This has been posted on my AO3 too! Updates will be fairly quick because I'm on break from University/
Friday, 13th March 1998
Three Days Before
March arrived at Hogwarts, bringing with it a milder air, spattered with rain, coaxing nature out of the wilderness of winter. The whomping willow started to sprout leaves again, the grounds were again occupied by creatures and the skies with birds, and Care of Magical Creatures lessons were no longer spent shivering and complaining, or badly casting warming spells on one another in some desperate attempt to stave off the cold.
Alongside the weather, March also brought with it a mild sense of panic. Exams felt rather far away on the subsequent weeks from Christmas, but now, as the third month of the year rolled around, it was impossible to avoid. The notice board in the Gryffindor Common Room was playing host to a countdown; 11 weeks and two days until exams, and everyone in fifth and seventh year shot it contemptuous looks whenever they passed it, as if it was to blame for their impending fate.
In some odd juxtaposition to what had happened less than a year ago, Hogwarts was as normal and peaceful as it had ever been. It was the first year in a long time that nothing out of the ordinary had happened at Hogwarts, and rather than calm the students, it seemed to unnerve them somewhat. It seemed as if everyone was waiting for the catastrophe, and sometimes looked at Harry accusingly, as if he was to blame for taking too long in creating drama. Outside of Hogwarts, the wizarding world was still in disarray; Aurors were working relentlessly to bring down the remaining Death Eaters, and everyone else was trying to recover from the repercussions of the war. But Hogwarts was, for the most part, just like a normal school.
"They wrote another article about you in the Prophet, Harry," Hermione informed him across breakfast, handing him the folded up copy of the paper.
"You'd think they'd have ran out of things to say by now," Harry sighed; they were mentioning him almost every week lately. He didn't bother opening the paper; instead, he carelessly threw it to one side.
"They were responding to a few requests that they write you a biography, or that you write your autobiography," Hermione said, turning her attention to her bowl of cereal and her Arithmancy book that she had propped open. Harry swore he saw a flicker of amusement on her face as she spoke, and he couldn't help but snort a laugh too.
"That's ridiculous," Ron butted in as he sat down next to Harry, only just catching the tail end of the conversation, "everybody in the wizarding world knows Harry's life story, it's hardly like he's unknown! The Prophet reported everything that happened to him."
Harry felt himself flush a little at the idea of everyone knowing the details of his life, but Ron was right; it was hardly a secret what had transpired in Harry's life so far. Everyone knew about Voldemort, his parents, and his scar, and that he had spent the next 11 years in the muggle world. Not many of them knew the details of Privet Drive, but Harry wasn't in a rush to tell them all. And as for every year he had spent at Hogwarts, he was sure that every student in the school would have been able to recount the details themselves. It was hardly like any biography - self-written or not - would be able to shed anymore light onto the stories.
"Well, I'm sure if Harry decides not to write his own autobiography-"
"I'm not going to write my own autobiography, Hermione."
"Then, if the Prophet does it for him, I'm sure they'll create some new dramatic scoop to gain everyone's attention." She turned the page of her book, not even looking up as she spoke.
Harry shuddered at the idea of the Prophet writing any kind of biography on him, like Rita Skeeter had done with Dumbledore. It would be disastrous, and the last thing he needed was more false information spread around about him. As if Harry didn't merit enough stares and gossip, he was sure that the addition of some clearly false rumour would make everything worse. Not to mention, everyone knew all the details of his adventurous feats, so he was sure the author would have to resort to some sexual or romantic scandal and he flushed again at the thought.
"I'm not going to let them write a biography about me," he said rather harshly, as if that would clear up the matter completely.
"I don't blame you, mate," Ron laughed at the idea, shovelling cereal into his mouth. "What else did I miss?"
"Er - they're holding another friendly match between Gryffindor and Slytherin on Sunday," Harry remembered. The Slytherin Captain had cornered him during dinner the previous night, and the announcement had been made during breakfast.
Friendly matches were commonplace in Hogwarts now; after the war, the school had decided that inter-house rivalry ought to be squashed, and that Hogwarts ought to enter a new age of inter-house cooperation. One of the methods of achieving this had been what the school now called 'friendly matches'. They bore no influence on the House Cup, and entailed a light-hearted, non-competitive Quidditch match during the weekend. At least that was the definition.
Usually, especially during the Gryffindor-Slytherin games, the phrase 'non-competitive' was really rather laughable. Occasionally, though, they switched players between teams - Slytherin Keeper and Gryffindor Keeper would switch with one another, along with a Chaser from each team, in order to stop the rivalry to run too deep, and in order to encourage some kind of cooperation and teamwork between members of different houses. They ran almost every weekend, or at least twice a month, and although all houses played friendly matches, there were more Gryffindor-Slytherin games than any other houses.
It was by far the most successful method of inter-house cooperation; when they mixed their teams, Harry almost forgot that he was supposed to hate Slytherins, especially when one of the Slytherin Chasers scored a goal for his team. The school's other methods included encouraging students to partner up with someone from a different house when classes required pair work - although the N.E.W.T.s students didn't come across this tactic very often; the teachers were more preoccupied with ensuring they pass their class - and switching up Prefect rounds so that Prefects partnered up with different houses.
It seemed to work, more or less; it was common to see students from different houses studying together, or crossing the Great Hall to pass messages to friends on other tables, and more and more parties after matches were 'all houses welcome'. It had been particularly successful with every house relationship other than the Gryffindor-Slytherin one; many of the younger students had let go of the rivalry, but those in the oldest few years were finding it difficult.
