry looks up from his mash potato and frowns. "What?"

"Look around," Neville shrugs. "Everyone seems to already know each other. I know a lot of them have come from the same private school."

Harry looks around curiously. He sees what Neville means: there is a clear definition of cliques amongst the students already.

"Does it bother you?" Harry asks, and when Neville flashes him a confused look, he adds, "That you don’t know anyone."

"I know you," Neville shrugs, smiling.

"Not like they know each other," Harry argues.

Neville shakes his head. "I’m happy with you, Harry."

"Oh," Harry mumbles weakly, throat feeling suddenly thick. "Thanks. I… I’m happy with you too."

***

Harry learns a lot in his first week.

He learns that Neville’s parents are incredibly well off, with his father being a crime detective in London and his mother works as a forensic pathologist for the same police department. He learns that Neville grew up mostly as a loner, due to not hitting puberty until he was 15 and spending most of his primary years being bullied for his front teeth, which Harry honestly thinks, are not that bad.

He learns that there are three other students who have gotten into Hogwarts this year on a scholarship like Harry, and one of them drops out before the first week has finished.

He learns that everyone else in Hogwarts comes from homes with huge mansions, who grew up with money pouring out of their ears, and none of them have ever stepped foot in a public school before. He learns that all of his peers have enough money to pay for Hogwarts tuition nine times over, and that even just glancing at them compared to Harry, they stand far above him. They make the second hand clothes he wears on his back look like rags straight from the Victorian era.

He learns that Neville wasn’t exaggerating when he said lots of the students already know each other. There isn’t even a chance to mingle as before the first day of classes even start, everyone has found their people. Apparently a lot of the wealthiest of the students know each other even back to early childhood, as all their parents went to Hogwarts in their younger years and have brought their children up together.

Harry would find it intimidating and lonely if it wasn’t what he was used to. Solitude is Harry’s most familiar setting, so he’s not bothered that everyone already knows one another, or people have seemed to slip into natural groups and friendships. He didn’t come here to make friends and climb the social ladder, he came here to pass Hogwarts with inspiring grades and move as far away from the Dursley’s as he can indefinitely.

When Neville asks for his phone number the morning after their first night, Harry has to admit that he doesn't have a phone. He lies and says his broke over the summer and he hasn't had the money to replace it, and Neville doesn't question it. Harry supposes Neville is just that kind of person that doesn't feel like prying, because he just nods, smiles and says, "No worries! Let me know when you get a new one and we can exchange numbers then!"

It's almost too easy. If Harry wanted to, he's pretty sure he could make up a whole new home life crafted on lies and falsehoods and the students here would eat it up if it matched the standards of their old money.

Harry doesn't do that.

No one asks, and Harry doesn't have to energy to fabricate a whole new persona. Keeping the true picture of his past is exhausting enough, Harry doesn't have to energy to add acting to it too.

On the Friday, the seventh day since Harry moved to Hogwarts, he is posted a letter to his dorm room that morning before breakfast about a meeting with his English lecturer at 10am.

"Don't worry, Mr Potter," Professor McGonagall assures him when he sits down in her office hours later. "I have these meetings with every student in my class. It's just an opportunity for us to have a little chat and for you to ask any questions or queries you may have about the course or the school."

Harry nods. "Okay."

"Would you like some tea, Mr Potter?"

"Sure. T-Thank you."

"Milk and sugar?"

"No sugar, and just a dash of milk, please."

When she hands him the teacup, she motions to the plate on the desk between them. "A biscuit?"

Harry takes one, nibbling on the end as to not aggravate his already rolling stomach.

"Are you enjoying your English course so far?" The Professor asks.

"Yeah," Harry nods. "Yes. It’s good. Very good. Uh…"

The Professor smiles at his stammering rambling. "Wonderful. Did you do any of the summer reading?"

"I’ve only managed to read four of the books," Harry admits sheepishly. "I was only able to start when I got here last week. I wasn’t able to get the books before hand. I can read more, it won’t affect my work in class. I promise! I—"

"Mr Potter, please," Professor McGonagall interrupts gently. "The reading list is not mandatory, it is an optional exercise. You will not be docked for not completing the entire list, or any of the list, for that matter. I merely asked if you’d read any of them to find out if you enjoyed what you read."

"Oh," Harry breathes, blinking in surprise. "I… well, I enjoyed The Picture of Dorian Gray, and A Room of One’s Own, by Virginia Woolf. I actually read that one in one day, which was quite fun."

"If you enjoyed A Room of One’s Own, I must recommend Mrs Dolloway by Woolf as well," Professor McGonagall smiles. "Have you read anything by Thomas Hardy?"

"A few," Harry nods.

"I find it so refreshing when I meet students with a love for old literature," Professor McGonagall says. "How old are you, Harry?"

"16."

"There is not many 16 year olds that have read the likes of Thomas Hardy and Virginia Woolf."

"I imagine most of the students on this course have," Harry shrugs.

"Are you enjoying Hogwarts?"

Harry nods. "It’s…"

"Magical?" The Professor prompts gently.

Harry nods again, blushing.

"Did you have to travel far?"

"Surrey."

"That’s quite some distance to move at so young," the Professor says cautiously. "If you ever find yourself suffering from homesickness, Mr Potter, then I hope you know you can come to any of us Professors if you need support."

Fat chance of that ever occurring, Harry thinks bitterly. I’d have to be bloody mad to ever miss Privet Drive.

"Okay," Harry replies, barely resisting shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Uh, thank you, Professor."

The older woman sip her tea. "Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr Potter, but you are one of our students here on a scholarship?"

