Hogwarts Castle looked good as new, albeit a little more sparkly.
As the creepy horse-pulled carriages rolled toward the grounds, Blaise Zabini observed the three other eighth-year occupants through his cat-like eyes, which he had unfortunately inherited from "The Ravaging Beast" as his mother called his father. (Luckily, he had also inherited the Ravaging Beast's expansive country property and both vaults from Gringotts and the Muggle bank Credit Suisse.)
Draco Malfoy sat on his left, pointy-nosed, skinny, and blindingly white as always. According to a friend of Blaise's mum, a French relative living in Tunisia had posted bail for Mrs. Malfoy and Draco but had left Mr. Malfoy to rot.
Across from Blaise was a simpering Pansy Parkinson who was caked in Muggle makeup, Beast knows why. Her robes were dusty, not brand-new, and she had cut her stringy hair into a cropped boy-like haircut. It somehow made her look more feminine and innocent.
Beside Pansy was Tracey Davis, who had gained a dark tan and sun freckles from hiding out in Cape Verde since the end of sixth year.
"How was Praia?" Blaise asked Tracey.
"Hot."
"So, Malfoy, how did you escape our friend Azzie?" Blaise asked.
"I got brownie points for not ratting out Potter, Weasley, and Granger when they were captured," Malfoy drawled. The carriage came to a halt and the blond boy sighed heavily. "Please try not to ruin this for me, Blaise. If I don't get my N.E.W.T.'s I'm basically screwed career-wise for life."
"The temptation is hard to resist," Blaise deadpanned, stepping out of the carriage. "Beast!" (The young man had taken to saying Beast instead of traditional swear words to spite his mum during a rebellious phase when he was eight and it had stuck.)
"What?" Draco asked warily. Blaise pointed at a very petite girl with cascading blonde hair.
"She's fit!" Blaise hissed none too quietly. The blonde girl glanced at him and grinned then turned back to her redheaded friend- "JUMPING BEAST THAT'S WEASLEY!" A tiny smirk escaped Malfoy's lips.
"You think Weasley's fit?" Malfoy asked mockingly. Blaise shook his head, then nodded.
"She's not drop-dead gorgeous like her blonde friend and she's flat as a board but I've got a thing for freckles."
"More like a creepy fetish," Malfoy muttered. "If you like freckles I'm sure Davis wouldn't mind showing you all of hers. I heard she sunbathed nude on a daily basis-"
"Mr. Malfoy, appropriate language please," Professor McGonagall said, swooping past the two into the Great Hall.
"She's perfect, Malfie," Blaise declared, sitting at the head of the Slytherin table.
"Don't call me that, Drool-Boy," Malfoy snapped. He looked in the direction Blaise was gazing and gaped. "Is that Loony Lovegood?"
"It would appear so," Blaise said softly as he watched the beautiful blonde chatter animatedly at the Ravenclaw table with a decent-looking bloke who suddenly became the receiving end of mental Zabini daggers.
"...eighth-years will reside in the Clock Tower on the hill and are permitted to leave school grounds when classes are not in session," McGonagall said from the front of the room. "Seventh years and under are only allowed off school property during outings and special circumstances."
"D'you think we'll have to room with other Houses?" Tracey cried over the sudden burst of groans and protests about eighth-year privileges.
"If I have to room with Abbott or Granger I might just leave," Pansy huffed, glaring at the Gryffindor table in particular. Blaise glanced over in mild interest and noticed that Granger- hair frizzy as always- looked much smaller without Potter and Weasley at her side.
"Ooh! What's that?" a tiny third-year gasped, pointing at a white dish with a mountain of chips covered in gravy and cheese curds. The four eighth-years all grinned and cheered simultaneously, "It's the Return of the Great Canadian Poutine!"
Hermione Granger watched with amusement as Neville, Dean, Ginny, and sixth-year Luca Caruso had a poutine-eating competition or, rather, a poutine-inhaling contest.
Dean and Luca were in the lead, with Ginny not far behind. Neville groaned and pushed his plate toward Hermione.
"I give up!" Neville moaned. Parvati Patil patted him on the shoulder consolingly.
"You guys are animals!" Ginny cried at Dean and Luca as they continued to ravage their plates. The redheaded girl pushed her half-finished plate toward Hermione as well. "I'm fit to burst. How do those Canadians eat this stuff?"
"Most of them only eat one or two servings, not twelve," Colin Creevey pointed out.
"DONE!" Dean yelled, putting his fork down with a mighty slam. Luca pushed her plate away and glowered at the winner while clutching her stomach and looking quite green.
"Nice try, Luca, but no one can beat Caveman Dean at eating," Seamus said, handing Luca the orange curing end of a Puking Pastille which she swallowed with a grimace.
There were excited shouts from the other end of the table where the first-years sat. Ginny and seventh-year Caleb Evans shot up.
"That's our cue to leave, Gin," Caleb said. He called to the first-years, "First-years here! Come here please! I'm Head Boy Caleb and this is Ginny, the Head Girl." He swore. "Where're those stupid Prefects? ATKINS! RUSSELL!"