"I don't know how we're supposed to focus on our exams when there's so many Quidditch matches going on," Hermione said with a sigh, looking up from her book.
"So, you're not coming?" Harry asked, only the lightest hint of teasing in his tone. If Hermione really felt as scornful towards the matches as she acted, she wouldn't have turned up to every match to date.
"I -" She blinked and an air of defensiveness came over her. "I never said that. Of course I'll be there."
"Right." Harry smirked and sipped his drink.
"Anything else?" Ron took a bite of his sausage, chewing with his mouth open. Hermione rolled her eyes but didn't comment.
"Yes," Hermione handed him a package. "You missed the post. It's from your mum, I think."
"Thanks," Ron opened his package. It contained a few baked goods and a new set of quills - Ron had managed to snap all but one of his current set. After a moment of inspecting them, Ron looked up with an amused smirk. "Did Malfoy get any more Howlers?"
Alongside friendly Quidditch matches, Malfoy's post was commonplace at Hogwarts too now. He had been let back into Hogwarts on instruction of the Ministry during his trial, in order to force some sort of redemption into him for his crime. They had decided he was too young to be sentenced to Azkaban, but had threatened that if he placed so much of a toe out of line, they wouldn't hesitate this time. Nevertheless, many of the students, parents and readers of the Daily Prophet weren't happy with the result, or the idea of a Death Eater (whose parents also happened to be Death Eaters, and in Azkaban too) attending the school, and so every week, Malfoy would receive an influx of hate mail. Some were standard letters and so Malfoy had taken to tearing them up without reading them now, but sometimes he received a jinxed package or a telltale red envelope.
Prefects had begun to check every package bigger than a letter that Malfoy received, and Malfoy had begun to run out of the Great Hall whenever he recieved a Howler, so he could avoid the humiliation that he had suffered on their first morning back. Sometimes he wasn't quick enough, and the Howler opened itself in the doorway, or in the Entrance Hall, close enough so everyone could still hear it. More often than not, though, Malfoy no longer attended breakfast.
"Honestly, Ron," Hermione sighed. "It's not funny."
"It's kind of funny," Ron said with a smirk, and Harry couldn't help but laugh too. Objectively, he knew how horrible it must be to receive hate mail, death threats and Howlers almost every morning, but this was Malfoy, and the animosity ran deep enough that Harry took some sort of vindictive pleasure in knowing that Malfoy was too humiliated to come to breakfast most mornings.
Hermione shot them both a dark look, and they stopped smiling. "It's not. He hardly ever comes to breakfast anymore."
"Oh, come on, Hermione, you can't actually feel sorry for -"
"Well -" she flushed a little, clearly apprehensive that she might become the victim of their ridicule instead of Malfoy if she carried on. "I'm not saying he doesn't deserve it, but it's getting really bad."
"He deserves a lot more than a few Howlers if you ask me," Ron said, shrugging and devouring another sausage, undeterred by their conversation, or the look Hermione was giving him.
"Some of them are really vulgar from what I've heard," she frowned, "they'd be enough to reduce anyone to tears. And it's not just the Howlers."
"What?" Harry and Ron both looked up from their food.
"Oh, you can't pretend you haven't noticed how the other students are treating him."
That was true, at least. He was getting a lot of snide comments and such in the corridors, and a lot of students took it upon themselves to attempt some sort of hex, since the packages were being intercepted by Prefects. He never turned up to any inter-house social event (he didn't even come to Quidditch anymore - after someone had hexed his broom back in October, Malfoy had been deemed a liability by their captain, and subsequently kicked off the team), and Harry didn't know if it was because he wasn't invited, or because he didn't want to be around people who would subject him to anymore torment than he already received. Nevertheless, Harry couldn't find it in him to feel any sort of sympathy.
"It's not like he doesn't deserve it," Ron said, and Harry silently agreed.
Hermione huffed, but conceded nonetheless, and she didn't speak about it again. "Did you see the countdown in the Common Room?"
"Did you put that up?" Harry asked, finishing his pumpkin juice and pouring himself another glass.
"No," Hermione said brightly, with a smile like a proud parent. "I was considering it, but some fifth year beat me to it. I'm glad some of us are taking our exams seriously."
"Wh - Hey!" Ron noticed the look Hermione was giving him. "It's only March."
"Yes, but N.E.W.T.s are a lot more intense than O.W.L.s. You should start studying." Hermione pointed her spoon at him accusingly. "You can join Annie and I tomorrow afternoon, if you want."
Annie was Hermione's new study partner; a Ravenclaw student also in her final year of Hogwarts. Except, unlike Harry, Ron and Hermione, she wasn't in her 'Eighth Year' (a title which had been made up just for the special cases of those who missed their final year due to the war), she was in Ginny's year, and she seemed to take school just as seriously as Hermione did.
"No, uh, that's alright." Ron said sheepishly. "Anyway, we better go. It's Potions first."
They took their Potions class with the other 'Eighth Year' N.E.W.T.s students - there wasn't enough of them to divide into houses now - and Harry's lack of enthusiasm towards the subject had lessened slightly since they no longer took it with just the Slytherins, and since Snape was no longer their teacher. Harry tried to ignore the twinge of guilt he felt when he ever thought positively about Snape no longer teaching them; even if Harry's opinion of him had shifted somewhat during the war, he had still been a truly awful teacher - he had made Harry (and many other students) miserable.
