Disclaimer: I am writing this story for the enjoyment of myself and others. I am not gaining a prophet through writing this story, and do not claim to own any of the characters mentioned. All rights to the story Harry Potter and it's characters belong to JK Rowling.
Note: This story takes place after Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. The background which is offered is meant to be in correlation with the book and canon, but the story will go on to ignore the epilogue.
...
It had started on a frigid winter day. One could practically hear the air freeze when they breathed, let alone talk. At that moment, somewhere around three o'clock on a Sunday afternoon in December, Harry found himself walking next to Hermione. The pair were coming from the Hogwarts quidditch pitch, which had been a frozen tundra compared to how it normally looked in the spring time; lush and green and bright.
As Harry toted his heavy broom back to the castle in his right hand, the young witch on his left was going on about something which Harry's ears had become numb to a while back. It was something about potions and essays and Christmas and Oh Harry I can hardly stand the new defense against the dark arts teacher!
A cold puff of air escaped Harry's mouth as he wrapped his arms around himself. Damn it's cold.
Harry could have sworn just yesterday is was August.
The black haired boy longed for the summer. He loved the heat on his skin and the hot breezes which would blow across the English countryside. During that time, the time of scorched fields and briny sea air, Harry was free to fly anywhere he wanted, to be with his best friends which had become his family, and, for the first time in 17 years, live freely without the threat of Voldemort.
Besides the obvious, however, this summer was something special. It would be the last summer before Harry would enter the wizarding world as a fully trained adult. He would be leaving Hogwarts as a student for the very last time, and when it came to the month when child-wizards everywhere began to pack their trunks and head to Kings Cross, Harry would be forced to seek out a job.
Although the year before was technically Harry's last year at school, the war had completely obliterated any chance Harry had of attending Hogwarts for his final year.
It took a while to hear any news of or from Hogwarts after the war, seeing as most of it was destroyed in the battle, but eventually Harry received a last-minute letter from the new head-mistress herself, Minerva McGonagall. It invited, no, urged Harry to take a final year at Hogwarts, making up lost for learning time.
Later, Harry would come to find out all children who had lost the opportunity to attend Hogwarts received this letter, including Ron and Hermione.
As expected, Hermione had jumped on the opportunity, going on about how wonderful this was, and how she was so very pleased that she wouldn't have to write an extremely self-depreciating letter to Beauxbatons asking for them to accepted an over-age witch.
Ron, on the other hand, had been a different story. He decided to exempt himself from the opportunity. His reasoning was short, but sound, and despite Hermione's wishes that her boyfriend would attend, her objection remained minimal.
Ron just shrugged when she had questioned him "Someone's going to have to help George run the shop." And that was all he had to say.
No one talked of Fred's death.
"Harry?" Harry was snapped back into reality by Hermione. She had a look on her face which she took on when she was worried about her black haired friend, which was increasingly frequent.
"Harry," she repeated again when the wizard failed to acknowledge her "are you alright? You've been gazing off into space the entire time I've been talking. I'm compelled to assume that you have not heard a word I have spoken within the last five minutes..."
At the comment, Harry felt a bit guilty. Mostly because he really hadn't.
"Sorry, 'Mione." The pair had stopped walking, much to Harry's disdain. The boy could already feel the wetness from the snow around them seeping into his trainers. He moved his feet restlessly, hoping both to discourage the flow of slush into his shoes, and to hint at Hermione that he would rather keep walking.
Harry had luck with neither of his attempted actions.
Hermione huffed and flipped her hair over her shoulder. Her bushy brown hair had not been trimmed in a good while, which made the action look a bit like an awkward, whiplash-inducing snapping motion. "It's...it's alright. Although, I am worried about you. Lately, I catch you just staring off into space. Is it, goodness, I know this is something you don't like to talk about, but it's not the flashbacks, is it?" Her eyes were glassy with concern.
