Chapter One: Rites of Initiation
Harry squinted at the entrance to the testing center, which was oddly dim and hard to see, a lopsided white rectangle set into the side of a squat, unfriendly-looking cinder-block of a building. Grasping his wand in his hand for comfort, he started forward.
At the desk inside, there was a quill and an inkwell, beside a thick testing booklet. Grimly, as the proctor announced the beginning of the examination period, he broke the red Ministry of Magic seal and opened the book. The words swam alarmingly before his eyes, and again he squinted, trying to force his eyes to focus. Was something wrong with his glasses?
"Oculus reparo," he muttered, touching the front of his glasses with his wand, the end of which glowed brilliantly white above the mottled indentations in its length. Harry frowned. Something about his wand seemed wrong, but he couldn't tell what it was. He forced his concentration back down to the test booklet.
He needed to solve at least this first problem if he wanted a shot at becoming an Auror, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't figure out the correct broomstick length to use to solve the arithmancy problem. And despite the light of his wand, it was growing even darker, so dark that he couldn't even make out the words he was supposed to be reading.
"Not done yet, Potter?" Malfoy's mocking voice said from the gloom, and he started upright, wand at the ready. Floating in the air beyond the desk was a mask beneath a mop of yellow hair and nothing else. "Figures you'd be the last one."
Harry looked around. The room was silent and empty; even the proctor's chair was bare of its occupant. Where had they all gone? He backed away from the desk, and the light from his wand turned sickly-green. The mask laughed in Malfoy's voice, the lower jaw unhinging to let the snake inside slither out. Bright eyes flashed, and the snake's voiced hissed in parseltongue, "Avada—"
Green light flared as Harry cried out, and a shrill ringing blotted out the rest of the words, a ringing that only slowly resolved into the sound of the ancient phone by his bed.
When he realized what it was, he sat up with a gasp. Trembling violently, he almost dropped the receiver when he went to pick it up, but he managed to seize control of it before it slipped through his fingers. "H-Hello?" he said, his voice shaking more than he'd have liked.
"Harry, thank goodness!" Hermione's voice was tinny and distorted. "I wish you'd get on the floo network."
"I like my privacy," Harry mumbled. He'd had this argument with Hermione more than enough times, but it seemed that her statement had just been a throwaway, routine complaint, because she continued almost immediately.
"We need your help at Hogwarts," she said, and he felt an icy jab in the pit of his stomach.
"What's happened?" Even six years after the Battle of Hogwarts, not all the Death-Eaters had been apprehended. Could they have attacked the school? Or Malfoy—he'd been helping Hermione teach there. Had he done something?
"It's not a matter of life-or-death," Hermione said quickly. "Not literally, I mean. But we really do need your help."
"Then what is it?" Harry glanced over at his bedside table, where his clock told him that it was 6 am and all his friends were safe. Not quite obscenely early, but close.
"Professor Slughorn has just owled to let us know that he's having visa problems in China," Hermione said, a string of words which made almost no sense to Harry.
"Er, okay," he said. "So…you…need me to fly to China and get him?"
"Harry, honestly," Hermione said reprovingly. "No, we need you to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts for at least the first few weeks of term."
"What? I can't!"
"I'm sure you can."
"No, Hermione, I really can't. I'm an Auror—I mean, I could take time off if I had to, but I don't really want—I mean—" He paused, aware that he was breathing heavily. I don't want to go back to Hogwarts. He'd been avoiding it for awhile now, and he hadn't really—noticed, until now. He wasn't even certain why, except that he didn't want to go backwards. Somehow, it was very important that he not go backwards.
She must have heard something final in his voice, because hers was getting more rapid as she spoke, the words tripping over one another. "Harry, please, you're the only person who can do this, we haven't been able to find a replacement teacher in six years because no one will take the job, and Draco and I have literally been teaching it in shifts for the last three."
Despite the distortion of the telephone, her voice sounded near tears, and Harry felt abruptly guilty. He knew Hermione had been teaching at Hogwarts essentially since right after the Battle. That she had gotten a BA while still managing to teach, because the number of available teachers was horribly depleted in the aftermath of the war.. And, while of course he had spent time with her and Ron over the holidays, he'd always made excuses to avoid setting foot back on the Hogwarts grounds. Even though Neville and Luna had been back in short shifts to help out with the teacher shortage—even Malfoy had been back before he had.
