There it was, stretching high above the sprawling green and rocky cliffs. The newly rebuilt Hogwarts, ready for returning and new students alike. The eagerness he first felt when he lay eyes on the place had now turned to a deep, cold dread.
Draco didn't know why he came back. It had only been a year since he last been here, and a year was not nearly enough to shake the memories of the war out of his head. Headmistress Mcgnagall had made a very convincing argument about his future and gave him a look that implied he had no choice in the matter. It was his only chance at a real job after all, but it also meant going back to the place that haunted his dreams. Going back to spend a year with a school full of people who loathed his very existence. This was his final chance to be just himself, not anyone's puppet. Just, Draco. So he decided to risk, in the end, because he knew what he was to face if he went back. Hogwarts was just another war he needed to survive, and Draco was good at surviving.
The first thing that bothered him were the gates. They looked exactly the same as his first day all those years ago, which felt horribly wrong to him. They were supposed to show what they'd been through, like a story with a moral at the end. Learn from your mistakes, stand up and dust yourself off. Just as each scar on his body told a story. All his ugly, painful reminders of one mistake or another. But they showed that he was different, and he needed that. He needed to know he had changed. Into what? Well, he was still working that out.
Draco had come back nearly a week earlier than the traditional students were supposed to arrive. Apparently, the new headmistress had plans for all the older students who had missed out on their last year. She hadn't felt the need to enlighten them on this plan, but had given them a few strict instructions to follow.
Firstly, they were all to stay in a new dormitory, seeing as such a small number had decided to return. They had no house, which meant no house points to win or lose, and were welcome to sit at whatever dinner table they wished to during the course of the year. As long as they didn't stir up trouble, of course. Secondly, and Mcgnagall stressed this in her most stern tone, one was expected to follow the rules set for seventh year students... with a few exceptions in regards to their ages. Everyone in the extended year was allowed to apparate in and out of Hogsmade instead of using the train. Other than that, most of the rules were the same and Draco had no intention of breaking said rules this time around. His only hope was to blend into the background as much as possible, and survive his final year at Hogwarts.
It was two days into his stay at the castle and Draco had only seen seven or eight students on his usual walk though the hallways. All of the members of the extended class returned to their old house dorms, apparently planning to sleep there right up until they were forced to move the new dormitory. Draco wasn't all that surprised, considering that most of them hated one another and all of them hated him. He had not seen a friendly face since the very start, not that he was expecting one.
The Malfoy name was nothing but trash these days, and now he meant even less than that. He was no longer a Malfoy, and no longer a Slytherin. He was a traitor and an 'untrustworthy git' that neither side wanted around. Draco was surrounded by people he had betrayed at one point or another, and he was expected to share a dormitory with those he did the most harm to.
He was going to be killed before the year was up, he just knew it. If it wasn't Harry Potter, then it would be his friends or loyal followers. If not them, then anyone left from Slytherin who's Death Eater parents were locked away or dead. His old friends had not liked his 'easy' change in heart during the war. After his trials, Pansy had been the only one who stayed close to him. Unfortunately, she refused to return to Hogwarts. Instead choosing to stay in the flat in Muggle London they had shared over the summer. It had been almost fun, keeping one another company and trying to stay sane while they avoided the wizarding world completely. His living arrangements had become complicated before that, since his mother left for France.
He didn't hate his mother for abandoning him. In fact, Draco was exceedingly thankful that she sold the house and left with most of the money in he secret savings accounts. Neither of them could stand the mansion any longer, and both agreed it was for the best. It was, after all, only after he left that the nightmares let up slightly. He wasn't cured and it wasn't perfect, but he was alive. What more could he ask for?
But now, he was alone. Alone in the proverbial 'den of lions', and perhaps the 'pit of snakes' too.
What had surprised him the most so far, was the rather anticlimactic run in with Potter. He had been certain that the hero would kill him at first sight, or at lest maim him as he did before. When the blow didn't come, Draco didn't quite know what to do with himself.
"'Lo," Potter said, nodding at him.
Draco stared at him for a long moment before nodding in return. They stood there in confusion until they both tried to leave in awkward, jerky movements. The only problem was, they seemed to be heading in the same direction.
"Are you following me?" Draco asked quietly, keeping his distance, afraid to show Potter his back. He had to force himself to slow from his usual pace, keeping himself carefully to the side.
"Why would I be following you?" Harry asked incredulously, then raised an eyebrow. "Are you following me?"
"Anything but. I was heading to the kitchens."
"Me too."
"I see."
Harry turned his attention away and continued on in silence. Just as the reached the final stretch Potter let out a huff of laughter. "The thing is, I don't really see you as the type to come to the kitchens. Don't you usually have a house elf deliver it to your room?"
"It's not impossible, Potter, and I needed a walk," Draco grumbled. His mood was already turning sour around him. Peace could only last so long between past enemies, after all. Draco was starting to wonder when to expect the attack, and gripped his wand tightly inside his pocket.
"It might have been for the old Malfoy," Harry muttered, giving him a thoughtful look.