"Eighth-years here!" Professor Sprout called over all the commotion. "Eighth-years! Follow me to your new quarters, eighth-years! All eighth-years here!"
"There're only five Gryffindors. This is gonna be a fun year," Pansy sneered, a malicious smile on her face. Malfoy groaned.
"Can it, Parkinson, if it weren't for Gryffindors we'd probably be slaves to Voldemort," Malfoy snapped. Blaise looked at his friend in surprise. Pansy just huffed and flounced away, alone.
"She attracts enemies," Tracey muttered in response to the two Slytherin boys' questioning glances. "I don't really need those right now. And I never really liked her that much; too snotty. Daphne wasn't fond of her either."
"Who're you supposed to room with then?" Malfoy said. Tracey shrugged.
"Turpin and Li and Brocklehurst are nice," Tracey answered. The group of eighth-years suddenly stopped in their tracks and took in a collective gasp.
"Beast," Blaise muttered.
The Clock Tower courtyard had been plain grass during the times Blaise had gathered there for Hogsmeade trips but over the break, a cobblestone path had been placed starting at the base of the hill all the way to the Clock Tower door. The trail was shielded by giant willow trees whose leafy branches draped down into an extensive arch.
"The password is Columbia," Professor Sprout said to both the group and the two gargoyles on either side of the large double doors. They swung open to reveal a mammoth hallway with shining marble tile and floor-to-ceiling windows. Plush couches and tables were scattered around in small semi-circles around the many fireplaces and the walls were covered in beautiful tapestries and centuries-old portraits. Blaise looked up and gaped at the intricate maze of wooden beams, arches, and barely-visible clock gears that churned with a somewhat comforting baritone rhythm.
"The entrance to the dorms are behind the tapestries," Professor Sprout said. "Boys' are on the left and girls' are to the right. There are twenty-nine of you so six dorms in total per gender. For simplicity, the staff has chosen your dorm mates." Several students groaned. "The Ravenclaw dorms are behind the Merlin tapestries. Hufflepuffs are behind the Founders' tapestries. Slytherins and Gryffindors will room together and your dorms are behind the Dumbledore Grindewald tapestries." Blaise glanced at Malfoy, then at Finnigan, Thomas, and Longbottom. Finnegan was eyeing him apprehensively and Longbottom smiled weakly but Thomas was outright ignoring Blaise, choosing to glare at Malfoy instead.
"These arrangements are non-negotiable," Professor Sprout said sternly, looking at the Gryffindors and Slytherins pointedly. "You are all mature adults now and have been given looser limitations. If you cannot be civil the staff will gladly strip you of all privileges. Your presence will be mandatory during tomorrow's breakfast but other than that and class times you are free to come and go as you wish. You can even work part-time in Hogsmeade or a Muggle shop if you want."
"I'd like to work at Pure Gold," Malfoy muttered. Blaise snickered then grinned underneath Granger's glare like a preening peacock.
"You should be more mature," she hissed. Once Professor Sprout left she raised her voice. "Stop acting like kids. None of your Slytherin buddies are here and no one else finds you very funny either."
"Don't tell me what to do, Granger," Blaise sneered, all amusement gone. "Can't you shrink that fat head of yours, you beastly good-good?"
"Why don't you shrink your fat head, Zabini?" Granger said with a saccharine smile. "If it weren't for half the people in this room, you'd either be dead or a slave to Voldemort, so show a little respect to those of us who actually fought in the War while you sat on your slimy little butt counting your dead father's Galleons." Blaise opened his mouth to retort but suddenly a giant hand covered his mouth and dragged him away toward one of the walls.
"Sorry, Granger. He's a little bratty from being cooped up in his mum's cellar all summer," Malfoy, of all beastly people, grovelled. "Please excuse us."
Malfoy still had him in an iron grip as a tapestry was pushed aside and as they went up a flight of stairs then arrived in a big spacious room.
"If you try to attack me, I'll kill you," Malfoy said calmly as he removed his hands. Blaise rubbed his shoulder and glared at his friend.
"She brought up my dad!" Blaise cried. "She brought up my beastly dad! Who does she think she is?"
"Don't you call him a ravaging beast?" Malfoy asked with a smirk. The corner of Blaise's mouth twitched.
"Not the point," he muttered, trying to fight off a smile.
"You should be nicer to her. It's Granger. She'll probably become Minister one day so try to stay on her good side," Malfoy said with an encouraging pat to the head. Beastly tall people. "Oh, and I heard she's friends with Loony and you know all about girls seeking their friends' opinions on boys." Blaise shuddered, remembering Astoria and her posse and their incessant critiques.
"Why're you so considerate of Mudbloods all of a sudden?" Blaise asked, suspicious.
"Don't call them that," Malfoy snapped. "Blood purists were on the losing side ever since they resorted to incestuous breeding. I realized that. You should too."