"I don't know how to teach, though, won't I be worse than nothing?" he said eventually. "Couldn't you just—cancel DADA for a few weeks?"
"Professor Slughorn left all his notes," Hermione said, sniffing slightly. "And I don't think canceling the class is really—viable. We have students taking O.W.L.s and N.E. this term, and you know it's one of the most important subjects."
Harry sighed. "Are you sure you can't do this without me?"
"I don't know who else to call," Hermione said miserably. "There just—isn't anyone. Draco's got to take over Potions and the headship of Slytherin and people aren't going to like that at all, but it was better than me doing it."
That was the second time she'd said 'Draco' instead of 'Malfoy.' Had she done it before? Harry tried to remember, but if they'd discussed Malfoy since he'd defended him at his trial, he couldn't remember it. He sighed again. "All right, then," he said defeatedly. "I'll see what I can do."
"Oh, thank you!" Hermione exclaimed, and the relief in her voice was almost enough to calm the numerous doubts buzzing around his head. Almost.
Jace Beleren wrestled with his trunk. It was bigger than any luggage he'd ever owned before, and he suspected he had put too many books into it. But he'd never been going to be living in a place of his own for most of the year before, and he'd always had to travel light. The thought of having a bed—and maybe even a bookshelf—of his very own had meant that he'd probably overdone it at the bookstore when he was purchasing textbooks. Which meant he was a little low on spending money for the train, as well, but he'd rather have books than food. Barely. In the meantime, though, he needed to get his trunk over his seat, and he couldn't lift it.
"Do you need help?" Jace nearly jumped out of his skin. Despite the fact that he hadn't taken his cloak off in months, and he'd had it for several years now, he still got nervy when someone came up behind him without announcing themselves. He yelped as he lost his grip on the heavy trunk and it started to tip over onto his head.
Two separate pairs of hands steadied it. "I'm sorry," said the same person. Her voice had a pronounced Scots lilt. "I didn't mean to scare you." He looked up to see a tall girl with long hair tied in a fat plait holding most of the weight of the trunk.
"Why not levitate it?" said a new voice. The other pair of hands belonged to a skinny, black-haired boy with a thin streak of white in his hair. His dark eyes were sparkling. Jace liked both of them on sight.
"We aren't supposed to do magic yet, I don't think," the girl said doubtfully.
"Boring," replied the boy. "All right, fine." He heaved, and the trunked shifted, wobbling warningly.
"Let me do it," the girl said. "You're going to drop it."
"I am not!" the boy responded irritably, but she merely shoved the trunk up another few inches, lifting it right out of his hands.
"And you're short," she pointed out with a smile. The boy glared at her, made a humphing noise, and threw himself down in the seat across from her. Glancing back to Jace as she finished shoving his trunk into position, the girl said, "I'm Elspeth Tirel. Are you both new as well?"
Jace nodded, but couldn't quite make any words come out. This turned out not to be a problem, because their other companion started talking a mile a minute almost immediately. "I'm Ral Zarek. Neither of my parents are wizards. I came in third at the science fair last year, but I bet if I could do a project on magic, they'd have to give me first. If I could make them believe it, I guess," he ended, a little sadly.
Elspeth looked at him curiously. "What's a science fair?" she asked.
Both of Ral's dark, expressive eyebrows leapt into his hair. "It's a contest," he explained. "You—see who does the best science. Whoever does, wins a prize. You know, you're supposed to try and do an experiment or something with computers or something?"
Elspeth and Jace looked at one another uncertainly. "What's a computer?" Elspeth asked.
Ral flung himself dramatically back into his seat. "Oh my god," he said. He took a deep breath, apparently preparing to launch into a long rant, but before he could say anything, a horrible shriek cut through every fiber of Jace's being.
He was on the floor and under the seat before he had a chance to think, hands over his ears, heart pounding, something in his mind screaming, They've found me, over and over again. The train corridor crumbled away as if it had never been, and in its place was charred stones and blackened rubble and the darkness of an empty night sky above him.
There were hands on his shoulders, and the sensation of touch yanked him back to the present. His heart was thunderously loud in his ears, and he was whimpering. "Are you okay? It was just a train whistle."