This time, Harry can’t resist the uncomfortable twitch. "Yes."

The Professor’s eyes soften. "It’s an incredibly impressive achievement, Mr Potter. I hope you know how difficult it was to get one of these, and to have been one of the few chosen means you have got unmatchable potential."

"Thank you," Harry replies.

"You belong here as much as anyone else, Mr Potter," Professor McGonagall says, nodding. "I want you to remember that."

"Okay."

"It’s a privilege to have you with us, and especially one my course. I hope you continue to enjoy it as much as you have already."

Harry smiles, genuine this time. "I hope so too."

***

Harry used to draw a lot as a kid. He enjoyed it a lot too, until his art teacher in primary school made the mistake of mentioning to Petunia and Vernon that he had real potential, and the love for it was beaten out him. Literally. He's still got the scars on the back of his thighs from Vernon's belt from the whole ordeal.

After that, Harry didn't do anymore drawing. The pictures he's made and stuck up in his cupboard were ripped down and never recreated.

When he started secondary school, he spent many lunches and breaks in the art room hiding from Dudley and his friends. The love for sketching came back, as did his new found love for painting and charcoal. Whatever he created he stuffed in his rucksack and kept secret in a shoebox under his bed so none of the Dursley's could find them.

When the offer of the scholarship was presented to him by his teacher at school, she’d handed him a brochure to look through to consider his course choices. It was only after he must have been obviously stalled when seeing the art course page did she gently encourage him to take it. She said she’d seen his work in the art classroom the last few years, and she said that Hogwarts will have a department that will launch his ability to the stars. Completely, baffled by the praise she gave, Harry almost refused. It was later that day, when he couldn’t sleep, his head pounding from Vernon slamming it into the kitchen worktop when he was five minutes late with dinner, that he looked at his shoebox of drawings and paintings.

It was a spontaneous act of fear, defiance, and a strange of confidence that made him go into school the next day and say he wanted to study English, History and Art.

Harry has no art supplies of his own apart from a sketchbook and a packet of different grade pencils his art teacher kindly gifted him when school finished in July. They’ve been stuffed under his mattress the whole summer so the Dursley’s wouldn’t find them. Harry spent a bit of time on the train drawing idly to pass the time from Surrey to Edinburgh, but the brand new sketch book is still entirely untouched apart from two or three pencil sketches he’s done over the summer.

The teacher that greets them on the first day is Professor Trelawney, a bizarre and slightly mad looking woman with frizzy hair, huge glasses and an obsession with brightly coloured small scarfs. Still, despite her large personality and slightly dreary voice, Harry thinks she’s quite spectacular. Weird, absolutely, but she’s also so extrinsic that Harry can’t help but feel like she’d welcome anyone and everyone into her class.

The art department at Hogwarts is huge. It has more supplies, types of paint, coloured of pencil, brands of clay and ranges of paper size than Harry knew even existed. It’s entirely daunting, intimidating, and down right terrifying. Harry feels so small in it, so amateur, like a complete imposter. He wonders if choosing to take art is a huge mistake, if he’s going to sink and drown before he even has a chance to swim. He’s overwhelmed with the fear that he isn’t going to be good enough, that he’s going to be embarrassingly kicked off the course because he’s rubbish.

The only assignment for the class is to produce a portfolio of their choice. There is no restrictions apart from the size and the amount they have to produce. The content, the style, the theme, everything, is all their choice.

Harry is so overwhelmed with the amount of freedom he has he almost walks out there and then.

Yet, after a week of it, where Professor Trelawney said he should experiment with the supplies they’ve got, to find his comfort style, to discover his favourite form of art, Harry became more comfortable.

"There is no rush," she assured him kindly. "You know as they say, you can’t rush art. You have all year, pet. Give yourself some time to find out what you enjoy doing, what you enjoy to be inspired by. Whether that be portraits, flowers, landscapes, abstract. Try and test the equipment, see what paints are your favourite to work with, or if you prefer pencil or charcoal. We have sculpting too, I can help you give that a try next week. This classroom is your playground, darling. Be daring, be bold. No one in my class hides themselves. This is the only place on earth you can truly express yourself."

Nerves and feelings of imposter syndrome eased, Harry allowed himself to relax in the classroom. After the first session, he looks forward to the next.

Be daring, be bold, Harry reminds himself.

No one hides in my classroom.

In art, Harry did not hide.

He spends the second class painting. Professor Trelawney gives him a huge scrap of paper as big as a classroom desk and tells him to go mad. Harry has always been a portrait sketcher. Hands, eyes, noses, faces, postures. It’s been the easiest thing to draw in class or in his cupboard and bedroom. He’s never had a chance to paint outside of school, he only had pencils because they were easy to hide and less messy.

When Professor Trelawney hands him a bunch of watercolours and acrylics, with the assurance to make as much mess as he wants, Harry takes the offer with both hands.

Be daring, be bold.

He has nothing to paint from, so he automatically uses one of the other students as inspiration. She identified herself as Luna on the first day, so gentle and softly spoken that Harry almost missed it.

By the end of the class, Harry is covered in paint from head to toe, and the paper is covered from corner to corner. He’s painted Luna from behind, flowers and butterflies in her blonde hair. The background is a mix of forestry and florals. It’s so colourful it almost hurts Harry’s eyes. It’s so unlike him, unlike his work, that he almost throws up straight on it.

Professor Trelawney looks like she’s having a stroke when she sees it. She practically sinks to her knees with a gasp, eyes wide and staring at it. Harry thinks it’s slightly dramatic.

