Author's note: If you're a homophobe, just a tip: don't read this story. Characters aren't mine.
Harry
"Malfoy's up to something," Harry said for the thousandth time that day, ignoring his two best friends rolling their eyes at him. "I'm sure of it."
It was the summer before their eight year at Hogwarts – well, technically their seventh since they hadn't had the time to be in school at all the former year – and the trio had claimed their old compartment. The war had ended, as had the trials for former Death Eaters and their children, and now they were on their way to finish their education. Harry had already had doubts whether it had been smart to do so – he'd been offered a job as an auror, which was kind of a big honor – but he didn't want any special treatment for being the 'savior' anymore. Voldemort was gone, and now was the time to finally catch up on some normal school time without the constant fear.
But unfortunately, old habits die hard. And however hard Harry was trying to let all his past issues with people go, he couldn't help his immediate angry reaction at the first sight of his arch-nemesis' face. Draco Malfoy. Harry had helped in his trial, had vouched for him, but still… The boy hadn't snarled at him that morning, hadn't drawled an insult, and he'd barely glanced at Hermione and Ron. No comments. No, 'What are you doing here without your beloved fangirls, Potter?'
Nothing.
And that disturbed Harry to no end.
"Just, quit it, Harry," Hermione said, looking up from a Rune book she was reading. Her eyes had been excited this morning – she had wanted to return to Hogwarts pretty badly – but now they seemed irritated and tired. "Shouldn't you be happy that he's leaving you alone? You complained to us for years about that. And now the splendid day's finally here – and you think he's up to something?"
"Well – yeah." Harry brushed his hair out of his face. He couldn't shake off the feeling that something was up with the blonde boy. His face had just looked so… Dead. "But the last time I'd seen him was in court – and he was all too happy to snarl at me before the hearing! So what changed?"
Hermione sighed deeply, and laid her book down. "Isn't it obvious why he's changed towards you, Harry?"
"No." Again he ruffled his hair. A nervous tick.
She leaned forward, her big eyes staring into his own, trying to catch some more emotion than irritation at Malfoy. Obviously satisfied, she leaned back, and said; "He isn't the same boy he used to be before everything. Merlin, no one is. You saved his life a couple times, he tried to save yours, and you helped him during the hearing. Thanks to you he and his mum escaped Azkaban. Did you really think that after everything he'd just go back to the obnoxious prick he used to be? Of course not! He feels like he's in your debt and I doubt he's going to interact with you at all! Probably too conflicted about wanting to hate your guts while feeling the need to thank you at the same time."
"Well," Ron decided happily when Harry just stared at Hermione as if she'd lost her marbles, "I don't know about you mate, but a year without Malfoy annoying the guts out of us sounds like a pretty good deal."
Before Harry could find his voice again – because, surely, Malfoy couldn't be feeling that torn about him, could he? – the door slid open, revealing a few giggling teenage girls.
Ron's feet, who'd been dangling up in the air lazily, dropped with a thud.
"I told you the rumors were true," one girl whispered to the others, and they all giggled.
"We heard you were coming back to Hogwarts," said the tallest girl cheekily when they'd calmed down, smirking at Harry.
Her grey eyes probably should've looked sexy, but Harry just felt sick. "May we join you, Savior?"
Hermione choked on her laughter, and Harry made a mental note to kick her later. This kind of attention wasn't uncommon anymore, after the Battle of Hogwarts, but it was still as unwelcome as a face full of dung. He hadn't gotten better at waving them off, either, which entertained his two best friends to no end. "Er – well, sorry. I'm already sitting with my friends, and I wouldn't want to make anyone uncomfortable…"
"I won't be uncomfortable." The girl said, her eyes positively twinkling.
Something was twitching in his gut. He wanted to say, I wasn't talking about you, but that just seemed a tad too rude for the so-called savior to say.
When the girl just quirked a brow, Hermione sighed and said: "He's too polite to decline. So, no, thank you. We're fine with just us three, thanks."
"I didn't know that you spoke for Harry?" The girl's smile was gone, and with it, her attractiveness. He was pretty sure she was a third year Ravenclaw, but in that moment she looked more like Pansy Parkinson. Which wasn't a compliment.
"She doesn't." Harry said, and brushed his bangs from his face nervously – while trying to ignore the fact that it was a stupid move, since the girls were now able to swoon about his scar. "But she's right, though."
"Fine." Disappointed she turned away, but not without saying with a sweet voice; "I'll see you at Hogwarts… Harry Potter."
She walked away without closing the door, her horde of girls following her immediately.
The moment they were gone Harry kicked; and Hermione's yell rang through the compartment. "What in the name of Merlin's pants was that for!"
"For laughing."