And after Ral's voice, Elspeth's. "I think—he had a flashback."
"A flashback?"
Elspeth's voice, low, pausing and catching for a moment as she struggled to find a way to explain. Because, Jace realized, Ral's parents were Muggles. He probably didn't know about the war. He came from a world of science and computers—two things Jace was suddenly, fiercely interested in. What was that world like? It had to be different from the world he'd lived in his whole life, and that could only be a good thing, he considered bleakly.
"Sorry," he whispered, and Elspeth and Ral stopped talking. They were both crouched in front of him, hands on his shoulders.
"You don't have to apologize," Elspeth said. "Sometimes that—happens to me, too."
Ral's eyes were round. "That sucks," he said angrily. "You guys are eleven. What the fuck?"
"Ral!" Elspeth said, in such a shocked voice that Jace had to giggle.
"I think I'm okay," he said, a little doubtfully. Shakily, he started to crawl out from under the seat. "I'm Jace Beleren, by the way. Sorry I didn't introduce myself earlier."
"No problem," Ral said airily. "Maybe you should sit on the seat instead of the floor, though. I bet it's more comfortable."
"Yeah." Jace managed a smile at both of them. Elspeth had one hand underneath his elbow, and Ral's hand was still on his shoulder, although Ral looked hurriedly away as Jace glanced at him.
"C'mon then," he said. "Who wants snacks?"
Ral and Elspeth turned out to have quite a lot of spending money and be completely willing to share their snacks with Jace, who fell asleep on Ral's shoulder after stuffing himself with chocolate frogs. He woke up with a jolt when the train whistled again to find that Elspeth was also asleep on Ral's other shoulder, and Ral was staring determinedly at a small, red rectangle with a bunch of buttons on the front.
"What are you doing?" Jace asked, yawning sleepily, and it was only when Ral's shoulders hunched slightly that he realized it was probably a little rude to fall asleep on top of someone you'd only just met. "Um, sorry," he said, sitting up hastily.
"I don't care," Ral said, rather loudly. "I'm just playing on my Game Boy. It's been freezing a lot, though, so I think we're getting close to Hogwarts. Most things I've read say technology and magic don't really get along—which, by the way, doesn't make any sense. I mean, it's not like I'm trying to access the internet or anything…"
"What?" said Jace, and Ral sighed.
"Here," he said, exasperatedly. "I'll show you."
They spent the last few hours of the train ride with Ral swearing and wrestling with his device. In the brief periods during which his friend could get the thing to work, Jace was fascinated. "So it doesn't normally shut down every few minutes?" he asked, as the train rumbled to a stop at the Hogsmeade Station, and Ral irritably shoved the Game Boy into his bags.
"No, normally you can actually get through a Pokemon battle," Ral said. "Fuck! I can't believe I lost a shiny castform. This sucks."
Jace winced slightly at the obscenity again. "You probably shouldn't swear in front of the teachers," he said.
"Oh, yeah, good call," Ral answered with a grin. "I don't need to be in detention all the time this year."
Elspeth woke up as the train ground to a halt, and the three of them got out, stretching stiffly, and looked around.
"Firs'-years over here!" shouted someone, and Jace jerked at the loud noise and stepped behind Ral.
"I guess that's us," Ral said. "D'you need me to help you with your trunk?"
"Um." Jace looked down at it doubtfully. "I don't think you could manage it either."
"I expect we could ask him," Elspeth nodded toward the man who had shouted. "He looks big enough to pick it up."
Sure enough, the giant, loud-voiced man was on his way over. "Did yeh pack too heavy?" he asked, and Jace, sinking back behind Ral and Elspeth again, managed a nod. "Don' worry about it," the huge man said. "Most of yehr stuff won' fit in the boats anyway. Jus' follow me."
The three of them trailed uncertainly after him, Jace not without a longing look back at his books. He was already exhausted and wanted to curl up in bed with a good book—maybe near Ral. Maybe they would be Sorted into the same house. They could try to figure out how to make the Game Boy work together. Maybe they'd become best friends. Maybe—maybe Ral could Jace home for some of the holidays. Jace shook his head. Better not to hope for it, in case he was disappointed. It was too early to know if Ral would want to spend time around him.