"Incredible," she breathes. "Absolutely spectacular, Harry. You have a gift."

"It was a whim. I didn’t know what I was doing," Harry mumbles. "It’s too much. I—"

"No," she interrupts, shaking her head. "No, Harry. It’s not too much."

"Really?"

She smiles kindly. "I never lie, Harry. It’s wonderful."

***

Harry grants himself two weeks of freedom at Hogwarts before he begins his search into a job. The scholarship has gracefully paid for his intuition and dormitory, but there is still the cost of books, additional food besides the meals in the halls, and clothes that need to be paid for.

The Dursley’s wouldn’t give him anything even if he begged. They didn’t even give him food that wasn’t scraps, out of date, or burnt even when he was living with them, so he knows its futile to even consider asking them for some spare cash to restock on toiletries and stationary for his studies.

Plus, getting a job is another step in the right direction of independence that Harry is craving.

The less he needs from the Dursley’s, the better.

Harry knows finding a job is going to be difficult at 16, when he knows lots of places will be uneasy at taking on a student and one who’s not going to be available during the summer holidays, but he doesn’t have a choice. He won’t last long with no money, and he’ll be damned if he has to go to the administration office and ask for more help like a charity.

It takes a week of handing out his resume to every possible shop, cafe, restaurant, hotel and hairdressers in Edinburgh before he receives an invite to an interview. It’s to a cafe a far distance away from the campus, though the journey definitely walkable. He’s nervous for it, mostly to have to shamefully confirm to them that he has no barista or customer experience.

Shockingly, they’re not bothered. He warns them about not being available during the summer and having to work shifts around classes, but promises he can pull his weight and happily work over Christmas and Easter when he doesn’t have to go back to Surrey.

They snatch him up like a child finding free candy. Unfazed by his lack of experience and university commitments, the kind lady interviewing him, named Maggie, says it won’t be a problem: that they’re happy to teach him the ropes, happy to accommodate to his classes, and that if he’s any good and he wants it, they can reserve his job over the summer so when he comes back, he still has a place to work come every September.

It takes Harry a few moments to realise they’ve offered him a job, and he has to get them to confirm they’re being serious three times before they gently laugh and make him agree. It feels too good to be true, and he waits for them to retract the offer with a cruel PSYCH!

They don’t. It’s genuine, and Harry is truly shaken by their humble kindness.

He starts work the following week, and when the pay-packet comes on that first Friday, he goes straight out and buys himself a set of shower washes, some granola bars to hide in his trunk, and a stack of stationary.

After a month at Hogwarts, the only friend Harry has is Neville. Truthfully, Harry is okay with that. Neville is lovely, but Harry is used to being alone. His own company has become his companion for years, and he’s always felt safest when it’s quiet and private. He sits with Neville at dinner, skipping breakfast and lunch. Even after a month, he’s still not used to eating three meals a day, and a granola bar at lunch is more than enough to tide him over till the last meal of the day. Plus, the meal hall gives him an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

If Harry isn’t in class, he’s either in his library, his dorm room, or at work. He spends his every spare moment with his nose in a book, either for class or for entertainment. The library becomes a space of safety. The growing pile of course work, essays, revision and notes to write doesn’t take long to become heavy, so he spends every waking moment available at a table alone for as long as he can stay awake. He shares his time between classes, studying, and work, and this goes on for the first month of term.

His courses are insane. There’s so much to learn Harry is almost scared of it. Coming from a public school, his grades, even as impressive as they were, don’t compare to the students in his class that talk about the priceless opportunities they’ve gained from their previous educations, like going studying abroad, meeting famous writers, experiences granted by their parents to go above and beyond the general scale of achievements.

Harry isn’t just behind, he’s lacking so much he can’t even see the podium they’re all standing on.

He’s determined to change that.

He’s got six years. He won’t be the scholarship, charity case forever. He earned his place here, and he will prove that as much.

One day, a month and a half into being at Hogwarts, Neville joins him in the library. They don’t exchange pleasantries, which Harry appreciates, and overall Neville is a pleasant study companion.

Neville joins him more often after last. They don’t talk much, considering they’re both doing different courses, unless Harry is recommending a book that involved some useful botany information to Neville.

Life continues in new, peaceful change. Harry feels overwhelmed with the freedom he's been given.

The weeks pass with no bruises, no beatings, no chasing from Dudley and his crew. There's no shouting, no frying pans to the head, no nursing his wounds at night knowing no matter how battered he feels, he has to get up the next day and no utter a single complaint.

He has focus now. He has studies that he can excel at, challenges that has him sweating over his textbooks. He has unlimited access to a library as large as Privet Drive itself, novel after novel after novel at his finger tips. Work is fun, now he's got the hang of making difference coffees and drinks, and the money gives him an independence he's never had before.

Edinburgh is a fresh start, Hogwarts is a chance he's never had before, and Harry has truly grabbed it with both hands, determined to never, ever, let it go.

He meets Hermione and Ginny in November.

He's in the library, rewriting his class notes from history while adding new ones as he goes from a book he found on the shelves, when Neville comes up to the table.

Only, this time, he isn't alone.

Two girls stand beside him, one with curly brown hair and the other with striking, fiery orange that's styled in two long plaits.

"Alright, Harry!" Neville greets, sitting down beside him. The other two girls take the seats opposite them without invitation. "This is Hermione, she’s in my Biomedical Science class, and this is Ginny, her roommate. I hope you don't mind they tagged along today."

"It's fine," Harry murmurs timidly.