They were only slightly late, and took their usual seats at the back of the class, on the table next to Anthony Goldstein and Ernie Macmillan. Anthony and Ernie weren't the only people sitting with students from other houses - there was a cluster of Ravenclaws and Slytherins a few tables over, and Seamus and Dean were sat with a blonde haired Hufflepuff boy. Harry noticed briefly that even Parvati was sat with a dark-haired Slytherin girl, and the only partnership that couldn't be seen in the classroom right now was one between Gryffindor and Slytherin boys.
They set about working on their Potions after a brief reminder from Slughorn about the importance of N.E.W.T.s, and Hermione got to work immediately, a determined look on her face. Since Harry had given up Snape's book in Sixth Year, his talent at Potions had diminished almost instantaneously and Slughorn was a little disappointed at the sudden drop in his grades.
On top of that, Harry couldn't help but feel as if school was a little mundane now. He didn't feel much like a student anymore, and no matter how hard he tried, he found it difficult to settle back into classes, and homework and Quidditch matches and the House Cup. It all felt a little trivial to him, and he found himself struggling to switch off from the mindset of battle; he was still half-expecting Voldemort to turn up and wreak havoc on the school again. But, no matter how much he thought about it, nothing seemed to happen at Hogwarts anymore, and Harry hated himself for somewhat wishing it would.
"You know that your Potion is supposed to be silver and runny, don't you, Harry?" Hermione leaned over him to peer into his cauldron. "Not… purple and viscous."
"Yeah. Thanks, Hermione," Harry sighed and cleared his cauldron, starting again from scratch.
"There's a pre-Quidditch party tomorrow night. Seamus just told me," Ron informed them both as he returned from the ingredients table. "They're holding it in one of the unused classrooms near the Slytherin Common Room."
"You two aren't thinking about going, are you?" Hermione said disapprovingly. "You have homework to do, and you have to start -"
"Studying for our N.E.W.T.s, we know," Ron smirked at her and she couldn't help but smile too, averting her eyes.
Harry wasn't really considering going, if he was honest. He had attended quite a few parties this year but they all seemed a little forced, like the students were trying too hard to paint over the cracks left from the war. As if a party would bring back the carefree atmosphere the students had before the war, or as if it would make them forget the relatives, classmates and friends that they had recently lost.
"I don't think I'll go," Harry muttered after a moment's thought, and Ron frowned.
"Oh, come on, mate," he urged, "Seamus is sneaking in Firewhiskey, it's gonna be a right laugh."
"I'll think about it," Harry said, even though he had no intention of reconsidering.
"Hermione, what about you?"
"I just told you -"
"You can take a break for one weekend," he gave her a mildly pleading look, and then there was a moment of silent conversation between the two of them, before she flushed ever so slightly, nudging him. They didn't often act like a couple, really, and not much had changed between the three of them, but ever so often, Harry was reminded that his two best friends were in fact dating, and he was hit by the awkward feeling of invading on that again.
"Okay, fine." She conceded, surrendering to whatever silent plea Ron had subjected her to.
"Brilliant," Ron grinned.
From the other side of the classroom, there was a rather loud smash, a collection of slight screams and yelps, and the sound of Pansy Parkinson crying; "Fuck!" Harry looked over to see that Pansy had somehow managed to mess up her potion so considerably, that it had burst her cauldron, and was now burning its way through her desk.
"Ten points from Slytherin for the language, Miss Parkinson," Slughorn cleared his throat and with a wave of his wand, rid Pansy's desk of the substance.
"Sorry, Professor," Pansy sighed, obviously distressed. "I can't concentrate today."
Daphne Greengrass had her arm around Pansy's shoulders, muttering something to her, and Harry got the impression that Daphne was comforting her. Harry frowned a little, and it was only then that he noticed the absence of white-blonde hair in the classroom. "Where's Malfoy?" He leaned into Ron and Hermione, whispering since the entire class had fallen quiet.
"Dunno," Ron mumbled after a quick glance around.
"She's upset, Professor," Daphne told Slughorn, rubbing Pansy's back a little. "It's Draco, he-"
"Ah, yes, I heard about the incident with Mr. Malfoy," Slughorn frowned, as if there was a bitter taste in his mouth. "Very well, work with Miss Greengrass for the rest of the class."
Harry's curiosity increased. Where was Malfoy? Clearly his absence and Pansy's distress were related, especially since his name had been mentioned in the conversation. Harry wondered whether Malfoy had done something heinous and was being punished, or whether he had had some sort of accident that rendered him unable to attend Potions. He was leaning towards the former, but with the way Malfoy's year had been going at Hogwarts, the latter was just as possible.
Harry walked to the ingredients table - half because he needed to since he was starting from scratch, and half because doing so would mean he had to pass Pansy's desk, and he was hoping to catch a glimpse of the conversation. As he passed, Pansy stopped whatever she was saying to turn her attention to Harry, a loathing look instantly washing over her features.
"What do you want, Potter?" She spat, her vulnerability that was clear moments ago vanishing, replaced by a hard and arrogant expression. "Come to gloat, have you?"
"Er -" Harry stopped, looking at her. "No?"
"Don't play dumb, you must be loving this," Pansy straightened, and looked as if she were going to reach into her robes, but Daphne stopped her, turning her away from Harry.