Draco stumbled on nothing and stopped walking, letting Potter pass him. He watched as Harry tickled the pear, then turned to give him a questioning look once the door was open. He gestured for Draco to go first.
"You first. I'm not having you behind me, Potter."
"You really think i'm going to curse you behind your back?"
Draco scowled and suddenly felt like running away. It wasn't funny, not after everything that happened. How was he supposed to answer that? 'Yes, I do. Because you've done it before.'
"I don't think Draco... what are you doing?"
"I, um..." Draco stood quickly and dusted himself off, wiping his face off on his sleeve. "I was inspecting the corners for rats. I thought I heard something."
Well that was the absolute most pathetic excuse he had ever used. Potter would never believe a word of it. As if he couldn't see Draco's stupid red-rimmed eyes anyway.
"Rats?," Harry asked, glancing around at the floor. He muttered more softly, "Merlin... I hope not. I've had enough of rats after Scabbers."
"After what?"
"Ron's rat. Only, he wasn't a rat really, but a slimy, murdering son of a bitch. I believe you knew him vaguely."
"Pettigrew..."
Harry nodded and glanced around the room. "You can see why I lack any affection for them, huh?"
Draco shrugged and moved his way stiffly over to couch. "What are you doing here? Classes don't start for another week, I believe. Don't you have a tower to return to?"
Harry ignored his questions and started to poke around the room, every so often glancing back at him. He was being so obvious, Draco wanted to hurl something at his stupid, scarred head.
"Stop fussing about and ask me what you want to ask me," Draco snapped. He leaned back into the couch, unceremoniously wrapping a throw around himself. The floor had been rather cold, after all.
Harry hesitated only moment longer before he approached the couch, perching on the edge. "I heard about the great hall..." He began. Draco tensed immediately and pulled the throw tighter around him. "I just wanted to see if you were... alright, I guess."
"If i'm barking mad and screaming from the rooftops? Not to worry, Potter, I won't be waking you up at night."
"Why do you get to call me 'Potter', if I can't call you 'Malfoy'?"
Draco wrinkled his nose and purposely looked away. "If you must call me something... I suppose it could be 'Black'. But I doubt you would like that very much, considering your fondness for a certain Black family member."
Harry's stare was burning a hole on side of his face, so he turned to glare back at him.
"What happened?" He asked at last, "Since when do you go by the Black family name?"
Draco gave a sardonic laugh. "What happened? What happened?! My family tore itself apart, Potter! The only Malfoy left is locked away in Azkaban. My mother is a Black, and returned to that name when she... when..." He sagged a little and glanced away again. "Just... call me Draco, if you must call me something."
Harry was silent for a while, the room filling with the soft crackle of the left over embers in the fire place. It seemed to only grow colder as the early morning turned into noon. For once, Draco wished it to be empty again. If only to be rid of Potter.
"I'll call you Draco then, since I've sort of already started thinking of you like that."
Draco rolled his eyes and turned his newly fueled glare on Potter. "Is there any other reason you are here other than to find out my bloody name?"
"I was here to see how you were doing, but you seem to be fine," Harry snapped in return, "oh, except for hiding in a corner all night."
Draco paled and pulled his body away slightly.
He knew!?
Of course he knew. He was Harry-bloody-Potter. The wizarding world's boy detective and hero to them all. That, and the rats excuse was a bit weak.
"Just because we rode a broom together doesn't make us 'mates', Potter. You do not need to be sticking your nose in my business."
"You know what? You're right, I don't owe you a thing," Harry snarled and stood up, tucking his wand into his pocket after extinguishing the light. "Next time you're in the Great Hall, don't expect any sympathy from anyone there. Seamus was up laughing half the night."
Even though Potter was goading him, Draco felt his anger already dying. He just didn't have the energy for this anymore, not after the war. Not since he lost everything. It didn't help that he was constantly exhausted thanks to the constant pain in his body. So instead of snapping back with his usual wit, he pulled himself further into the couch and lowered his gaze. It was giving up and letting Potter win, but he just couldn't be bothered to care anymore. Self preservation came first and foremost.
Whatever reaction Harry had been expecting, that wasn't it. He seemed to lose steam as well, and plopped back down on the couch with a confused look. Another silence fell around them, much more awkward and heavy than the last. After a while, the tension eased out of Draco and he started to doze.
"Bollocks."
Draco jerked out of his half-asleep daze and blinked at Potter. "Excuse me?"
Harry laughed and leaned back into the couch. "It's absolute bollocks. I just can't bring myself to do it anymore, all this back and forth with you. I'm too... tired, I guess."
Draco hummed and pulled the blanket around his face. He agreed with him, of course, but he wasn't about to admit any form of weakness. Not to Potter.
"I think I'll sleep here tonight," Harry said suddenly.
"Whatever for?!"
"Just to test it out. I'm going to have to move in here eventually." Harry raised an eyebrow. "Or did you think you would get the place all to yourself for the semester?"
"Of course not," Draco grumbled, flushing slightly. He had hoped for a little longer.
Harry watched him for a while as Draco struggled to stay awake. Whenever his head began to droop, he would jerk back awake and glare at Potter, daring him to say something. After the seventh time, Harry let out a strange giggle and stood up once more.