The girl with brown hair smiles. She looks like she's stepped straight out of a prep school fashion magazine. She's got a crisp white long sleeve shirt underneath a argyle pattern red and black sweater vest.

"Hermione Granger," she smiles, extending her hand across the table to shake.

Another thing Harry has learnt since coming to Hogwarts, is that everyone dresses very expensive, stylish, and the common greeting is shaking hands.

He's still not used to it.

"Harry," he replies, quickly shaking her hand back. Then, with heat in his cheeks, he adds, "Potter. Uh, Harry Potter."

Hermione's smile only grows. She looks so friendly Harry can't decide if it's genuine or fake yet.

"Ginevra Weasley," the ginger says, not extending her hand, which Harry finds oddly refreshing. "But, if you call me anything other than Ginny, then I will have to kill you and feed your remains to pigs."

The sharp look in her eyes and the tone of her voice makes Harry quickly decide she is not joking.

"Right," Harry laughs, nodding. This is more like it, he thinks: playful, borderline serious, violent threats. "Ginny it is, then."

"Perfect," she smiles.

"What are you taking, Harry?" Hermione asks.

Harry puts his pen down with an internal sigh, admitting defeat for his study concentration momentarily.

"English, History and Art," Harry admits. "I don’t know what I want to do yet, so…"

"Good choices," Ginny says. "I want to be a vet, and Hermione wants to be a forensic pathologist."

Harry grimaces slightly. "Lovely."

Turns out, Ginny and Hermione are pretty decent. After that day in the library, Harry finds his circle of friends expanding from one to three in an easy, quick blink.

Harry seems to slip into the little group of three that Neville had created without noticing it.

The first term flies by in a flash. Harry is loving it, even more now he has friends for the first time in his life. His schedule is still hectic, jam-packed, overfilled to the point of breaking, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

He declines invites to Hermione's debate society, or to see Ginny's netball games. They don't mind, and never seem to take his absence as personal. If anything, Hermione always praises him for his ambition and commitment to his studies and work.

In other words, Harry knows she's unintentionally calling him a bore, but Harry doesn't care. He's not used to this kind of lifestyle, this kind of society and routine. The only thing about Hogwarts that is familiar to Harry is the hard work, only this time is has rewards.

Other than Neville, Hermione and Ginny, the other people at Hogwarts don't seem to notice Harry. He manages to fly under the radar, out of the way of all the squads and cliques. No one bothers him, no one speaks to him, no one even gives him a second glance in the corridors or the Great Hall. Harry loves it, he's gifted the space and the peace he never got in Surrey. No one chases him like Dudley's gang used to. No one kicks him to the ground when he walks past them like Dudley used to. No one screams profanities at him across the yard or the school hall like Dudley and his cronies used too. There's no lock on the outside of his bedroom door for only other people to use. There's no punishment for making noise or doing as he pleases. Harry is practically invisible, and he loves it.

He also loves his new friends, though. Spending time with Neville, Hermione and Ginny was the hardest transition. To be around people that are pleasant, funny, kind, and who want to be around him, was confusing at first. Harry was always ready to get out of their way as soon as they came by, always wondering if they wanted the table he was at for their own space. He quickly learned that they joined him because they wanted to be with him, not the space he was in.

Harry kind of likes having friends. He likes having people to talk to, to share opinions with, to laugh at jokes with. He likes having people who's company make him feel warm instead of cold.

It's no secret that Harry has attended Hogwarts on a scholarship, yet, it isn't until the end of term that it is truly vocalised.

Some first years throw a Christmas party in their halls building three days before the first term ends. Harry hears about it through Neville, and is thankful to have to say that he has work and won't be able to attend. When Neville catches him out and says the cafe closes at six, Harry admits that parties aren't his thing and he will be going to the library after work to avoid the socialite. Surprisingly, Neville gives him no grief over it.

So, Harry goes to work that day. When he finished at six, even by the time he makes it back to campus by seven, he knows the party will still be in full swing. He goes to the library until two in the morning, figuring by that time it must have died down enough for him to sneak back into his dorm undisturbed.

He's wrong.

The party is in full swing, even despite it being the early hours of the morning. He hears the music before he can even see the first year block, but he's already mentally made the commitment now to go to his and Neville's room to read his book.

The strobe, colourful lights flash through the windows of the common room, making the house look like a disco ball. There are people outside, spilling over the courtyard and laying in the grass. Harry walks past them all, making his way up to the house when a group standing by the front door spot him. Harry doesn't look directly at them for too long, but there must be seven or eight of them mingling together.

Harry tries to get past them, but his sudden appearance seems to attract their attention as he feels all sets of eyes draw to him like moths to a flame.

"Wow!" Someone suddenly says. "The charity case has arrived!"

"Don't get too excited," Harry mutters, making his way up to the front door. He isn't in the mood for this, especially with someone he doesn't know.

Harry has barely got his fingers on the handle when suddenly, he's being grabbed, two beefy hands gripping his collar and slamming him into the wall. He's so startled by the sudden physical altercation that he can't help the surprise gasp as the brick wall behind him knocks the wind out of his lungs.

"You're a fox dressed in sheep's clothes, Potter," the same kid snarls, pudgy cheeks pink and his face so close that Harry can smell the pungent smell of beer on his breath.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Harry asks, narrowing his eyes at the kid, but not attempting to get out of the grip.

"You're a fucking rodent at this school," the kid hisses. His eyes are tiny and pig-like, hair cut short and neck nonexistent between his wide shoulders and square head.

Harry is suddenly reminded too vividly of Dudley, and feels his anger rise. He came all this way to get away from this kind of treatment, not be pushed around by an uglier Dudley 2.0.