Harry frowned all the way to the ingredients table. He didn't really know what Pansy was talking about, but it definitely confirmed his suspicions that something had happened involving Malfoy. As he was spooning powder into his pot, one of the Ravenclaws that Harry saw sitting with the Slytherins earlier came to join him, collecting some roots.
"What happened?" He took a chance with her; he would have more luck getting information from her than one of the Slytherins.
She considered him for a moment, stilling in her motion of collecting roots, and then sighed. "It's Malfoy. He got hexed this morning, he's in the hospital wing again."
It was hardly Malfoy's first trip to the hospital wing this year, nor was it his first hex of the year. Harry wasn't remotely surprised, and he really didn't think it merited such a reaction from Pansy.
"Oh. Right." He tried to sound indifferent. "Was it bad?"
"Not really." She shrugged. "No one really knows what it was. The Prefects didn't check his packages this morning and, well, Draco doesn't usually open them anymore, but this one opened itself. It was cursed, and whatever it was knocked him out. They said he'll be okay by this afternoon."
"That's good," Harry said automatically, with no hint of sincerity in his voice. "Why is Pansy so upset then?"
"Oh, you know what she's like," the Ravenclaw girl glanced at Pansy, as if making sure she wasn't listening, or to make sure no one saw her having a conversation with Harry. "She dotes on Draco like a puppy."
"Yeah, they're dating, right?" Harry spooned some more powder into his pot, and the girl snorted as if this comment was hilarious.
"Dating?" She echoed, scoffing as if that were ridiculous. "Malfoy?"
Harry couldn't help but feel like he was missing the joke. He blinked and she seemed to notice his cluelessness, because her amusement vanished fast.
"Uh, no, they're not dating," she said, a little hurriedly, like she was trying to move past the moment. "Besides, it's not just that."
"What do you mean?" Harry looked up at her. She was pretty, and Harry thought it was a shame that she spent a lot of time with Slytherins.
"It's just, well, it's today, you know?"
"No."
"The date," she prompted, as if confused at why he didn't know.
"The 13th," Harry said, expecting some sort of comprehension to suddenly dawn on him.
"Friday the 13th," she corrected and then blushed a little, as if embarrassed.
"That's a muggle thing, isn't it? Friday the 13th being unlucky it's - well, it's just muggle stuff."
"Yeah," she was blushing again. "I know it's silly, but it's just - well, a lot of purebloods are just wary of it. It's been marked as unlucky by muggles for long enough in history that it just holds a sort of… Well, power to it. A lot of bad things happen for us on these dates; there's a lot of magic in emotion, you know."
"Right." Harry blinked. He couldn't help but be surprised that purebloods took into account anything to do with the muggle world.
"Cursing someone today is just… Well, it's just spiteful. It's like it's encouraging the situation to worsen," She tried to explain, "as if he's more likely to die from it today than any other day."
"But it's not real," he spooned more powder into his pot without looking, only to feel it spill onto his fingers. He had overloaded his pot. "It's not really unlucky, is it?"
"I don't know. Like I said, there's a lot of magic in things like that, and well, it's just better to be cautious when it comes to that. It's nothing major for us anyway, but Pansy is a little overdramatic when it comes to Draco," she smirked as if this amused her, but there was affection in her expression. "They'd be a good couple, it's a shame."
Harry didn't know what was 'a shame', nor did he really care about Draco Malfoy's love life (especially not Draco and Pansy - he hated them both) but he didn't get to find out, because the Ravenclaw girl finished collecting her roots and said goodbye, walking back to her table.
After he spent a moment cleaning up the mess he had made with his powder, he returned to Ron and Hermione, filling them in on what the Ravenclaw girl - who Hermione informed him was called Mandy - had told him.
"Yes, I've heard of that," Hermione said when Harry had finished. "Friday the 13th, I've read about it. Like she said, a lot of it is just magic harnessed by the emotions. A lot of muggles used to really believe in superstition and witchcraft, and it just sort of came from that. They were very frightened of it, and a lot of them persecuted witches and wizards more that day than any other day, except Halloween. It just became a sort of… thing in the wizarding world too. It's silly superstition, really, just like the fear of Voldemort's name."
"I didn't think Purebloods really got superstitious," Harry started on his potion again.
"They do," Ron nodded. "Mum believes in all of that kind of stuff, she said that a lot of old spells and enchantments only worked on days like today, and Halloween and stuff. That's why people used to get scared, and it just kind of stuck."
"She's right about Pansy Parkinson too, she's really rather overdramatic about Malfoy," Hermione rolled her eyes. "They're both in my Ancient Runes class and she fusses over him like a wife."
"Mandy said they're not dating," Harry said conversationally, even though the topic did not interest him at all.
"I don't think they are. Malfoy looks irritated by her most of the time, but he seems to indulge her because he likes the attention." Hermione spooned some of her potion into a jar and started to test it. Harry was briefly reminded of Malfoy sprawling in Pansy's lap, letting her stroke his hair.
"Yeah, I reckon it's exactly like that," Harry grimaced a little at the thought of anyone wanting to give Malfoy that kind of attention.
"You'd think she'd be used to Malfoy being carted off to the hospital wing by now," Ron said, snorting a laugh. "It's gotta be his hundredth time this year."
Hermione huffed her annoyance again, and Harry smirked across the table at Ron.
"Oh, dear," Slughorn came over to their desk, "starting again, are you, Harry?"