Harry knew exactly what she was talking about, flashbacks. For several months after the war Harry had been plagued by what one would call night terrors. The catch was, however, these terrors did not occur in the boy's sleep. They happened at random during the day. Harry could be doing something as menial as scrubbing dishes when all of a sudden a cold sweat would begin to bead on his forehead and...
Harry looked down at the bodies of his friends, his peers, and brave people whom he never knew. Mangled, dirty, their faces covered with grime and their clothes torn from hand-to-hand struggles. He screamed and shook and cried so hard that he couldn't hear as more and more bodies, both on his side and not, continued to drop to the ground within the school.
He was sent to St. Mungo's more than once that summer.
The doctor blamed these flashbacks on post-traumatic stress, and recommended that the young wizard take a medicine to help alleviate the terrors. Every night Harry was to take the peppermint scented potion before bed, orally and on an empty stomach. The concoction was taken in smaller and smaller amounts each month to discourage dependency, and with that weaning it was hoped that the terrors would continue to be kept at bay as well.
To Harry, it seemed the worst of the terrors were over. In fact, the young man was on his last month of the potion, meaning he was taking no more than a teaspoon full of the syrupy gunk. Happily, despite the weaning, the terrors had not yet made a regular re-occurrence.
"No" the black haired boy answered Hermione, shaking his head slightly, "No, don't worry Hermione it's not that." Harry attempted to smile at his friend, but it was a difficult feat, considering his face was practically frozen solid from the cold.
Hermione's shoulders visibly relaxed the smallest bit at Harry's answer, however, the subject was not yet dropped. Luckily, the witch took off walking again before she started talking once more.
"You know, the other day Ginny and I were talking and she mentioned you had been acting the same way around her. We're worried about you, you know that, right Harry?"
Harry nodded, letting his friend continue.
"I just don't like to see you hurt, okay? If anything at all is bothering you, please don't hesitate a moment to tell me. I mean, I know I may be a bit too mothering at points, and for all I know, you could be regularly writing letters to Ron telling him what a complete prat I am for being so overbearing but..." The bushy haired girl paused and looked at Harry. She smiled a bit, biting her lower lip as if holding back a laugh.
"What?" Harry couldn't help the grin which was slowly taking over his face.
She giggled a bit "Nothing I just..."
Harry raised his eyebrows at her, grinning harder now, "You just...?" he urged.
"Oh, Harry, I just love you, alright?" she giggled and looked away, blushing fiercely.
Harry let out a loud "Ha!" before taking on a tone of mock-innocence, "Why Hermione, I never knew! But what will Ron think?"
"Hey!" she looked back at Harry and shoved him playfully, "I didn't mean it like that, and you know it!" However, the pair were laughing mirthfully, meaning they both understood exactly what the other meant.
After calming down a bit, Harry turned to look at Hermione. Her cheeks were colored a pinkish blush with laughter, and her breath was coming out in quick puffs of steam. Harry was sure he looked just as flushed at the moment as she did.
Wrapping his free arm protectively around his friend, the young man looked straight ahead in the direction of the castle.
"I love you too, Hermione."
Hermione smiled softy "I know" She touched the hand on her shoulder lightly, "Now come on, let's hurry up. It's bloody freezing out here."
Harry chuckled once more, and with that, the pair quickened their pace towards the castle, looking forward to the fire that was sure to be lit in the common room.
–
"Now, class, I am going to pass this bottle of liquid Sal Ammoniac around to each of you-Mr. McLaggen pay attention!-and I expect each of you to be extra-careful with this vial!" Professor Slughorn's voice boomed over the drone of the potions classroom.
"Take only two drops each. That should be more than enough for your potions. Sal Ammoniac is an extremely rare and expensive substance, and anyone who breaks this vial will be working off the cost of it in detention!"
With his last threat, Slughorn handed the vial of shining silver liquid to Andromeda Butterfield, who nearly dropped the tiny glass bottle the moment she clasped it. Slughorn winced and drew in a sharp intake of breath before heading back to his desk.