"Get off me!" Harry snarls, pushing back hard enough that the kid stumbles away from him. "At least I earned my place here instead of getting in on daddy's money."

Another kid, one as equally ugly looking, laughs mockingly, shaking his head. "You don't 'earn' a place at Hogwarts, you're gifted it. It's a right of passage, it's a heirloom for only those worthy of it. And you, are not worthy."

"Worthy or not, I'm here, aren't I?" Harry replies, shrugging.  "Looks like you'll have to put up with the fox whether you like it or not."

"You won't last. The charity cases never do."

"I've always thrived to be the odd one out," Harry rolls his eyes. "I'll see you in exam season, when your dad has to pay for your grades into second year."

"Fuck you!" The boy spits and, seriously? Harry still doesn't even know who these jerks are. How do they even know Harry is in on a scholarship, and why have they waited until now to have a problem with it?

"Crabbe, Goyle, back off," someone else says, whom Harry also doesn't recognise, but their platinum blonde hair and girl hanging off their arm stands out.

Harry almost bristles, because he doesn't need someone defending him right now. He's spent his whole life around people like this, if he could handle Dudley, his friends, Vernon and Petunia's physical and emotional torture, he an handle this.

"Goodnight, boys," Harry says, and just before he makes his way into the house, he calls over his shoulder, "Oh! And don't drink too much of that beer. They're full of calories, you know. It'll go straight to the waists you don't have!"

He hears shouts in retaliation, but Harry has already shut the door behind him. He makes a beeline through the crowd of dancing, drinking people and goes straight up to his dorm room.

Crabbe and Goyle. So those were the two pricks that decided to create a scene about Harry's attendance here.

Harry's never seen the two in his life, so they can't be in any of his classes. How the hell do they know about him, and how did they find out about the scholarship? Not that it's a problem to Harry, after all, he didn't come here to climb the social ladder. He came here to escape the Dursley's and get a degree good enough to move away from them completely. His social status is nothing he is proud nor ashamed about. Quite frankly, he's indifferent to how he came about attending this school with only the richest population of the country.

Still, Harry thinks it's actually quite surprising that it took this long for someone to have a problem with it.

The next day, Neville asks if he's okay. Harry assures he's fine, that he's no stranger to pricks like them, but Neville doesn't seem happy about it.

"Let us know if they give you anymore trouble," he says. "The two of them are idiots, and don't believe a thing they say, because they're only here due to their parents bribing their way in."

Harry decides to not mention to Neville that that is literally how everyone, apart from Harry and the other scholarships, have made it in.

"The pair of them combined are dumber than a brick house," Neville grumbles, which Harry can't help but chuckle at. "But still, they can be pretty vile. So, if they bother you anymore, let one of us know."

"You going to stand up for me like my knight in shining armour?"

"Always," Neville grins. "We're friends, and we've got your back, Harry."

That makes Harry stop chuckling and sober up pretty fast.

"And, by the way, none of us care about the scholarship," Neville adds. "You're here because you deserve to be here, Harry. Don't let anyone tell you any different."

Swallowing thickly, Harry replies, "Thanks, Neville."

It's the next day, the day before the last day of term and when everyone is going home, that another truth comes out.

They're in Hermione and Ginny's room while the two girls pack, Neville and Harry both stretched out on Ginny's bed, when it finally comes up about Harry's parents.

A bit like the scholarship, it's no secret to Harry, but not something he's been craving to shout from the rooftops. It's not a fun thing to bring up, and honestly, they've been gone for 15 years, so it feels futile to bring it up after so long.

"What are your parents doing for Christmas, Harry?" Hermione asks while she's putting her toiletries in her suitcase.

Harry's reply comes out before his brain even registers it.

"My parents are dead."

Suddenly, it becomes so quiet Harry is sure they could hear a pin drop on the carpet. All three of them freeze, Ginny even mid step. Three heads turn to him, all of their expressions confused, stricken, and horrified.

"What?" Neville breathes, looking across at Harry like he just admitting to commuting murder.

"You don't have any parents?" Ginny asks.

"They died in a car crash when I was one," Harry says. "I live with my aunt, uncle and cousin now."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione whispers, voice wobbling. "I… I’m so sorry."

Harry shrugs. "I don’t remember it, or them, so it’s fine."

"I… w-we—" Hermione stammers, looking pale.

"You don’t have to say anything," Harry interrupts gently, feeling increasingly uncomfortable that the choking amount of pity being sent his way suddenly. "Please. I don’t know any different, so it’s all good."

"Sorry, Harry," Neville says sadly. "We... we didn't even know, and we—"

"I didn't tell you, so whatever you feel guilty about, stop it,"

Harry says, shaking his head.

"Your aunt and uncle must be very proud you’re here," Hermione smiles, and Harry barely refrains from scoffing.

"Yeah," he murmurs. He needs to change the subject, and he needs to change it now. The scholarship and his dead parents are fine, but his aunt and uncle and cousin? His home life? That's a no-go subject, and something Harry is definitely not up for sharing. "So, what are you all doing for Christmas?"

Thankfully, they all take the bait.

Hermione talks about how her family are going to France to see her aunt and cousins. Ginny and her family are spending Christmas at home but New Years in Romania where her older brother is working at a wolf sanctuary. Neville is going to his grandmothers for Christmas because his parents are working but then they're making it up to him by taking him to the states for New Years.

When they ask Harry, he easily brushes it off by saying, "You know, the usual."