She chuckled, rubbing her knee absently. "Yeah, okay. I may have deserved that."
"Three things," Ron said, holding up his fingers in the air with a stubborn expression on his face. "One, don't kick my girlfriend. Two, why didn't you ask them in – aren't you looking for a new lover? And three: don't kick my girlfriend."
"What was number one again?" Harry asked innocently, and smirked when Ron punched – and missed. "Calm down, Ron! I was just kidding."
Ron's eyebrows quirked upward, and he threw his left arm around Hermione, leaving her all flustered and blushing. They'd been dating for three months now, and they were still in the giggling 'did he/she just touch my hand on purpose?' faze. Harry doubted they'd ever grow out of it. "Well, don't forget it."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Uptight much."
They both kicked him at the same time, which made them all laugh.
Harry
Hogwarts had changed.
It wasn't something you could see from the outside.
It was just a feeling – a feeling that something in the air had changed, making it more dark and empty and cold at the same time. As if someone had taken the heart out of it all.
But when Harry stepped into the Great Hall, his feeling of discomfort and unfamiliarity was confirmed by just looking at the enchanted ceiling.
Big black clouds were colliding and rubbing together, sizzling with harmless lightning.
The storm that usually threatened to take place above the heads of everyone in the Great Hall was always prominent, but never on the first day, and it didn't help to calm Harry's already upset stomach down. He knew that great parts of the castle had been fixed, that evidence of a battle would be hard to find, but it made him feel queasy enough as it was to stare at the four long tables, suddenly seeing all the faces that had lain there three months ago.
"Come on," Hermione urged, taking Harry with her to the Gryffindor table.
Faces were turning, whispers grew louder, but Harry tried to ignore it all. He was just trying to breathe calmly.
The last day he'd been here… The last time he'd cast a spell in this exact Hall… was the time Voldemort had fallen, the time his final body had died – at his hand. He shuddered, and resolutely turned his head away from the spot it all had happened. "So," He stated, ignoring the shakiness of his voice, "Hogwarts."
Ron looked as queasy as he felt. His eyes hadn't left one particular spot, somewhere in the back of the Hall.
"Well." Hermione tried to look positive to cheer both the guys up. "We all know it's been a long time, and it's definitely going to be difficult adjusting, but I'm sure glad I'm back. I missed this place."
Harry's gaze turned to the spot Ron was staring at, suddenly seeing the red-headed family standing there again, mourning, crying… "It's too late to leave, isn't it?"
His bushy-haired friend punched him softly on his arm, but she didn't say anything. None of them did. They just all watched the spot where Fred's body had lain, alongside Lupin's, and Tonk's, and –
"See something you like, Potter?" Echoed a voice across the hall, and Harry looked up.
The person who was sitting in that particular sad spot was none other than Draco Malfoy himself. He was smirking, his usual glint of satisfactory smugness back in his eyes. Harry would be the last person to admit that Draco looked better with that expression – especially with his face all grown-up and prominent looking - but he couldn't help but feel a bit reassured. There was the annoying git he used to know.
"In your dreams, Malfoy!" He countered back, smirking.
He supposed Malfoy did grow into his body nicely; not that he was looking or anything. The boy just infuriated him to no end, and bickering about useless things was better than staring at places his friends had died for him. To be honest, it was better to focus on Malfoy's annoying voice than anything else right now.
Malfoy didn't retort something back, however. He surprised Harry, and probably a whole lot of people too, by winking at the raven-haired boy before turning his attention to the headmistress.
"Did –" Harry blinked a couple times too often, trying to find his voice. Ron and Hermione were staring with open mouths as well. "Did he just wink at me? Did Malfoy… wink?"
"Er… I'm sure it's just some trick of the light, mate. I mean, Malfoy? Wink at you?"
Hermione closed her mouth, and shook her head solemnly. "I don't think it was a trick, Ron, otherwise we all wouldn't have seen the same thing."
"Why do I date someone smarter than me again?"
Harry kicked them both under the table, which send the couple in a laughing fit.
He, however, didn't even smile.
Something was up with Malfoy: he'd been right. (Of course he had been.) Sure, at first Draco had been distant and odd, and now he'd been almost… teasing? He hadn't called him names, he'd just asked Harry if he'd liked what he had seen…
And, Harry asked himself, not quite sure if he wanted the answer, had he?
Harry
"There, do you see him?"
"Yes – next to the red head!"
"With the glasses?"
"And don't forget the scar!"
Everywhere Harry went, whispers followed. He was kind of used to it. Back in his first year something similar had happened – he'd been a living legend, some story parents told their children about – second year whispers of his so-called Dark heritage had clouded his everyday life at school, third year it was the story of a mass-murderer following him… you get the point. There was never a year that he wasn't constantly plagued by nervous first years scattering away as soon as he got within their hearing range, never a year of being able to walk through a corridor without at least one head turning to look at him passing by.