As he watched Andromeda fumble with the vial's plug a few seats away from him in the far right corner of the classroom, Harry was reminded of the fact that the potions classroom was exceptionally empty. Even for post-war standards. In fact, the desks all around Andromeda were empty, which in the years past had been occupied by a large group of rowdy Slytherins.
It came as no surprise to Harry that many Slytherins were missing. It was like that in every class of his; a patch of seats empty here, a group of former students gone there. He wasn't sure why that was, but Harry guessed the notoriety of Slytherin's ties to Voldemort probably had something to do with it.
Occasionally Harry found himself wondering what would keep some of the students from returning. The logical conclusion was that the children of death eaters most likely would not want anything to do with Hogwarts. Harry easily recalled Pansy Parkinson and how she had suggested the school sacrifice Harry to save the rest. In her case, it was understandable that she wouldn't be invited back.
But there were others Slytherins unlike Pansy which Harry met. Slytherins who weren't the children of death eaters who had never returned. Once Harry really started to think about the subject, he began to wonder if McGonagall had offered the children a second chance to return at all.
Harry quickly brushed this thought aside though. The young man knew that, contrary to her rough facade, McGonagall was not the type to deny innocent students their education. Despite this though, the constant mulling of the situation which Harry indulged in persisted, all because of a glimpse of blond hair on the Hogwarts express.
It was one of the most uneventful train rides Harry had ever experienced during his schooling at Hogwarts. The train lumbered down the tracks at top speed as it always had, but the creaks and screeches it made were almost unbearable due to the near dead silence in Harry's compartment.
Hermione sat across from her friends while she quietly read Defense for the Modern Witch ; Wandless Magic. On his left, Ginny sat next to Harry, who gently held his hand for the first hour of the train ride and struggled to start a cheerful conversation.
As the second hour of the train ride began, Harry began to feel restless. The cabin they were in was stuffy and the tee-shirt which he wore was beginning to stick to his skin uncomfortably. He needed to get out, if only for a minute.
"Hey, Gin?" Harry said softly. Ginny had dozed off on his shoulder about ten minutes ago. He suspected boredom was the primary cause for her drowsiness.
"Hm?" Ginny's eyes fluttered open to look up at her boyfriend sleepily "Oh, sorry..." she apologized and lifted her head from Harry's shoulder. "I must have accidentally fallen asleep" The red head laughed a little, but it wasn't genuine.
The young man smiled back at her as she righted herself in her seat once more, "Probably the heat." he suggested "Don't worry about it, I wasn't bothered." Ginny's face softened a bit at this.
"I actually woke you up because I'm a bit hungry. I was going to check and see if the trolly had any snacks left; do you want anything?"
Ginny thought for a moment before requesting a cold bottle of pumpkin juice. "Sorry, I'm not really that hungry." she explained.
"Alright," Harry confirmed. He leaned forward and kissed his girlfriend on the head softly before standing up and stretching his aching limbs. He couldn't wait to get off the blasted train.
"Hermione?" Harry questioned while still stretching.
The witch didn't even look over the top of her thick book "Just grab me a cauldron cake, please."
"Okay," he affirmed, "I'll be back in about ten, alright?" And without waiting for a reply, Harry slipped out the glass cabin door and silently shut it behind himself.
The train rocked beneath Harry's feet as he maneuvered down the small corridor. As he passed compartments, the young man looked inside. Before the war, the Hogwarts train would have been packed full. This year, however, it was a rarity to see more than two students to a cabin. Hermione's words from the summer echoed in his head at that moment.
"Do you really think parents trust Hogwarts now? After all that has happened?"
The young man grimaced at this thought; Hogwarts was the safest and most trustworthy place he knew. If it hadn't been for Hogwarts, Harry would not have been alive.
After a few moments of walking, Harry spotted the section of the train where a young witch with the snack trolly was stopped and tending to a pair of Hufflepuffs buying chocolate frogs. Apparently, the old woman who used to make the trolly rounds had retired after the war.
"Hello!" the young woman said after handing the student's their desired treats, "What can I do for you?" Her smile was bright, brighter than it had been when she was talking to the other students.
