Okaaaaaaay I really shouldn't be uploading this yet, considering my coursework load for the next few weeks, but I'm in dire need of some positive reinforcement, and this is something I'm actually already half way through so I can sort of be a bit slower with it.
Let me know what you think, and as always, thank you.
Dee xx
P.S The scene outside the Slytherin common room is actually based on a post on tumblr, the link to which I'll put on my profile :)
"Can your heart be mine in search? 'Cause I have no time to help you find all the words" - Zayn, Rear View
Harry grumbles to himself, pushing his pantos lenses up his nose again, gritting his teeth and backspacing half a paragraph. He clicks his fingers, wiggling them before returning them to the keypad. He types fast, eyes remaining on the screen the whole time.
Over the sound of his own clacking, he can hear Hermione's typing too. He's surprised that there isn't steam coming off of her keyboard, her untouched coffee beside her laptop, mass of dark afro curls a ruffled mess that cascades to her hips. She has one leg furled beneath her on her chair, the other dangling off of it, and her brown skin is slightly flushed with stress.
Ron is typing one letter at a time, or, more fittingly, one letter a second, a frown creasing his brow, cigarette burning in its ashtray to the right of his computer.
This is the case all the way up the long surface, students sat typing in various states of urgency, sweating, concentration all over their faces. They all have earpieces in, microphones resting in front of their mouths, some talking a mile a minute at the same time as working.
"You uploaded that bibliography for Flitwick yet? You know he's going to be majorly pissed if you don't, he can't give you more than 50% if its not in before tonight"
"Moodle is down at the moment," switching to chrome, Harry searches through the many tabs he has open for the email containing his notes on the dragon rebellion of the 15th century "maintenance are working on it, they're going to get back to me in the next hour"
"Hour and a half," Seamus calls from a few seats down where he's editing an essay for McGonagall "Nate is all flued up in the hospital wing so they had to call in the back up tech guy, also they're having trouble with some weird system glitches, some sort of flickery screen that just says 'the list is coming'. Bad coding"
"Shit," Harry growls, but goes back to the word document, typing out a quote from Bigongies guide to the 1500's, citing it and adding it to the bibliography at the bottom (he'd actually remembered to include it this time) "did Snape mail you back about your appeal, Hermione?"
"About ten minutes ago," she sighs, leaving one hand on the keyboard typing whilst she reaches for her black coffee and takes a long swig.
"What did he say?"
"He refused to get me the application form so I hacked into his Potion Masters website and changed all of his photo references to dick pics"
Dean Thomas chokes on his coffee, spluttering and coughing through his laughter.
"That was you? Holy shit, Hermione, he's going to kill you," Neville snorts.
"Nope. I had a load of dick pics in my snapchat files, and he was impressed because the coding was so safeguarded but I still managed to break through it. He didn't even bother with the application form, he just went over the document again and added as many marks as he could milk; he even admitted to his biased marking criteria, put me up two grades"
"Please marry me," Harry pleads.
"No, you're in love with Malfoy"
"I am not in love with Malfoy!"
"Yes you are!" half the table call back and he growls again, a dark look falling over his face as he returns to his work. Beside him on the table however, his IPhone lights up with an alert that Malfoy has once again tweeted him. He doesn't bother reading it, knowing that if he does he'll just get into another social media feud. Instead, he flips it so that he can't see the screen.
"Nev, are you done redesigning the school website yet?" Dean presses the button on his bluetooth earpiece and microphone, hanging up on whoever he'd been talking to.
"Yeah, I'll send you the link now"
"Its so pretty, you're so good at designing the minimalistic features," Lavender sighs.
"Hermione wrote the majority of the coding"
"Stop being modest, Nev, you know you did it all. I just helped you with the particulars. O'Connel sent out a Gryffindor chain; you got fifty house points for it"
O'Connel is their newly instated headmaster. He's a six foot three, twenty eight year old African American man who always has time for them, but makes it clear that if they can go to anyone else for their problem first, he will grately appreciate it.
A third year Slytherin boy went to Snape for advice on his recently starting menstrual cycle the other day, and O'Connel gave him fifty house points just because he enjoyed the look on Snape's face as he'd attempted to explain the uterus lining to a thirteen year old. Luckily, Pomfrey had taken pity on Snape and given the young boy a few months stock of tampons and some mild pain potions.
"Oh yeah, he's a great headmaster, but I wish he'd stop sending us those white girl sausage vines"
"Its no better than Harry sending McGonagall links to cat videos from youtube with the caption 'this u?'"
"Shut up," Harry glares at Parvati "for all you know it could be"
Puffing an excess of air out through his cheeks, Draco Malfoy lays back and rests his head in Blaise Zabini's lap. He tokes on his cigarrette and looks out sideways at the wide, autumn landscape of the school.