Everyone leaves the next day. By dinner time, the campus is empty apart from a skeleton crew of staff. Harry, unsurprisingly, is the only first year that stays in the residency over the Christmas holidays. The campus goes from being full, loud, busy and overwhelming to deserted within 12 hours.

It's eerie for the first day. For the first time, Harry wakes up in his and Neville's dorm room alone. Harry always wakes up before Neville anyway, a habit he can't shake from living with the Dursley's from needing to be up before dawn to begin chores. It's strange seeing Neville's side of the room half empty and quiet, his bed made and most of his belongings packed from the temporary trip home. Harry still tiptoes around the room the first few days out of habit before remembering each time that he doesn't have to.

Harry doesn't see another soul for the first week, apart from the librarian before the reception desk. At dinner, there isn't a feast but instead a short menu so the food is cooked to order as there isn't enough students and staff combined to eat even a fraction of the usual buffet.

Hogwarts Christmas break is three weeks long. Christmas Day comes and goes pretty much unnoticed. Harry exchanges passing murmurs of 'Merry Christmas' to the few members of staff and students he passes, and the day passes with no difference to any other. Harry is fine with that, truthfully. The day is no different to the other 364 days of the year. If anything, this year was his best one yet - a Christmas away from the Dursley's. He didn't need presents or celebrations, because being way from them, skin not sporting a single bruise, bones no aching or broken, and body free from the pain of their beatings, is the best present he has ever gotten.

With classes out, he picks up more shifts at the cafe over the Christmas break. Maggie asks him kindly why he hasn't gone home, and despite his excuse that his family have gone away and he didn't want to go, he knows she saw right through it. The pity and concern in her eyes are clear as day, but thankfully, she doesn't press about it any further. Instead, she makes sure to send him home with the cakes and pastries left over from the day, and gives him a Christmas bonus of cash in an envelope despite only working there for the best part of three months.

When the three weeks of Christmas holidays are over, the students move back across the span of the last weekend. Harry feels like he blinks, and the campus goes from eerily peaceful and empty to full and bustling again. Not that he's ever talked to the other students he shares a school with, but he's almost kind of excited to have them back. He enjoyed the quiet, the peace, the freedom, but with everyone back, it makes the campus feel normal.

It makes him feel normal.

On the Saturday, Harry is leaving his dorm to go to his shift at the cafe when Crabbe and Goyle appear at the end of the corridor. His attempt to walk past them goes down the drain when Goyle roughly knocks into his shoulder and sends his handful of books he's was going to return to the library sprawling to the floor.

"Charity scum," Goyle sneers as they walk past.

"Posh cunts," Harry mutters, bending down to retrieve the books.

Crabbe rounds on him instantly. "What did you say, Potty?"

"Your ears not working?" Harry snaps, glaring up at them. "I called the pair of you posh cunts!"

"You're fucking dead," Goyle seethes, both of them taking a step towards him. Harry instantly stands up, deciding to be at their level instead of at a disadvantage on the floor.

"And you're the reason God created the middle finger."

"I suggest you crawl back into the gutter you came out of, Potter," Crabbe snarls, getting up close enough to Harry that he can smell the breath of the bigger boy. "The world will be a better place when you yourself, Potter."

"If I wanted to kill myself, I'd jump from your ego to your combined IQ," Harry replies.

The fist to the jaw takes Harry by surprise. His head snaps to the side, whole body swaying, but he's pushed to the ground before the loss of balance and pull of gravity can do it for him. Slamming down on his back, Crabbe kneels as a heavy, crushing weight on his chest. The side of Harry's face is throbbing something fierce, the dots dancing his vision clearing just enough to see the ugly, snarling face looking down at him.

So much for being free of bruises and beatings.

Well, Harry thinks bitterly, at least I made it past Christmas.

"That all you got, Princess?" Harry taunts, licking his lips and cringing when he tastes the familiar coppery tang on them. His tongue is pulsating, already knowing he's probably bitten clean through it from the force of Crabbe's fist against his jaw.

Crabbe's red and angry face twists, clearly taking the bait Harry has egged him with. Rearing his fist back, he's clearly about to take another swing at Harry, when a cold voice cuts through the corridor.

"What's going on here?"

Crabbe and Goyle freeze like a gunshot has rang out. Harry inclines his head up to see someone standing a few feet away from them.

"Nothing going on here, Malfoy," Goyle snarls, glaring at Harry like fiery look. "Just a friendly little chat between friends."

"Not what it looks like to me," Malfoy drawls, raising a blonde eyebrow. His eyes flick between the three of them. "It looks like two against one, which is hardly a fair fight. Crabbe, Goyle, scatter your arses before I make you."

"Come on," Goyle hisses, stepping forward and tugging Crabbe's shoulder. "Get up. Get off him, for fuck sake. Let's go."

"Fine," Crabbe replies, mouth still twisted in anger. He looks down at Harry and sneers, "This isn't over, Potter."

"Can't wait," Harry mutters, dragging in a deep breath when Crabbe finally removes his weight off his chest.

Chest aching from the inhuman weight of his angry peer and the familiar pain of a fist to the cheek, Harry sits up from the hard floor. He rubs his breast bone, blinking the stars out of his eyes from the sudden movement. When the spots fade and the dizziness eases, he looks over his shoulder at the person who seemed to have made Crabbe and Goyle scurry off with their tails between their legs.

Tall, lean, and strikingly blonde, Draco Malfoy stands a few feet away from him. Harry isn’t oblivious enough to have not learnt in his four months at Hogwarts that people like Draco Malfoy are labelled as royalty. Harry has never tempted to get close to those who are classified as elite with a ten-foot pole, but now, with Malfoy standing right there, Harry won’t lie that this boy has been blessed by Goddess of Aphrodite herself.