Harry frowned. People always treated The Boy Who Lived differently, like he was a celebrity or something. Harry never felt much like a celebrity though; he imagined they had much easier lives than he.
"I'll just take two cauldron cakes and a bottle of pumpkin juice." he said quickly, trying to be polite despite her obvious change in demeanor.
As the woman nodded and ducked down to locate a bottle of pumpkin juice, a dash of white-blond hair caught the corner of Harry's eye. The wizard's head snapped to his right, but just before he was able to focus completely on what had caught his eye, the woman was standing back up, blocking his view.
"That will be three galleons Mr. Potter." she chirped, handing him the bottle of pumpkin juice and two small packages which contained the cauldron cakes.
Harry fished out the money from his pocket and handed it to her. He then turned to walk away, but not before attempting to glance around the woman one last time.
The corridor was once again empty.
Despite being disappointed that he hadn't gotten a better look, Harry brushed the feeling away and turned to walk back to his compartment; he had seen enough anyway. A swish of elegant black robes and a pallid face hidden by white-blond hair. In his earlier years at Hogwarts, Harry had had enough run-ins with Draco Malfoy to recognize his nemesis when he saw him.
The young man felt funny the rest of the day after seeing Malfoy. Frankly, Harry hadn't been expecting Draco to return to Hogwarts. In fact, the last he had heard about the Malfoys was at the beginning of the summer. Apparently they had up and disappeared and no one knew where they were.
Like everything else, though, there were rumors. Some rumors suggested that they had moved to France and changed their names, while others said that they were all killed in the aftermath. Some rumors had even gone as far as to say the entire family now resided at St. Mungo's, locked tightly away in the insanity wards. Something in Harry doubt the last to be true, but one could not be too certain. It was frightful times they lived in.
Either way, not much was known about the fate of what was once one of the most prominent wizarding families.
Now, why all of a sudden had the boy decided to return to a school he supposedly hated? It didn't make sense. The Malfoy which Harry had known had been clamoring to get out of Hogwarts. So why, when presumably given the choice of leaving or returning, had the pureblood chosen the latter?
The strangest part to Harry though, was that that night in the great hall during the welcoming ceremony, Malfoy was no where to be seen. Neither was his former group of cronies, which left a gaping hole in the Slytherin table seating arrangement, but Harry felt that was besides the point. He had a feeling Malfoy's absence was the result of something else.
After being missing during the ceremony, Harry made a point to be on the lookout for the other boy. With each of his classes though, Harry was met with the same disappointment; Malfoy was simply not in any of his classes. The halls proved to be void of the blond as well.
Now, any normal person may have been put off by this. They may have reasoned, Well, he's obviously not around Hogwarts, I must have made a mistake, but Harry was anything but put off. In fact, his want to find the boy was greatly fueled.
I know what I saw he had thought to himself. I'm sure it was him.
Harry was brought back from his thoughts by a soft voice to his left. "Here you are, Harry."
Harry looked away from the side of the room he was staring at and up his fellow classmate, a girl named Rosemary Crane. She was holding the bottle of liquid Sal Ammoniac for Harry to take, smiling shyly at him.
"Thanks." he said and smiled back up at her. She blushed and nodded, heading back to her seat across the classroom.
Today the class was brewing a blood replenishing potion. It wasn't a dangerous concoction, but it was very difficult to brew. If made correctly, though, it could save one's life. In fact, the same potion had saved Mr. Weasly's life...sort of. After he was attacked by Nagini in the Hall of Prophesy, Arthur Weasly was rushed to St. Mungo's. There, he was supplied with one of the potions. It was to be taken every hour for full effect, much like Harry's flashback potion was to be taken every night. It smelled right nasty and and was said to taste even worse, but one could not be picky when it was a matter of life or death.
Gently, Harry uncorked the bottle which held the liquid. The boy wrinkled his nose at the smell that wafted out; phosphorus.
