Chapter Text
It was storming outside. The sky was black as coal, only illuminated by the bolts of lightning soaring through the darkness. Raindrops were trickling down the windows of the big castle as Harry walked back towards Gryffindor Common Room. The sound of the drops hitting the roof together with his footsteps were the only noise in the quiet hallway.
It was as if the castle itself were sleeping - and that was the very reason why he often found himself wandering the dark corridors without purpose in the middle of the night. It felt peaceful, a clear contrast to the daytime, where the castle bustled with activity.
When the sun was up Harry was a hero, the Boy Who Lived. People congratulated him, gave him gifts and asked him to pose for pictures. He got tons of fan-mail each day, everything from children’s drawings of his defeat of Voldemort to marriage proposals. Everyone wanted to speak to the Wizarding Saviour, and when he finally managed to escape from the agitated masses, his friends craved his attention and time.
They wanted to know how he did. What he felt. They were worried about him, they told Harry. They were scared he was isolating himself after the battle. They told him it was okay to feel grief. He usually shook his head dismissively, forced a smile to his face, a witty remark on his tongue. He didn’t know if he was convincing, but he didn’t really care anymore.
And almost every night, when everyone else was asleep, he walked down into the Common Room and out of the portrait hole. He never brought his invisibility cloak; he didn’t need it. When he wandered down the hallways, he was always alone. Even the teachers had gone to bed at this hour, and the only signs of living creatures Harry ever saw in the middle of the night were stray cats, who moved past him like dark shadows.
It was refreshing. The darkness, the quiet. It was the only time where Harry had peace to think.
He was on his way back to the tower. It was nearly four in the morning, and he would have to be ready for the new day in only a couple of hours.
Harry savoured that last few minutes as he slowly climbed up the stairs to the seventh floor. This short time each night was all the freedom he had, and he desperately needed every minute of it to stay functioning. As he reached the top of the staircase, he closed his eyes and focused only on the sound of the rain hitting the roof of the old castle. Pling. Pling. Pling. He sensed a sharp light through his closed eyelids, and heard a faint boom in the distance.
It was almost as if he could smell the wet grass on the quidditch pitch and feel the strong wind, filled with raindrops, on his face. It brought back withered memories filled with joy. Long autumn-days on his broom with the team. Rainy visits to Hagrid with Ron and Hermione, laughing at how frizzy Hermione’s hair became after the short walk down to the hut. Drinking butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks, shaking freezingly after being outside the whole day.
But that was before.
Harry was suddenly pulled back to the present, as he heard shuffling footsteps coming from an abandoned classroom to his left. He slowly opened his eyes, and looked around. The broad window in front of him showcased the night sky, still covered in dark clouds. The storm seemed to have calmed down, but the rain was still falling softly.
Without thinking about it, his feet led him to the old classroom. The sounds of footsteps had died down, but Harry could almost sense that there was still someone in the room.
He stopped when he reached the doorway. He didn’t know what had led him here. Curiosity, perhaps. But for some reason he couldn’t seem to open the door. It was as if every noise in the castle had abruptly stopped without him noticing. As if the building itself was waiting for him to do something. He suddenly realised that he was holding his breath. He let it go, and gathered his Gryffindor courage as he pressed down the handle.
At first, he didn’t see anything. Only dark outlines of unused tables and chairs. Then a lightning tore up the sky, and the room lit up for a split second; only enough for Harry to spot the silhouette of a person sitting on the floor in the corner, with their head down in their lap.
Then another lightning enlightened the abandoned classroom, and he recognised the almost bony white hair.
“ Malfoy !?” he said, startled. The other boy quickly looked up with something akin to fear in his eyes. Before Harry could try to do anything else, Malfoy quickly rose and stroked past him in the doorway and out into the darkness of the hallway.
~~~
The next morning, Harry decided that he would keep an eye on his old nemesis throughout the day. When he trailed behind Ron into the Great Hall for breakfast, he immediately scanned the Slytherin table. Malfoy was sitting in his usual spot on the edge of the eight-year group, next to Blaise Zabini. Harry noted that the blond didn’t participate much in the conversation.
Harry had been surprised when he saw Malfoy on the platform at the start of the school year. Most of the Death Eater children had given up on their education, trying to evade the public eye.
No one had considered the thought that the Malfoy heir would show up ready to board the Hogwarts Express on September 1st. The family had lost all power after the war, even though Narcissa and Draco both were pardoned because of their roles in saving Harry’s life in the Battle of Hogwarts.
Harry hadn’t seen them since the trial, where he vouched for their freedom. Most of the Wizarding World thought them guilty, but no one was interested in opposing Harry so soon after he killed the Dark Lord, so they gave him whatever he wanted. That was the only time he had interfered in a trial, though.
The Malfoy’s had been standing on the edge of the crowd at Kings Cross Station with their heads down; a drastic change from the eleven-year-old boy who had boarded the train eight years ago with his nose in the air, thinking he owned the world.
Malfoy had kept his head down throughout the school year. He followed closely around the few Slytherins who had decided to come back for their eight year; Zabini, Greengrass, Davis and Bulstrode. It was a small group, and they all seemed to have the same goal to disappear in the crowd for the whole year. Gone were the tall looming shadows of Crabbe and Goyle, together with every problem the Slytherins normally would cause every now and then.
Harry sat down in front of Hermione with a small thump. When he didn’t start to reach for any food at all, she sighed and loaded some egg and bacon on his plate.
“You need to eat something, Harry,” she fussed. “You look terrible! Have you had enough sleep? Are you having nightmares again?” Her eyes were frantically widened, as if she could fix all his problems if she only worried enough. Harry squinted at Ron, who sat beside her, hoping for some sort of distraction, but the redhead was already stuffing his mouth full of buttered toast. Hermione cleared her throat, clearly annoyed at his obvious attempt to avoid her questioning. Harry sighed.
“I’m fine, Hermione. Really ,” he added, when she looked at him in disbelief. She looked like she wanted to argue, but luckily she seemed to decide to let it rest and poured herself some pumpkin juice instead. Harry tentatively took a bite of his egg, but found he wasn’t hungry. His eyes scanned the room, and seemed to land on a certain blond by their own accord. He quickly moved his gaze back to his friends sitting across from him.
“I’ve been thinking about… y’know, Malfoy and stuff.”
“What about him?” Ron asked. He shot a quick glance towards the Slytherin table, as if he hoped Malfoy had just suddenly disappeared.
“I don’t know,” Harry said truthfully. “Forget it.”