His face looks like it was carved from fucking marble, cheek bones high and jaw line sharp enough to cut anything that touches it. Harry won’t lie, the guy is bloody gorgeous, but he’s looking down at Harry like he would an abused stray, and that doesn’t sit well with Harry. Blindsided by someone who looks like he was designed and created in a lab, Harry pushes down the feelings of his stomach literally swooning and closes those shutters faster than he managed to get on the duo’s hit-list.

Walls up, castle secure, battle angle formed, Harry slams every reinforcement he has to use.

"I suppose I should thank my knight in shining armour for saving the day," Harry huffs, dusting off his jeans.

"It would be courteous of you to do so, yes."

Harry scoffs, rolling his eyes at the pompous choices of language the guy uses. He sounds more like a professor from the 80's than he does a 16 year old. Ignoring the mean pulsation in his face and the building pounding in his head from the residue consequence of Crabbe's fist, Harry bends down to gather all of his books again.

"I didn't need your help," Harry grumbles petulantly.

"It looked like it," Malfoy argues. "You had a whole whale sitting on your chest and you've got a nice bruise already coming up on your cheek."

Harry doesn't respond. He continues picking up his books.

He doesn't understand what Crabbe and Goyle's problem with him is.

"Are you okay?" Malfoy asks.

Harry almost startles at the sincerity in the blondes voice. He can't stop his head from snapping up in surprise, throat suddenly dry and thick as he stalls replying for a moment. He grabs his freshly sorted stack of books, forcing himself to stand before he responds to the simply question that has managed to turn his world on its axis.

"Apart from a bruised face and a crushed dignity? Yeah, I'm grand," Harry finally replies, shrugging. The action causes a twinge of pain in his chest and he winces. "Might need a new set of lungs from Crabbe's fat arse using my chest as a seat though."

Malfoy surprises Harry when he chuckles, and further surprises Harry when he says, "He may be the size of a whale but combined both their brains don't even weigh the equivalent of a cashew nut."

"Lovely thing to say about your friends."

Malfoy raises a neatly shaped eyebrow at him. "What gave you the idea I was friends with them?"

"You sure seem pretty cosy with them at dinner everyday."

"Watching me in the Great Hall, Potter?" Malfoy smirks at him.

Harry curses the heat that creeps up his neck and cheeks.

"Hard to not notice the loudest racket in the room."

"Not very accurate," Malfoy counters. "Still, if you've observed as much as you wish to deny, you'd know that they are the ones who cosy up to me. I do not wish to waste my company with them, but they seem to believe we are somewhat of a source of friends due to sharing the same classroom with me since we were all children. They don't seem to get the continuous hints I provide that I am repulsed by them."

"You may be repulsed, but they seem to worship the ground you walk on."

"A lot of people here do."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Well, thank you for stopping me become the whales afternoon snack. Consider your good deed of the day done."

"I will," Malfoy smiles, and damn, if the wolfish grin doesn't have Harry weak in the knees then the sight of the other boy winking at him does. "Try to stay out of trouble, Potter."

"I won't," Harry replies, and he's very grateful that Malfoy has already walked past him because his voice fucking quivers.

Feeling hot, embarrassed, and humiliatingly hormonal, Harry tries to forget about the whole scenario on his way to the cafe, but he can't. Malfoy's stupid and pretty face is at the front of his mind. The coy smile, the ego that seemed to take up the space, the blonde hair that didn't have a single strand out of place. With eyes so sharp and bright, the blue practically hyponotising as soon as Harry saw them. He feels completely dumbstruck when he arrives at work and he can't stop thinking about the heat still burning in his cheeks.

He feels stupidly besotted.

Maggie ices his cheek when he gets to the cafe before his shift starts. By the next morning, the swelling has eased and the bruise has come up in a dramatic watercolour painting of blacks and purples.

Neville moves back into the dorm while Harry is at work, so when he gets back on the Sunday evening, Neville, Hermione and Ginny are all in their shared bedroom.

"Harry!" Hermione beams when he walks in. When she sees his face, her smile drops. "What happened?"

"Just a little altercation in the corridor yesterday," Harry admits. "Don't worry. It doesn't hurt."

"Did someone hit you?" Neville asks, eyes blazing.

"Who was it, Harry?"

"Take a wild guess."

"Crabbe and Goyle?"

Harry nods.

"What the fuck!" Neville barks. "Did you report them?"

"Did you hit them back?" Ginny asks, ignoring the incredulous look Hermione flashes her.

"No and no," Harry answers. "Don't worry about it, guys."

"Did you have a good Christmas?" Hermione asks. "Apart from the whole Crabbe and Goyle part."

"Yes," Harry nods, returning the smile. "How about you guys?"

"Brill, mate," Neville grins. "Glad to be back, though."

"Really?" Harry laughs disbelievingly.

Neville nods. "I missed you all."

"How sweet," Harry smirks. "When did you all get back?"

"This morning," Neville replies. "You been at work?"

"When did you get back?" Ginny asks.

"I... uh," Harry stammers, stalling by distracting himself with putting his rucksack on the desk and kicking his shoes off. When his back is turned from them, he finds the courage to truthfully admit,"I didn't leave."

Silence greets him. Even when he turns around to them, none of them have spoken. Three pairs of eyes are looking at him with confusion and surprise. Feeling uncomfortable under the weight, Harry quickly drops down beside Hermione on his bed, forcing himself to relax and not sit stiff as a board. He thinks he passes the nonchalant act.