They met the rest of the first-years at a dock, where the man, who in the meantime had introduced himself as Rubeus Hagrid, shooed them all into a fleet of small boats. "This is so overcomplicated," Ral complained. "Besides, what if I get my Game Boy wet?"
"Look how beautiful the lights are, though," Elspeth said, pointing. Across the water, the lights of the castle cast a flickering golden glow on their surroundings. Even from here, it looked warm and welcoming.
"I guess so," Ral agreed doubtfully, slumping down into the bottom of the boat. "I really wish they'd decided to do the grand arrival on a day we weren't all exhausted from traveling, though."
A cold wind sprang up as they reached the halfway point of the lake. Jace shivered, scrunching himself lower down in his blue cloak.
"Do you wear that all the time?" Ral asked curiously. Face burning, Jace nodded. "Huh," Ral said. "It's cool. I like it."
"It would look silly on someone else, but it suits you very well," Elspeth put in.
Jace hid his face. "Th-Thanks," he managed.
The rest of the boat ride was uneventful. They docked after a short time, and Hagrid helped them out of the boat. Elspeth hopped easily onto land, but Jace was still stiff and sore from traveling and needed a hand.
They were led up into a great, wide hallway lined with bright candles. There were luxurious rugs on the floor and bright paintings on the walls, but Jace could see the faint marks of dark magic on the stones, and he shivered. He wished it wasn't so easy for him to recognize.
"Candles?" Ral said in a scandalized tone of voice. "Oh, god, surely electricity works. It must." He grabbed Elspeth by the arm and shook her. "You've seen electric lights, right? They exist here?"
"Er," said Elspeth, her face going pink. "I've seen them when we traveled through Muggle areas."
"Oh god," moaned Ral. "I am living in the Dark Ages!"
"What's wrong with candles?" Elspeth asked.
Ral opened his mouth, apparently to detail everything that was wrong with candles, but before he could speak, one of the prefects who was helping to direct them came over. "You," she said, pointing to Jace, who automatically took a step back and tried to make himself look smaller. "You need to take off the cloak. It's not part of the uniform."
Jace swallowed. I can't, he wanted to say, but his voice, never very loud at the best of times, had deserted him.
"You can keep it in your dorm, you just can't wear it around," the girl continued. Jace's ears burned, and again, he tried to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, he stared at the floor, trying not to cry, and wondering if they would throw him out.
"If he wants to wear it, then let him," Ral said suddenly, stepping forward in front of Jace. "He—He has flashbacks."
The girl tapped her foot. "I don't make the rules," she said. Jace was sniffing now, feeling the tears well up. He swiped at them in frustration, and Elspeth's hand was on his back, rubbing light circles across it.
Please, he wanted to say, but the only way she would hear him say it was if he took off the cloak and he couldn't face that.
"Kiora!" said a new voice. A breathless-looking woman with frizzy hair escaping from a tight bun hurried across the room toward them. "Didn't you read the message I sent to the prefects?" She turned to Jace, and he recognized her abruptly. He had never seen her with her hair up or wearing formal robes, but Ms. Granger had visited him several times in the last few years.
"I was running a little late," Kiora said. "Sorry, what did I miss?"
"Jace needs to wear the cloak," Ms. Granger said. "It's a matter of some importance. He has an exemption from the normal dress code." She looked up quickly. "Are you all right, Jace?" she asked.
Face burning from embarrassment now, Jace nodded. "I'm fine," he muttered at his feet, wishing he'd been able to explain it himself.
"I'm glad," Ms. Granger said, her face crinkling in a sudden smile, and then she straightened up. "All right, we'd better get them in to be Sorted. Are you ready?"
Jace was the second one called up to the Hat, and he tried not to show how nervous he was feeling. He had some notion of how the Sorting went—you did hear things—but he was curious and nervous. Ravenclaw, he thought, might be the likeliest, but he wasn't certain. He'd read about a lot of people being surprised by the house they were sorted into, and, to be honest, he wasn't certainly he really believed in the hat, the way so many people seemed to. It seemed like a self-fulfilling prophecy—if you thought you would be sorted into a particular house, you probably had some preconception of your best qualities anyway. And besides, Jace thought fiercely, people could change. They weren't inexorably drawn to some inevitable destiny. Whatever qualities they had, they could choose how to use them.