"Yeah, I - I did it wrong the first time." Harry shifted sheepishly.
"Not to worry, just hurry up a little and you'll catch up with everyone else," Slughorn patted his back, and Harry felt almost guilty to see that Slughorn still clung onto some hope that Harry would once again be miraculously good at Potions. "Ah, Miss Granger, you shred salamander tail, not slice it."
Hermione looked mortified that she had gotten it wrong, and hurried to correct her mistake.
"Annie cancelled on me tomorrow evening!" Hermione slammed her books down on the table as she joined them for lunch in the Great Hall. "She's going to that party instead."
"You're going to that party too," Ron said through a mouthful of food.
"Yes, but I was going to study beforehand too," she sighed, dishing out some salad and grabbing a sandwich. "I suppose the three of us will have to study together instead."
"Can't," Harry said quickly to avoid Hermione from getting any kind of ideas. "I'm going flying, practice a bit before the game on Sunday."
"It's a friendly match, you don't need to practice," Hermione glared at him.
"It's against Slytherin, though. We wanna win," Harry shrugged, taking a bite of his sandwich.
"Oh, honestly, the point of these matches is inter-house cooperation - to make friends - not to… not to beat one another!" Hermione said exasperatedly, turning her attention to Ron instead. "What about you?"
"Oh, come on, Hermione, don't make me study with you," he whined, and she seemed to consider it. "I was gonna join Harry on the pitch."
"Alright, how about we go to the pitch to accompany Harry as he practices," Hermione began and Ron looked hopeful, "but we sit in the stands and study too."
Ron deflated. "Fine."
"Good." Hermione smiled at him but Ron glowered even further. "Come on, it's a compromise." She leaned in and kissed his cheek, and it seemed to work in cheering him up, because he settled for a more neutral expression, his cheeks colouring ever so slightly.
"They might mix up the teams again tomorrow," Hermione turned to Harry, returning to their previous thread of conversation. Harry thought it unlikely; they hardly ever mixed up the Slytherin-Gryffindor matches.
"Probably not," Harry glanced at the Slytherin table anyway, considering the idea. He saw that Pansy was talking animatedly to the other Eighth Year students, and that Malfoy was absent from the table again.
As if following his line of thought, Hermione said; "Malfoy didn't turn up to Arithmancy either this morning."
"Maybe he died," Ron said hopefully and Hermione nudged him. Even Harry couldn't bring himself to laugh at that; less than a year after the war, the prospect of anyone - even Malfoy - dying wasn't remotely funny. Ron seemed to realise that, because he cleared his throat and quickly changed the topic.
"You know, I heard that Tommy Carmichael - that's Eddie's little brother - wants to ask you out. He's in Hufflepuff," Ron said and to Harry's surprise, he found that Ron was directing the statement at him.
"Me?"
"Yeah," Ron smirked. "He's in Ginny's year, he's got it into his head that you're - well, gay. He's building up the courage to ask you out."
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but found himself a little lost for words. His cheeks were hot and he snorted a laugh. "Right. Great. The Daily Prophet will be all over that soon."
"Probably. Maybe you should tell him you're not gay before he starts telling people," Ron sounded amused, and gestured with his fork towards the Hufflepuff table.
Harry followed the direction of Ron's fork to the Hufflepuffs, and saw that Tommy Carmichael looked nothing like Eddie. Whilst Eddie was dark haired, pale and short, Tommy was dirty blonde, freckled, and almost as tall as Ron. He did not look like the type who would be gay, but Harry didn't really know what 'the type' looked like, or if there was even a 'type'. He blinked a little, watching Tommy talk to one of his friends and laughing. He had a bright smile and Harry's stomach did a funny kind of jolt. Deciding that the prospect of Tommy asking him out was confusing him, he turned his attention away from the attractive Hufflepuff boy and looked down the table at Ginny.
Ron refrained from mentioning Ginny too much around Harry nowadays. They hadn't really reconciled from their breakup last year, or more, they hadn't really officially declared that they were a couple yet. They flirted a little and Ginny seemed to pursue him with enthusiasm but Harry was yet to return to her properly. It was clear that Ron didn't really know what to make of the situation, so he avoided talking about it out of sheer awkwardness. Hermione, however, shared no such stance and often questioned Harry about Ginny, and about when the two of them would get back together, since she was sure they made a very good couple.
Harry wasn't sure why he hadn't reconciled with Ginny yet. He just… hadn't. Every time he thought about it, some weird feeling in his gut stopped him. He knew it was something to do with the war, he just didn't know what.
Ginny looked up from her conversation, and Harry instantly regretted that she had caught him staring at her. She smiled, blushed, and after a moment of lingering on him, turned back to her friends with a happier air about her than before. Harry knew what she had assumed, and he didn't want to get her hopes up.
With a sigh, he turned back to Ron and Hermione. They were looking at him.
"What?"
"Nothing," Ron smiled, glancing ever so briefly at Ginny. "So, are you gonna tell Carmichael you're not gay?"
"Er, no." Harry said and tried to ignore the funny feeling in his stomach. "I'd rather not have that awkward conversation, especially not if he fancies me."
"Half the school fancies you, Harry," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "Take no notice of it, I'm sure Carmichael isn't the only boy with a crush on you."
"Great. That makes me feel loads better. Thanks, Hermione," Harry said sarcastically, taking an apple and shoving it in his bag. "Come on, we better head to class."