"What?" Neville finally asks, shaking his head and blinking as if he's convinced he heard Harry wrong.

"I didn't go anywhere," Harry shrugs. "I stayed here over Christmas."

"Why?"

"I couldn't get the time off work," Harry shrugs again, looking down at the rumpled denim of his jeans to avoid the scrutinising gazes of his friends.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione murmurs next to him, sounding sad, and rests her head on his shoulder.

"That's shit, mate," Neville frowns, shaking his head. "Thought your boss was nice, and she wouldn't let you have the time off over the holidays?"

"It's fine. I didn't ask in time," Harry lies, feeling a strange surge of guilt for blaming Maggie, who has been nothing but generous to him. Feeling sick for lying, he quickly asks Hermione, "How was France?"

Once again, his friends take the topic change with no argument. He hears about Hermione's lovely trip across the channel and the funny stories she has of her aunt getting drunk on wine. He hears about Ginny's Christmas with all her brothers, about the ridiculous gifts the twins got everyone and the prank they pulled on the middle brother that involved a toilet seat being removed. He hears Neville talk about his calm Christmas with his grandmother and the amazing sounding New Years Eve he spent in New York with his parents. When all three of them pull out their gifts for Harry, he almost flies off the bed and runs out of the campus in shame. He had no idea they were doing presents, so when a handful of wrapped gifts are dumped in his lap, he tries to give them back but is met with immediate argument.

Neville bought him a five-pack of soft socks, each of them with different vegetables stitched into the ankles, and a large Toblerone bar from the airport in New York.

Ginny bought him a wooden hat and scarf set from Romania.

Hermione bought him a first edition book of Little Women and a soft knitted navy jumper from France.

Harry feels sick as he stares down at the gifts, not sure if he wants to cry or not. He promises to get them something in return, and despite their assurances he doesn't need to, he spends the whole of his next weeks wages getting them belated presents. Having never had to buy gifts for people, Harry finds it immensely difficult coming up with suitable things for people. In the end, he gets Hermione the new Stephen King books she said she didn't get for Christmas, Ginny a bath and shower gift set from a fancy place in town that Hermione says do the best smelling body lotions ever, and he gets Neville a new plant for their room and a multi packet of Rolos. He gets confirmation from Maggie that his gifts are at least mediocre, though she promises him he's done a lovely job of finding gifts for them. He wraps them all on his break at work, and gives them out in the evening when they're once again huddled in Harry and Neville's room after dinner.

Later that evening, Harry leaves them to go to the library to catch up on the class work he didn't do during the afternoon as he was at work. He's only just made it out of the residency building when Hermione comes running up behind him.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about something," she admits.

Instantly, Harry feels his back tighten up. His heart begins to race, heavy and fast in his chest. He has no idea what Hermione is about to come out with, but he knows it can't be good.

"What is it?"

"Are you okay?" She asks.

Her question throws him by surprise.

"Am I okay?"

She nods.

"I'm fine," Harry replies.

He is, so what's her problem?

Why is she asking if he's okay?

Harry's heart twinges with the reminder that she's one of the first people to ever ask him that.

"I've been thinking," she starts, suddenly looking nervous, "about you staying here over Christmas."

"I told you," Harry replies slowly, forcing himself to not give in to the urge to fold in half and disappear into the floor. "I couldn't get the time off work."

Hermione nods. "I know. I just don't believe you."

Within a second, Harry's pounding heart sinks into his shoes.

She knows.

She knows.

She knows.

She knows what they do to him.

She knows how much of a freak he is.

She knows he truly doesn't belong here.

"Okay," he replies, managing to keep the quiver out of his tone. He shrugs, "So?"

"I've noticed somethings about you, Harry."

"Whatever it is, I'm sure you've got the wrong idea."

"I don't think I have," she shakes her head. "I had a friend in primary school who didn't like being at home too."

"It's not the same," Harry argues desperately.

"You don't have to explain," she says softly. "I just want you to know that I'm always here if you ever need to talk. We all are. We're your friends, Harry. When you're ready, we're here for you."

Harry doesn't get a chance to reply. As soon as Hermione finishes speaking, she kisses him gently on the temple and walk away. Harry watches her retreating back as he stands on the cobble stone pathway, struck and surprised.

Hermiones works sit heavy on his chest, sinking in slowly like a puddle of water onto soil.

Harry didn't know if he was touched or concerned that within four months of knowing each other, Hermione had figured out a suspicion about his less than ideal home life. Harry was sure he's been managing to keep it under wraps, that he hasn't done anything or implied anything to give her such a serious accusation.

Yet, despite his greatest efforts, Hermione has him figured out. It only took her a few months to see the demons in his closet, the skeletons he's hiding.

That evening, Harry doesn't focus in the library. He can't. His mind is moving a mile a minute.

If Hermione knows, does Neville and Ginny too?

What do they think of him?

Do they think he's weak?

Do they pity him?

Are they going to look at him differently?

Are they going to treat him differently?

Are they going to tell the teachers?

Are they going to tease him?

Are they—

Are they—

Are they—

Nothing changes. Neville acts the same, so does Ginny. After the chat, even Hermione doesn't change. They don't look at him like the beaten, weak, waste of space he feels. They treat him the same, talk with him the same, act with him the same.

Nothing changes, and Harry can't appreciate it enough.

Hermione's assurances stay with him, despite Hsrry never acting on it them.

They're there for him, even if he doesn't take it.

That's all that matters.

— tbc.