"Lad, you're going to have to take off the cloak," the Sorting Hat murmured in his ear, and Jace blanched, searching for Professor Granger's face in the crowd, then shut his eyes, stomach rolling sickly inside. Looking at all of the people who were looking at him had been a mistake.
"I c-can't," he stammered. "I'll be able to—hear—"
"I can't sort you otherwise," the Hat said, and, once again, Jace's stomach sank into his boots. Why hadn't Professor Granger warned him? Had she not known? Or had she just forgotten? That the Hat must sort through Legilimency.
Well, it wasn't going to take his cloak away, the way the prefect had been. It just wanted it off for a minute. Surely he could deal with it for a minute. Jace's mouth was dry, and his hands were shaking, but he reached up to undo the clasp of his cloak. The Hat seemed to hold itself up for him as he pulled the cloak down off his shoulders and into his lap and braced himself.
Thank you, the Hat said in his mind, and Jace flinched. The sudden influx of voices wasn't as loud as he had expected, but it was still disorienting. Ah, the Hat said breezily. Sorry about that. I'll just be a minute. A headache already pounding behind his temples, Jace nodded. So, the Hat murmured. You don't believe in me. It chuckled, and Jace stiffened defensively. No need to worry, lad, the Hat continued. Not everyone does. Not even I always believe in me.
It hadn't meant to say that last, Jace realized suddenly. Through the buzz and cacophony of voices rising in his head, it was easy to focus on the Hat's voice, because the channel it had opened wasn't just one-way, and he followed it backwards into a maze of conflicting thoughts and algorithms, as if he were falling through a long, dark well.
The Hat was old, and it had so many memories that it was impossible to see all of them, and all he got were strange, sharp slivers and fragments. There were faces, hundreds and thousands of faces, most of them children like Jace, but the ones that stood out weren't so young anymore. There was a craggy, smiling old man with strikingly dark hair, a thin woman with hair down to her ankles, and then—the briefest flash of a bloody, desperate boy's face that Jace only recognized from the lightning scar on his forehead, staring down into himself—into the Hat.
It wasn't just memories. There were other kinds of thoughts—thoughts that Jace couldn't quite grasp the shape of. Thoughts of algorithms and heuristics and balance—another memory, recent: Professor Granger stooping close and talking rapidly in a worried voice about unevenness, but before Jace could search any farther, the Hat spoke again.
You're too curious for Ravenclaw, it muttered. And I need you out of my head. You want a family, don't you? Better be…
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
It took Jace a moment to realize that he'd been Sorted, but as soon as he did, he grabbed his cloak and threw it about his shoulders. Silence descended like a cloak, and he slumped forward, taking the Hat off his head with shaking hands and listening to a sudden burst of cheers, applause, and whistles.
At the Hufflepuff table, hands reached out from all sides to pat him on the back, and he couldn't help smiling, even though he hunched forward over his place in nervousness and couldn't manage to look up. Someone shoved a glass of pumpkin juice at him, and he sipped at it gratefully, not feeling up to trying to eat just yet. At least the dinner smelled appetizing. He'd definitely had worse experiences when he had to take off the cloak before.
But what had the Hat meant when it said Ravenclaw would destroy him, or he'd destroy them? Jace shook his head, trying to dislodge the cold trickle of apprehension running down his spine. The Hat could read minds—could it see into the part of his mind that Jace couldn't? Did it know something he didn't? He firmly shoved the thought down and tried to pay attention to the rest of the Sorting.
It wasn't all that interesting, really. Just staring at the Hat sitting on someone's head until it shouted a house name. Jace sat back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling, counting numbers of candles. He paid attention again when they got to Elspeth, and the Hat only took a few seconds before Sorting her into Hufflepuff as well. She smiled brightly at him and slid into the seat next to him. Jace heaved a grateful sigh. Now if only Ral would get Sorted into Hufflepuff as well—that was really unlikely, though. Somehow, Jace thought he'd be in Ravenclaw or maybe Gryffindor.
"I'm glad I know somebody here already," Elspeth said frankly to Jace as they watched the Sorting continue. "I'm the oldest one in my family, so I don't have any siblings here, and I was afraid I was going to be lonely."
"Are Houses really that important?" Jace murmured sadly. "I mean, can't you spend time with somebody outside of yours?"
