Chapter Text
Grief is a profound thing, it ebbs and flows. The summer afterwards was both torturously slow at times whilst moving along so quickly it felt difficult for Harry to keep up with what was happening around him. Autopilot was his best friend in the most fatiguing or irritating times, such as the never-ending ministry visits he was forced upon to give eye witness testimony, reports and support in the Wizengmot.
It was both a great relief and major cause of hypervigilance when returning to Hogwarts to start another school year in September. The so-called ‘eighth year’ was created for students who had experienced major disruption in what was meant to be their final year at Hogwarts and wanted the chance to finish their schooling as it had been supposed to be, before taking their NEWTs exams. The majority of these pupils made the decision to return and the halls were soon filled with professors and students almost as if everything which occurred of the previous two years had already been swept under the rug, with various people seeking normality.
Unsurprisingly, this was not so simple for those in the crux of the wizarding war. Despite this, the last 3 months were actually unexpectedly enjoyable overall for Harry. The routine of going back to regular classes with no obvious murderous professors and calm evenings in the newly established eight year dormitory often filled with study, conversation, magic, hot drinks and laughter. Whilst the weight of the previous year has not disappeared, Harry's days overall have been surprisingly refreshing and warm.
This Christmas break was only days away and you could feel it with the crisp morning air creeping into the bedroom and from the excited squeals of younger years chatting in the Great hall during breakfast and outside the windows of the Classrooms. Harry was due to go to the Burrow for the holidays which, whilst slightly apprehensive of this being the first time everyone would be back together after a few months and people in the family were still overcoming the tragedies all experienced up until the Battle of Hogwarts in May, he was also incredibly looking forward to it. The smiles he's missed whilst being in Hogwarts and the smells of Molly's cooking would always be incredibly welcoming.
Currently he was sat in the middle row of his afternoon Friday potions lesson and watching Slughorn finish of writing the necessary ingredients needed for the potion they would be working on for the next hour or so. Potions, like almost all of his lessons now, were a lot more composed and it was clear everyone felt this. However, whilst the content still not being completely uncomplicated for Harry, he was forced to admit that being in this room had become one of his favourite things to do this year.
Sitting next to Harry was Theodore Nott: at least a few inches taller than Harry, dark brunette, blue-ish grey eyes, muscular arms, quiet but observant, son of previous and now imprisoned death eater and top of the year in potions- tending to beat both Hermione and Draco by only a couple of marks in the majority of their work much to both of their chagrin.
When they were partnered by Slughorn at the beginning of the year they did not talk often, only when discussing who was gathering each ingredients or materials or the occasional soft toned but harsh remarks or order from Theo when Harry was about to do something particularly unhelpful in their potion making. This duality that Theo possessed had become a frequent area of Harry's thoughts. Along with Theo's arms. 3 months in and the young men's relationship had slowly but greatly developed. Quick words became unhurried conversations, eye contact changed, smiles increased and surnames became first names.
Theo gently kicks Harry's foot beside him to get his attention and as he quickly locks his eyes he subtly moves closer to the emerald eyes, scruffy blacked haired being to whisper “What are your plans for tomorrow?”.