But this year it seemed to be increased tenfold.
Maybe the Prophet's view on the Battle of Hogwarts hadn't helped. Maybe the fact that so many people had been present on the final battle to gossip about it later hadn't helped, either.
All Harry knew was that he was getting sick of the people gazing up at him as if he was some kind of god. "Beat it," he finally yelled at a second year Ravenclaw who'd been blocking his path as a rabbit stuck in front of a moving car. She couldn't have run away faster if her life had depended on it.
"What would the Prophet make of this?" Harry turned around, but he already knew whose voice it belonged to. "Let me guess; 'Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world and the boy who lived, yelling at defenseless fangirl'. How's that for tomorrow's paper?"
"Wouldn't work. Tad too long for the front page." Harry said sarcastically, and strutted away.
Malfoy followed, their footsteps echoing across the hallway. "Should've known you'd never go for anything less than that, Potter."
"Well, you have known me for eight years now. Surely you shouldn't have felt the need to ask?"
Malfoy snorted. "When did you get so cocky?"
"When did you get so civil?"
The Slytherin stopped walking, an incredulous expression on his face. "Excuse me?" He spluttered, for the first time unconfident. "Me? Civil? Have you lost your mind?"
Harry stepped closer to him.
The other boy went rigid, freezing on the spot.
"No," Harry said softly, gazing in the grey cold eyes of Malfoy. He hadn't noticed in all those years, but the lashes of Malfoy were almost like silver as light as they were. "You have."
"What'd you mean?" Malfoy stepped back, his face turning into a snarl. "Merlin, Potter," he added nervously, "Ever heard of personal space?"
Harry ignored the last question, and stepped in closer. This time he was absolutely positive that Malfoy had changed. "You still haven't jinxed me," Harry said slowly, looking at Malfoy's still empty hands, "you haven't cursed me, nor my family. You haven't slurred, you haven't called Hermione any names and you haven't thrown any punches."
Some of the color seemed to slip back onto Malfoy's face. "If you'd rather I did, just say the word."
Harry ignored that, too. "You were quiet this morning and you're friendly – in Malfoy terms – right now. So, yes, Malfoy: I asked 'when did you get so civil'. I didn't lose my marbles."
"Are you saying I did?"
Harry just quirked a brow.
The other boy breathed in sharply. "Just – I just…" Malfoy's face fell back in its usual cold and indifferent mask, and Harry cringed inwardly. It was as if Malfoy had wanted to open up seconds ago – but something had changed his mind, and the boy said, rushing out the words as he stumbled away; "Just forget it, Potter. See you at Potions."
With that he rushed out, not even looking over his shoulder once to see the Gryffindor staring at him in disbelief.
Harry
"Today we're learning about a little Potion called Veritaserum." Horace Slughorn said, waggling in front of the class with his hands clasped together. The class was small, with Harry and Ron sitting in the back as the only Gryffindors, along with three Slytherins (including Malfoy, Harry'd noticed), two Hufflepuffs and four Ravenclaws. They'd combined a lot of classes with different houses since their year had become pretty small. Not even a quarter of the people he used to go to school with was attending now, either because of haunting memories, or because they were lost in the war.
"Really?" Draco drawled, sighing deeply. "That's a fourth year potion!"
"Then maybe you could inform us of the effects of Veritaserum, mister Malfoy," Professor Slughorn said cheerily, "as it is – in your words – common knowledge for you all?"
Slightly insulted the Slytherin straightened his back, and said in a monotone voice that could've echoed Hermione's: "The potion effectively forces the drinker to answer any questions put to them truthfully, though there are some methods of resistance. But," he added, his voice turning more normal, "the use of Veritaserum is controlled by the ministry – we can't use it."
"Very good, very good!" He clapped his hands, his eyes twinkling with positive delight. "Yes, you're very right. You are not permitted to either take it with you or use it. You are, however, expected to be able to make the potion for your upcoming N.E.W.T.'s!"
Harry groaned, and put his head on his arms. Being reminded of his exams this early on a Monday morning wasn't even a little bit welcome to his already grogginess.
"But, sir," Lisa Turpin, one of the Ravenclaw girls said, "if we can't use the potion, how will we know we brewed it correctly?"
"And another good question!"
Harry quirked his head up, and groaned for the second time. Slughorn was looking as if he'd just taken some Felix Felixis. He'd probably expected the class to just stare and do their work – probably expected them to have lost their spirit. Hermione had warned them for it, seeing as a lot of teachers had fought as well three months ago. She said that some of them would probably either burst into tears when seeing Harry's face, or close themselves up and act stiff. Horace Slughorn, however, acted as if he had just had the most normal summer ever.