Pansy Parkinson shivers and tugs the sleeves of her dark green Slytherin jumper down around her hands, tucking her knees beneath her chin and sighing heavily, breath discernible in front of her. Crabbe is propped up against the wall on the right of the arch, Goyle on the other side, both of them also smoking, Crabbe drinking from a flask of black coffee.
"I hate this time of year," Pansy grumbles.
"I like it, I feel it in my soul," Crabbe says.
Draco snorts, raising his eyebrow and lifting his head slightly. Crabbe smirks at him and Draco rolls his eyes, Blaise taking his cig off of him and taking his own toke, placing it back between his lips once he's done.
"It's the most Instagramable season, don't lie, you love it," Blaise smirks at Pansy as she snaps a photo of them against the backdrop of the murky mountains and castle turrets.
"I do not. You're just really photogenic and you make the black and white filter look really good"
"I hate my life," Draco sighs and shakes his head.
"No you don't, if we didn't have technology you wouldn't be able to safely wind Potter up on the internet"
"There's nothing safe about it, he's out for blood"
Pansy rolls her eyes at him and huffs, shuffling over to Crabbe, snuggling up to his side and staring out across the grounds, the moon reflecting in her eyes.
She can't quite believe they're here. By all rights, none of them should have survived the past three years or so; they've spent it in the company of some of the most dangerous, ruthless, psychopathic serial killers in wizarding history.
So it's a miracle that they've made it through the tailend of a war that's crippled their culture and stole their livelihoods out from underneath them. A war that has shaken them all to their core; slapped them into sense, if you will. It's been the harsh learning experience of a life time, and without a doubt, she'll have the guilt of her childhood resting on her shoulders for the rest of her days.
The best she can do, is be grateful for the second chance she doesn't feel she deserves; to use her assets for good, to unlearn as much problematic social conditioning as she can, and to be genuine in her apologies, to not lose who she is as a person, but to alter accordingly. Because she may be Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin, a very rich young woman, and a war veteran, but she is capable of being better, of being more, of righting her wrongs.
Its just still very surreal, that only four months ago she was a child soldier; and now, she's a student again, stripped of any power her name had once held, sitting in an alcove of the turret of the school she grew up in, teasing her friends and trying to distract herself from the overwhelming unlikelyness of it all.
"What's going on?"
A Hufflepuff fifth year frowns as she joins the throng of Slytherins around the wall. Draco thinks she's called… Calla? He can't remember, and he can barely place her face, but she's soon followed by three of her friends, and her head boy, who looks equally confused.
"The password is revolting," Blaise sighs, pushing himself up from where he's been sat crosslegged on the floor. Brushing himself off, he tucks his hands in the pockets of his slacks under his robes.
"Revolting," Lizzie, a fourth year, says out loud. Nothing happens, and Draco resists the urge to snort, instead clearing his throat, repressing a smirk as he replies.
"Its not actually 'revolting'. We mean it's a racist slur"
There's a resounding, uncomfortable quiet as they process the new information, before Calla huffs out a deep breath and nods. Her eyes are gentle and fond as she looks around at them all.
"Well, its settled then; you lot can camp out with us tonight"
More quiet.
They're… the Slytherins aren't used to being trusted or respected by the other houses. They've always had a civil relationship with the Hufflepuffs; and there's certainly less animosity between them than there is with the Gryffindors, but its still strange for them.
"I never thought I'd see the day when the Slytherins are rendered speechless"
Dorian, a Hufflepuff seventh year, quirks his eyebrow and smiles crookedly, reaching out his hand for Draco to take. Draco allows himself to be pulled to his feet and clears his throat again, wetting his lips and letting his eyes do a quick sweep of the rest of them. He looks behind him for a moment at his Slytherins. It takes them a moment, but they all nod once, and he turns back.
"Just one night," Draco reasons, trying to repress the gratitude threatening to seep into his voice, inwardly touched by Hufflepuff's kindness, and slightly embarassed by it. All destitution aside however, he will much preffer the cosy warmth of the Hufflepuff common room to the stone floor outside their own.
"Sure, and however many you need after that before the password changes again. C'mon, assholes, we've got a crate of butterbeer with our names on it"
Draco feels Potter at his side before he sees him, and he simply relaxes further where he's leaned against one of the alcoves. He's openly watching the Ravenclaws inspecting the Slytherin entrace in all their mad-scientist-like glory.
"What are they doing?"
"The password is a racist slur," Draco sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and ignoring the light pressure and warmth of Potter's chest against his spine "they're trying to change it for us"
"Right…. I don't get it?"
"Merlin, Potter, the password is a racist slur; we all refused to speak it out loud, so now we can't get into our common room and dorms. What's not to get?"
"Why – you all refused to say it?"