Because of the terrible smell, Harry quickly deposited two drops of the liquid into his cauldron and swiftly passed the vial on to Hermione without a second thought.
After stirring in the Sal Ammoniac, Harry went about preparing the other elements of his potion. He ground the petals of an Aconite sprig quickly, then set to adding a shoot of thistle to the mix, as well as cutting up several staghorn mushrooms as finely as he could. Harry sliced his finger while cutting the mushrooms, he but quickly waved away the pain as he grabbed for his jar of standard ingredients.
Harry stirred in the rest of his ingredients just as Professor Slughorn rose to his feet.
"Alright, class, please finish up! I will now begin my rounds, so be prepared to be graded." He yelled to the students while grabbing a quill from his desk.
There were faint rustling sounds throughout the classroom as Slughorn made his first stop at Andromeda's desk. The professor made a "tsk"ing sound, and went about marking the parchment which he held.
Harry hastily wiped his hands on his trousers as Slughorn quickly made his way to Harry's desk, checking off the rest of his students as he did so. A few mumbled "Good enough"s and "Alright"s were heard, but nothing too boisterous escaped the potions master.
That was, until he reached Harry.
"Good afternoon, Harry!" Slughorn said cheerfully as he approached his prized student, "I trust everything went well with your potion?"
Harry nodded and forced a smile "I think so. But then again, that's up to the teacher to decide, isn't it?"
Slughorn chuckled "Right you are, Harry." He then looked down into Harry's cauldron, inspecting the potion.
"Well," he said after no more than five seconds, "It looks as though your brew turned out quite well! A bit on the rust-colored side, but no matter. At least it is still red." He looked down and marked something on his paper, "Good job, Harry."
Now, it was a well known fact that the professor had favorite students. It was also known that Slughorn could be a bit more hands on with his favored students than the others. So, as Slughorn reached across to give Harry a congratulatory pat on his shoulder, the man did not notice that his hip hit the desk, causing Harry's potion to slosh over the side of his cauldron. He splashed the substance onto Harry's slacks, staining them the color of blood.
The young wizard let a surprised "Ah!" as the boiling potion seeped through the fabric and made contact with his skin. He quickly brought his hands up to wipe the excess potion off of himself, flailing a bit as he did so. Slughorn drew back in surprise, clearly just made aware of his actions.
"So sorry, Harry my boy! Are you alright?"
The young man frowned, "Yes, just fine. Do you have a rag or something?" Harry didn't mean to sound rude, really, he hadn't, but he just couldn't help himself. Slughorn could be so careless when it came to certain things.
"On my desk." Slughorn said simply, before hurriedly going on to inspect Hermione's potion.
"Bastard" Harry thought as he made his way to the front of the classroom. "If that had been a toxic potion, I could be dead by now."
Harry took his time walking to the front, grumbling to himself the whole way there. However, about halfway to Slughorn's desk, something strange began to happen. The wizard broke out into a horrible, icy sweat.
At first the boy thought that he was having another flashback. But then a searing pain began to flow through his body. Harry panicked. Physical pain was something that did not normally accompany his terrors. In fact, the pain he was experiencing was so hot and blinding that his vision went white. He hadn't been in such pain since he had been tortured with the cruciatus curse
It was as though his blood was on fire.
Harry couldn't see, hear, or feel anything other than pain. The terrible burning agony under his skin was like shards of glass, or malicious fire ants biting his veins raw. The boy made an attempt to steady himself on a nearby desk, but his sweaty palms slipped from the polished wood easily.
Because of the intense pain which he was in, when the black-haired boy fell to the ground, it was later suspected by Madame Pomfrey that when Harry smacked face-first onto the stone floor of dungeon, he didn't feel a thing. The young man most likely did not feel his nose crack and break, or his glasses shatter and slice his forehead open.
It was deduced that Harry had lost conscientiousness before he hit the floor, tightly gripping the hand which he had cut earlier. Upon examination, his fingers were tinted a slightly silver hue, as though the liquid Sal Ammoniac they had used in class was now coursing through his veins.
...
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