"We can't use it," he said, "but we can, however, test it in this classroom. That is permitted by the ministry – and if everyone takes one drop, the effect shall only last one minute. You can't leave the classroom in that minute, and you don't have to take it without your consent – though you will get less points."
Tracey Davis, a Slytherin girl sitting in front, put up her hand.
"Yes, miss Davis?"
"What if you can resist the potion, Professor? Some people can naturally withstand its power, and that wouldn't be fair –"
"This class just keeps impressing me." Professor chuckled, and winked at the girl. (Who looked positively disgusted, and Harry couldn't blame her.) "It is indeed true that there are people who are able to withstand certain forms of magic – the main example is sitting in this exact class room –"
All eyes turned around to look at Harry, and a blush crept up his cheeks. There went his hope of going through one day without being reminded of his weirdness.
"But you must know," Professor Slughorn continued after a long and heavy pause, "that withstanding Veritaserum isn't the same as with Unforgivable Curses. For the potion you either have to have had an antidote, or know Occlumency," Harry and Ron shared a knowing look, "and I doubt any of you even know what that is! So don't worry, Miss Davis, it'll be quite all right."
He waved his hand, and behind him on the board appeared the steps of making it.
It wasn't an easy potion, Harry realized when reading them. It had to be brewed close to a full moon – hence was why, Professor Slughorn told them, they had to brew it this week, or they had to wait another month – and it was a difficult and chaotic process. Not as difficult as Polyjuice Potion, sure, but they didn't have Hermione on their side this time. The copy of 'The Half-Blood Prince' was also missing, since Harry had thrown it out after the end of year six, and Harry's usual luck in Professor Slughorn's class was absent.
That didn't go unnoticed by the Professor himself, when he walked by and stared at the still colorful potion brewing in Harry's pot. Yet he didn't say anything about it – he just clapped on Harry's shoulder with a knowing smile. No, wait, it was even worse, Harry thought with a sickening feeling, it was a pitying smile.
The making of the potion, however, turned out to be pretty easy. You just had to stir at the times the steps told you to stir, to add daises draught when you were supposed to, and be careful with the fire.
Everything was going splendidly, until Ron's potion exploded, with its content flying everywhere – and the students nearest to him were instantly soaked. Harry, who had been sitting right next to it, even gulped down half of it with the liquid dripping from his face and right through his clothes.
"Really, Ron?" Harry muttered through his teeth, gargling up the liquid.
"Oh, no!" Professor Slughorn came running, his wand in the air. "Whose potion exploded?"
"Mine, sir," Ron said gruffly, rubbing in his eyes. "I didn't turn down the fire."
"Well, well, it's all fine," he waved his hand, and with a quick; 'tergeo' the students were dry. "No harm done."
The tasteless liquid was still inside Harry's throat, however, and it didn't really improve Harry's mood to know that it was an unfinished truth potion – what could the effects be? "Uh, Professor?"
"Yes, my dear boy?"
"I got some of Ron's potion in my mouth… I hope that isn't anything bad?"
"Yes, uh, well," Professor Slughorn said briskly, looking worried, "the potion wasn't nearly ready – after today, I would have you brew it for an entire lunar episode - so in theory it shouldn't have any lasting effects. But this is something only time can tell, I'm afraid."
No. Just – no. "Professor, surely I can just take some antidote? To stop any effects happening at all?"
"I'm afraid that can't be done, Harry," this time the professor grabbed his shoulders, hard, as if to reassure him and keep him on his seat on the same time. He had taught his mother as well, Lily Potter, and he probably thought Harry's temper would be bigger than the explosion had been. "The antidote was created to stop the effects from a fully functional Veritaserum potion, not this one."
A low laugh echoed through the dungeon, flaring Harry's already wobbly mood. "How many drops did you swallow exactly, Potter?"
"Wouldn't you like to know, Malfoy?" he bit back.
"Actually, yes. Hence why I asked."
"Oh, just, bugger off –"
"Boys, boys, now is hardly the time!" Professor Slughorn strutted to his desk, a serious expression on his face. "Dear Harry, yes, you swallowed some Veritaserum, but that won't have any lasting effects." I hope. His unfinished sentence rang through the classroom. "And you, mister Malfoy," he turned to Malfoy with a snarl, "you are not to take advantage if, by some unlucky shot, it does take hold."
Malfoy put up his hands, an innocent smile on his face. "Me? Taking advantage of Potter? Why, don't be preposterous. That simply isn't in my nature."
Ron snorted so loud he started coughing.