"Not all of us. There were a few of the younger kids that said it; they… don't know the weight it carries"
Potter doesn't say anything then, but Draco does feel a warm hand pressing against the small of his back and Potter leans more against him, a wordless attempt at physical comfort. It works immensely and eases some of the tension clinched between the muscles in the top half of his body. He lets out a slow, shaky breath and swallows.
"Where are you staying if you can't sleep in your dorms?"
"The Puffs are letting us commandeer their common room," Draco shrugs nonchalantly in an attempt to conceal the fact that he and his house are still bemused and bashful about being taken in so wholly and unreservedly by people that have every right to despise them.
"That's… kind of them?"
"They're kind people"
"And the Ravenclaws are trying to help you by changing the password?"
"Right"
"Wow," Potter whispers, aghast.
Draco raises his eyebrows in agreement, a small, soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. They watch a bespectacled young girl with blue hair and rosy cheeks, making noises of frustrated wonder as she casts several diagnostic charms that reveal the tight web of magic warding the entrance.
"Its fucking amazing how much better things are now. Between the houses, I mean," Potter's voice is low and slightly gravelly, and Draco really does smile this time, turning his head slightly to catch Potter's eye.
"Its not perfect"
"Nah, but we're getting there. I mean, you've got these lot looking after you like you're their own. Its amazing. A couple of years ago, you guys would never have let them down here, let alone accepted their help"
Draco turns his head back towards the Ravenclaws and considers this, nodding.
"It is really rather awesome, isn't it?"
"It really is. Why do you honk of butterbeer and weed?"
Draco snorts and grins, although his head gives a slight thump and the nausea in his gut churns a bit at the thought of alcohol.
"Because we're living with the Puffs; I doubt we could have refrained from a party even if we tried. For peacekeepers, they're really quite stubborn"
Potter makes a small noise of amused agreement and they stay like that for a while. Draco can't quite believe that they're stood like this so comfortably, so relaxed and quiet, so casual. As though its normal for them to be stood so close together in such companionable silence, bar the occasional snort of laughter at the excitable Ravenclaws getting a chance to examine the complex magic binding the Hogwarts wards.
Its at least an hour before he feels Potter reach for his phone in his pocket, and the sounds of a few texts being sent off. Within minutes, a shit tonne of Gryffindor sixth, seventh, and eighth years turn up. They've releaved themselves of their robes and jumpers, shirt sleeves rolled up, grins on their faces and wands in their hands. Draco frowns and finally pushes off the wall.
"Potter, what is this?"
"We're going to blow the bloody doors off"
"I'm serious! This isn't the time to be quoting Michael fucking Caine, Potter"
Potter simply grins at him and winks, leaving Draco grasping for words, frustrated and confused once more. Potter pushes the sleeves of his jumper up to past his forearms, and pats Draco on the shoulder before joining the rest of his house.
"Right everybody stand back. We're going to jinx this bitch into oblivion"
Draco makes a pained noise and shakes his head, dropping it in his hands, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. The Ravenclaws watch their lions with weary exasperation.
"We've been working on this for hours," one of them say as she adjusts her blue tie where its sqewif around her neck "we've tried every spell we can think of and we can't get it to change the password or let us in without it"
The Gryffindors shake their limbs out and ready their stances for offense, and Draco skirts quickly to drag some of the younger Ravenclaws out of the way. They all move back behind them and within seconds, there are crashes and bangs and spurts of brilliant light.
The barrier around the wall falters only slightly, but holds strong, and after a good ten minutes of them growling and sweating and aggressively throwing every jinx they can think of at the wall, it doesn't budge.
"Right," Potter says, calling them off, panting slightly, wiping a line of perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand "we need a shit tonne of explosives"
"I can do that!" Finnigan practically orgasms, jumping up and down with his hand in the air. Draco rolls his eyes.
Eventually, the two houses come up with a plan about where to strategically place the explosives around the wall in order to blow it up, and Draco wisely doesn't question where on earth they got so much TNT. He knows they're going to be in so much shit with McGonagall when she gets wind, but the teachers are just as powerless as students when it comes to the castle's magic and the passwords, so its not like they really have any other option.
Come three in the afternoon, there's a gathering of at least fifty students; Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Slytherins alike, all stood about thirty feet away from the wall.
Finnigan, Longbottom, Potter, Granger, Elgerson, Harris, Patil, Thomas, Fletcher, Howel, Lester, Callakinos, and Embarga are all crouched in a row in front, spaced out evenly with their fingers on buttons. Blaise is stood with his hands around Draco's middle from behind, Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle stood side by side next to them, watching with expertly masked disbelief as their previous enemies band together to help them out.
Then there's a large bang and they all stutter back a few steps, instinctively shielding each other. A few loud whooping sounds come from the crowd amongst the coughing as the stone blasts itself apart and crumbles, leaving behind a large cloud of dust and a very big hole opening up into the Slytherin common room.
They all get detention every night for three weeks, but its worth it.