"Get some sleep, you look like a half dead skrewt."
"You look just as lovely, Potter," he drawled in response, "and i'm fine."
"Sure," Harry agreed, heading for the portal, "I won't be back until later. You know, in case you want to sleep."
"Shove off," Draco mumbled from behind his blanket, his eyes already closing.
There was one more laugh before the portal shut with a snap, leaving Draco in blessed silence.
It was strange, but it almost seemed like the jerk was actually checking up on him. Which was sheer lunacy, but not an all around unwelcome thought.
Then again...
Draco thought to himself, his friends would be back soon. Maybe they would kill him yet.
So much for civil conversation. He really shouldn't have expected much, but Neville's optimism seemed to be rubbing off on him. Granted, the childish bickering didn't has as long as usual, but they certainly weren't instant friends. Harry wasn't even sure he wanted to be friends with anyone anymore, not with the way things turned out with Ron and Hermione.
Harry scowled down at the bowl of soup that was carefully balanced on his knees. He was late when he finally made it down to the kitchens, having missed lunch. He regretting choosing the soup. It was already growing cold by the time he reached the second floor. It was down right icy by the time he reached his secret hiding spot.
He had discovered the nook accidentally during the first few days back. It was a small alcove off the side of an unused walkway that wound its way high above the library bookshelves and well into darkened rafters. The metal railings were a little unstable, but nothing that a few well placed spells couldn't fix up.
Harry hadn't even notice the ladder tucked away behind a book cases until clumps of rust fell into his hair. He had already spent hours lurking in the archives before the discovery, trying to keep himself entertained while avoiding people. The entire area seemed completely forgotten, which is exactly why Harry claimed it as his own.
"That git," Harry muttered before ripping a chunk of bread apart and dunking it in his soup. His mind was still stuck on his conversation with Draco from that morning.
Why did he have to be so stubborn? Was it really all that bad to be asked after every once in a while? It looked as though Draco had been curled up in that corner for the entire night, which couldn't have been very comfortable. Harry had always assumed that for Draco, comfort came first. So what ghost did he see that scared him so much that he...
Harry swallowed the chunk of bread with difficulty. He knew exactly who's ghost he had seen, and the blond's break down made a lot more sense suddenly. He could only imagine what Crabbe looked like as a ghost. If he looked as he looked at his time of death... Harry didn't want to imagine it. No wonder Draco had lost it.
Harry frowned at his bowl, having lost his apatite. There was something else off about Draco that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Why was he so afraid of being touched? He used to make a big deal out of it before with the whole 'pure blood' nonsense, but this was something entirely different. The guy was clearly not sleeping, and had a twitchy, looking-over-your-shoulder affect. He seemed stiff when he moved, which could have been from curling up in the corner all night. But no, when he thought about it, Draco had looked stiff and awkward in the kitchen as well. Only, Harry couldn't figure out why.
The professors had made it painfully clear how strict the punishments would be if anyone attacked another student within Hogwarts. Especially 'high profile' students like himself and, apparently, Draco. Harry wasn't optimistic enough to hope that Draco didn't have any enemies returning to the school. The blond probably expected Harry to attack him, even if he did speak at his trials for him. Harry knew Draco was going to have to watch his back. The war was over, that didn't mean people had moved on or simply forgotten.
Harry gave up on the soup and placed it down carefully to the side. He had snuck a few pillows and a blanket up there in case he ever needed a place to escape to at night. He harbored very little hope that the new dormitory was going to be peaceful.
Perhaps Draco could use it, if worst came to worst. But that meant showing the git his secret place, and that didn't seem like such a good idea. They were not friends, but not enemies either. Since when did things get so complicated?
Harry stood and stretched, taking a minute to peer out the small slanted window that graced his hideaway with the last, dwindling light of the day. A few owls had gathered outside, looking in at him curiously. Harry swallowed the usual lump that formed in his throat as he thought of Hedwig and cracked open the window. They shuffled their feathers and waited at a slight distance as he shoved the bowl of soup and the last remaining chunks of bread out.
"There you go, you vultures."
They hooted appreciatively and dug in. He left them to it, climbing down the ladder after muttering a Mufflaito . He had already mastered the art of sneaking in and out of the library years ago, so he had no trouble slipping out unnoticed.
He didn't know why he was going back to the new dormitory, or if he even wanted to go in the first place. Harry knew what he was about to face there. More biting words and childish arguments between the two of them that would probably only get worse when the others moved in. But he decided to risk, in the end, because he had a sneaking suspicion that Draco was going a little nuts up there being all alone. No one should be alone like that, not even him.
Harry had been lucky to have Neville keeping him company this whole time, but it felt a little forced sometimes. Maybe Harry wanted to be alone, rather than face his old friends anymore. Something had clearly changed about him that drove people away more than ever, and once everyone moved into the new dorm like they were supposed to, he was going to have to adapt. Harry wondered how they would treat Draco with all the hatred and mistrust that had grown over the years. The ghosts, alone, were enough of a problem for everyone. The war might over, but a new battle had begun. How in Merlin's name were they going to survive their final year at Hogwarts?