Defence Against the Dark Arts was still Harry's favourite subject by far, even if his enthusiasm for it had diminished somewhat since the war. It felt a little less pressing to learn defence now that Voldemort was gone, and even his desire to be an Auror was less prominent. As much as Harry wanted to fight the Dark Arts and help bring down Voldemort's followers, the idea of jumping straight back into battle left him feeling a little clammy, but he knew that becoming an Auror was what he had to do. There was no way he couldn't graduate and become a Dark Wizard catcher, especially not after all of the work against the Dark Arts he had done while he was still in school. And now, he hated that he was sitting in Hogwarts, finishing his education and doing nothing about the battle that still wasn't over. Voldemort was gone, but the Death Eaters weren't.
Their teacher introduced them to their new topic (they had just finished the last one), and told them that they would be learning how to de-jinx cursed objects. Harry thought it a little ironic that they were starting this topic on the same day that Malfoy got cursed via post, and Pansy clearly thought so too, because she made an odd sort of noise.
The demonstration took half an hour of their double period, but that was common for introductions to new topics, and just as the teacher was about to split them into pairs (the spell needed two people for it to work), the classroom door swung open and Malfoy walked in. Everyone turned to look at him, and Pansy made a little gasp and beckoned him to the seat beside her.
He didn't look good; his eyes were a little bloodshot and dark, his hair was messy and he walked with a sort of lethargy to him that didn't suit him. He was sure that if this had been a few year ago, Malfoy would have swaggered into the classroom and relished in the attention. Now, he looked exhausted and dishevelled; the old Malfoy wouldn't have been caught dead looking like this. Harry wondered how much of his appearance was down to the effects of the curse, and how much of it was just basic exhaustion from being constantly hexed and hated wherever you went. After the year Umbridge had been in the school, Harry had a pretty good idea what it felt like to be vilified relentlessly. Nevertheless, Harry had been vilified undeservingly - Malfoy was a Death Eater, even if he had been acquitted under the basis that he was too young to really understand his actions.
"Draco, are you okay? I've been terribly worried," Pansy reached up and stroked his hair a little, fixing it back into place.
"I'm fine," he said, irritated. Harry figured, even if he had no sympathy for Malfoy, that he understood how irritating it must be for Pansy to draw even more attention to Malfoy's attack, especially since he knew how much Slytherins hated looking weak.
"Are you sure you're well enough to come back to class?" She pushed on, seemingly unaware that everyone - including the Professor - was still watching them.
Malfoy did seem to notice that they were still being watched, and he straightened a little in response to Pansy's question. "Well, actually," he cleared his throat and that typical arrogance was back in his voice, "Pomfrey wanted me to stay until tomorrow morning, but I decided to come back anyway."
"That's very brave, Draco," she smiled at him proudly, and Harry rolled his eyes.
"Er, anyway," the Professor seemed to remember he had a class to teach. "It's good to have you back Mr. Malfoy. We've moved onto to de-jinxing cursed objects now."
There was a flicker of response in Malfoy's eyes, but he didn't say anything, and so Harry turned his attention back to the front of the class.
"Where was I? Ah, yes, you have to work in pairs to carry out this spellwork efficiently," the Professor pulled out a register of the class. "I'll divide you up myself - I haven't done any of that yet and Professor McGonagall wants you to work with each other. Miss Parkinson, you can stay with Mr. Malfoy and catch him up on what he's missed."
Then, he set about dividing the class up and Harry's stomach dropped when he instructed that Harry join Blaise Zabini on the Slytherin desk. Ron was instructed to work with Terry Boot and Hermione partnered with Ernie Macmillan. Harry couldn't help but feel he had the worst lot of them all, and they clearly agreed, because they gave him apologetic glances as he collected his books and carried them over to the Slytherin desk, sitting himself at the end so that he was as close as possible to the next desk - where Ron was sat.
Harry's new seating meant that he and Zabini were stationed right next to Pansy and Malfoy who looked just as bitter as Harry felt. He and Malfoy still despised each other, but they didn't bother one another much this year - it all felt a little childish after the war, and Harry was sure that the events of the past year or so had created some sort of silent understanding between the two of them. They didn't have to like each other, but they didn't purposefully make each other's lives difficult anymore.
That didn't really stop Pansy though, because she sniffed and folded her arms. "Can you smell something rotten, Draco?"
The three Slytherins laughed and Harry decided he might 'accidentally' hex them when performing the countercurse. He and Blaise worked together in silence. They had to identify which of the curses from the book was placed on the box, and then decide which countercurse to use against it. It was difficult to complete the task without communicating, but Harry didn't want to be the first one to cooperate, and apparently neither did Zabini.
Instead of filling Malfoy in on what he'd missed, Pansy spent her time fussing over him, asking what had happened. He told her exactly what the Ravenclaw girl - Mandy - had told Harry during Potions; the prefects didn't check his post, and one of the packages opened by itself like a Howler, and hexed him.
"Did it hurt?"
"I passed out, Pansy," Malfoy retaliated, a little coldly and Harry noticed Pansy looking affronted. "What do you think?"
"Sorry," she said, brushing it off as if it didn't bother her, "I was just worried about you."
"Give him a break, Pansy," Zabini interrupted. "He's only just got back. Anyway, have you two figured out what's wrong with your object?"
"No," Malfoy flicked to the right page in his book, before turning back to his object - a golden orb, enscribed with what looked like Arabic, "I missed the first half of the class, remember?"
Zabini seemed to use this moment to finally speak to Harry, because he turned to him and said; "what about our box?"
"I don't know," Harry sighed, looking through the book. "I think it could be this one, the Greek one. I tried a couple of spells on it, and if the reactions are anything to go by then I think-"
"Alright," Zabini cut him off, as if he'd reached his limit of how much of Harry's voice he could listen to. "I thought it was either that one or the French one, so you're probably right."
"Great." Harry had never felt less enthusiastic about Defence Against the Dark Arts. "I'll go and get the instructions for the counter-curse from the Professor."
"Let Blaise do it, Potter." Pansy interrupted, not even looking at him. "I'm going to see if we can get extra notes since Draco missed the demonstration. Come with me, Blaise."
The two of them walked away from the desk and Harry was left alone with Malfoy. He shot a glance at Ron and was thankful to catch his friend's eye. Ron laughed when he saw that Harry was alone with Malfoy, who seemed to be resolutely pretending Harry didn't exist. In order to distract himself from the fact he was working on the same desk as Malfoy, he looked down at the textbook, half-listening as Malfoy shot various useless curses at his object in some attempt to de-jinx it.
Harry couldn't help but look down at the Arabic curses, since he was sure that's what Pansy and Malfoy were dealing with. They hadn't figured that out themselves yet, and Harry had no desire to tell them, instead he just rejoiced in the pleasure of knowing that he had figured out both his own curse and theirs before the Slytherins.
Under each curse subheading there was a list of spells that should not be performed upon objects that could possibly be cursed. Their professor had reiterated the curses that shouldn't be performed at least three times during the demonstration, but as Malfoy started another string of curses that sounded worryingly familiar, Harry realised that Malfoy didn't really know any of that. Before he could really think about what he was doing, Harry raised his wand.
"Expelliarmus!"
Malfoy's wand slipped from his hand and fell with a clatter onto the floor. Malfoy hadn't managed to finish his spell, and he turned to Harry with an incredulous look. Harry had just saved Malfoy's life without really considering it, and he had a feeling that Malfoy wouldn't be in any rush to thank him. Instead, he was sure that it would make Malfoy even angrier.
"Potter, do you have some kind of obsession with disarming me?" Malfoy growled, bending down to grab his wand. "This wand has already been yours once, do you want it back?"
Shortly after the battle of Hogwarts, Harry had sent Malfoy's wand back to him with a note of thanks, even though Malfoy had never given it up willingly. Nevertheless, he had used that wand to defeat Voldemort, and he owed Malfoy some sort of thanks for that.
"No, I -" Harry started sheepishly; Malfoy looked furious. A few of their classmates had looked around at the sound of Harry casting the spell, and even their Professor was interested. "No. The spell you were casting…"
"What about it?" Malfoy snapped, a pink tinge appearing on his cheeks under the attention of the class. Harry was sure Malfoy didn't want everyone to see him being disarmed randomly by Harry Potter.
"It would've - er - reacted really badly with your cursed object," Harry told him, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Malfoy stared at him, dumbfounded.
"How can you possibly know that?" Malfoy said contemptuously. "Is there anything our Saviour doesn't know?"
Harry tried not to flush under the comment, and reminded himself that his reply was going to embarrass Malfoy even more than Harry felt right now. "Er, the Professor told us. You missed the beginning of the class. And…" he leaned forward and jabbed his finger into Malfoy's book. "It says so right there. Under the Arabic curses."
Just like he guessed, Malfoy's cheeks coloured. "That - We haven't figured out what curse-"
"It's probably an Arabic curse. It's inscribed on the side facing me." Harry didn't like that he was coming across as somewhat of a know-it-all.
"Excellent." Malfoy rolled his eyes, turning back to his object. "Really, we should all go back to our Common Rooms and let Saint Potter finish up de-jinxing all our objects for us. Honestly, you and Granger are blending into one."
"I was just trying to -"
"-save my life," Malfoy finished for him, with absolutely no hint of gratefulness in his tone. "Thank you so much, Potter. Whatever would the wizarding world do without your heroic presence?"
"Alright, that's quite enough, Mr. Malfoy," the Professor cut in, walking up to them. "Mr. Potter is quite right, it's an Arabic curse you've got there. If it hadn't been for his quick reflexes, you would have been dead, or at least rushed to the hospital wing.."
Malfoy muttered something under his breath.
"Twenty points for Gryffindor for Harry's vigilance, and for saving Mr. Malfoy's life."
That seemed to impossibly infuriate Malfoy even more.
"You should be deducting points for saving Malfoy," One of the Hufflepuff boys called out and the class descended into laughter. Harry watched Malfoy as he slammed his book shut and stared at the window, ignoring the rest of the class. He felt a little bit of sympathy for Malfoy, despite himself, and decided to stop himself from laughing with the rest of the class. Especially since it wasn't even a year since Harry had saved Malfoy from the fiendfyre, he thought it would have been a little tasteless to laugh.
"Yes, yes, alright, enough," the Professor called out and Harry noticed there was a glimmer of amusement on even his face. He glanced around the classroom and was grateful to find that, alongside Pansy and Zabini, Hermione also wasn't laughing.
After a moment, Pansy stormed over and slammed her notes down onto the desk. "That rotten Tomlinson! Professor Banks ought to have sent him straight out of the class, or at least deducted points!"
"Just leave it, Pansy," Malfoy sighed and Harry found himself startled at the exhaustion in Malfoy's voice.
"It's just awful how much the teachers ignore, it's blatant favouritism, I -" Pansy ignored Malfoy's request, pressing on hotly, and Harry was strangely reminded of Hermione.
"We used to get away with worse," Malfoy said, turning to her.
"I - Yes, I suppose you're right, but this is getting ridiculous." Pansy seemed to notice Harry was listening and looked as if she had suddenly swallowed something horrible. "What are you looking at, Potter? Do you expect some sort of thanks to feed your hero-complex?"
Harry hurriedly turned his attention back to his notes, wanting no such thing, just as Zabini joined them at the desk and handed Harry the notes. "Here, the counter-curse. Not like you'll need instructions, Golden Boy."
Pansy snorted a laugh in the background.
"Thanks." Harry said anyway, taking the notes from Zabini and looking through them. "Here, you take this spell and I'll do the counter-curse."
"Are you sure you don't want to do it all by yourself?" Zabini rolled his eyes.
"The spellwork is a two man job." Harry replied tiredly. "I know my Defence Against the Dark Arts grades are so much better than yours, but I thought even you would be able to grasp that you can't do a two-person spell by yourself."
To his astonishment, he heard Malfoy laugh; genuine and without malice or mockery. Not really knowing what to do with that, he decided to ignore it.
"Very funny, Potter," Zabini scowled. "Let's just finish this task so you can go back to your adoring fans."
"That was really observant of you, Harry," Hermione turned to him as they left Defence Against the Dark Arts and headed back to Gryffindor Tower. "If you hadn't disarmed Draco, he could have died."
"And we wouldn't want that, would we?" Ron said sarcastically.
"You saved his life, Harry." She seemed more proud that Harry had paid attention in class rather than the fact he had saved Malfoy's life. "I don't think even I would have made the connection between what Professor Banks said and Malfoy's spell as fast as you did."
"Great," Harry mumbled, heading up the staircase. "Look, the last thing I need is any more heroic rumours spread around about me. People really are going to think I have a hero complex."
Even Hermione had accused Harry of having a hero complex back in fifth year. "It's only going to improve people's opinion of you."
"Yeah, and I don't need it. I don't need any more people thinking I'm some big hero. I just heard his spell, and I reacted. I didn't even think about it."
"Gloating, are you?" Malfoy's voice came from behind them, pushing past with Pansy and Zabini following in his wake. "Recounting your valiant heroic tale to your friends? I suppose you want them to tell you how brave and great you are, don't you?"
"Shove off, Malfoy," Ron spat, tugging Harry up a different staircase, away from Malfoy and his friends. "Harry should have let you jinx yourself; if you'd blown yourself up, you'd have done us all a favour."
Harry only glanced back for long enough to see Malfoy colour a little, his jaw clenching, before he was out of sight. Ron gave the password to the portrait and they clambered into the Gryffindor Common Room. Hermione threw herself into one of their favourite chairs by the fireplace, and Ron and Harry joined her. She looked sour and gave Ron a warning look.
"I really think you ought to give him a break, Ron." Hermione repeated for what had to have been the hundredth time that day in Harry's opinion.
"Since when have you been chairman of the Malfoy Fanclub?" Ron said exasperatedly, pulling out some of Mrs Weasley's cake from his bag and taking a bite.
"'I'm not!" Hermione replied indignantly and Harry was glad to see she was offended by the accusation. "I just think you should lay off him."
"Why? We don't bother him when he doesn't bother us," Harry shrugged, accepting the chunk of cake that Ron offered him.
"I -" Hermione shifted.
"Why do I get the feeling you know more than we do again?" Ron eyed her suspiciously.
"I'm just more observant than you two. I hate that cockroach as much as you do, but he isn't exactly having a great time at Hogwarts lately. The students are livid that a… Death Eater… is being allowed to finish his education. You saw what happened today; he was hexed by his own post, I just think-"
"That wasn't a student, though!" Ron cut in.
"No, not that time, but he was in the hospital wing last month too, do you remember? He was pushed down the stairs."
Both Ron and Harry couldn't help but snort at that.
"Honestly! I don't know why I bother with you two!" Hermione dug into her bag and pulled out a rather thick Ancient Runes book. "Forget it."
"It's hardly like Malfoy doesn't give as good as he gets though, Hermione," Harry argued, feeling strangely guilty for laughing at Malfoy's troubles. "It's Malfoy."
"Well, that's just it, isn't it? He doesn't anymore; he's not allowed. The Ministry would drag him into Azkaban if he much as thought about hexing another student. And all of the students know that, and with Lucius and Narcissa being in Azkaban, well, the Malfoy name doesn't really count for anything anymore - no one is afraid of him anymore. They can do whatever they like to him and he can't fight back unless he wants to share a prison cell with his parents."
"Alright, alright, we'll lay off Malfoy if it makes you happy," Ron rolled his eyes, stretching out in front of the fire. "He doesn't deserve it, but we will."
"He gets more than he deserves from the rest of the school without you two joining in," Hermione buried herself in her book, only glancing up to say "and… thank you." before she was lost in her book.
"Come on, let's play chess, Harry." Ron rolled his eyes, walking to the window to set up the chess table. And so, very glad that they were no longer on the topic of being amicable with Malfoy, Harry went with him.