"Oh, probably," Elspeth said comfortably. "But it's nice to know someone in your house as well. Don't worry, I bet we'll see Ral a lot. Do you think he'll be in Ravenclaw?"
"Mmm," Jace murmured, frowning. He had a growing sense that something was—not quite right about the Sorting up till now. He hadn't been paying very much attention, but—he looked around the room at the four tables. A steady trickle of people had been heading to three of them, but—
"Ral Zarek!" called the headmistress. He was the last one. Jace watched, holding his breath, willing, even though he knew there was absolutely no way Ral was going to be Sorted into Hufflepuff, as Ral walked slowly up to the space in the middle. He didn't look scared—even just knowing him for a few hours, Jace got the sense that Ral never looked scared—but he was a little bit slow and deliberate about sitting down and putting the Hat on.
It took longer than Elspeth's Sorting had; Jace wasn't sure if took longer than his own. He found himself clutching for Elspeth's hand under the table, and she took his hand and squeezed it comfortingly, even as he leaned forward. If he took off his cloak, would he know what was going on over there? Better not. Professor Granger might notice, and the half-quiescent headache would probably flare up again, anyway.
"SLYTHERIN!" Jace jerked so hard he banged both knees into the table. The hall was strangely quiet as Ral lifted the Hat off his head, and that was when Jace realized what he'd felt was wrong. No one had been Sorted into Slytherin until now. Every single other person had ended up in one of the other Houses. Well, maybe that wasn't so surprising. Who would want to be in Slytherin? Other than…a Muggle-born who didn't know anything about the house's reputation. Jace shook himself sternly, forcing down the sudden surge of panic and dread. He knew Ral. No matter what the reputation of Slytherin House was, this was just more proof that the Sorting Hat didn't always know what it was doing. Besides, houses didn't matter that much. He wasn't going to let the houses matter that much, because Ral Zarek was his friend already, and Jace would walk through fire for him if he had to. He didn't have so many friends he could afford to let one of them go just because he was Sorted into a House that people didn't like.
No one was applauding, Jace realized suddenly. He'd been so distracted by his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed the odd silence in the Great Hall, as Ral slipped down from the seat and left the Hat on the chair. He stood, a single, lonely figure, in the middle, in silence. Jace looked sideways at Elspeth and saw that her forehead had drawn together into an angry frown. Her hand slipped out of his as she stood up and began to clap firmly and loudly. The noise sounded odd all by itself, and Jace was just a moment behind in getting to his feet and clapping as well. At the Slytherin table, the blond professor who was probably their head of house got to his feet as well.
Slowly, the wave of clapping spread as Ral walked nonchalantly over to the Slytherin table and slipped into one of the many empty spots. "Jerks," Elspeth muttered fiercely as she and Jace sat back down, and the hallway slowly started to fill with the sound of noise and laughter again.
It felt strange to be back at Hogwarts. Harry had apparated to Hogsmeade as soon as he was able to sort out a leave of absence from his work, but he was still late—the station was silent, cold, and empty. Instead of flying or getting a carriage, he decided to walk from the station to Hogwarts. He wasn't sure why—a feeling in his chest was tugging him on, while another feeling in his feet was trying to slow him down, and the walk seemed like the best compromise.
Everything was familiar, but oddly faded, like the pages of a childhood book that he had opened after years of not touching it. The path was the same as ever; he knew what was going to be around each bend before he saw it. Only Hogwarts itself was somehow different. He couldn't quite place his finger on, but his chest twisted oddly as he rounded the bend and stared up at the castle. All the lights were gleaming, bright and welcoming—but, Harry felt, not for him. Not anymore.
Gloomily, he stalked up the drive, his robes swishing in a satisfyingly dramatic way around him. Hermione was probably wondering where he was by now. He was definitely bloody late. Shouldn't have walked. That had been pretty damn selfish, hadn't it? "Fuck," Harry muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. He couldn't just stand here berating himself in the drive, he needed to go up to the castle itself.
He didn't want to. He still didn't want to. He'd gotten this damn close, and he did not want to take one step farther. Don't be an idiot, he berated himself, and finally started trudging back up the drive.
There was a figure standing in the entryway, probably waiting for him. The door behind them was ajar, and whoever they were, they were too backlist for Harry to make out. It didn't look like Hermione, but who else would—
"Potter, is that you?"
Harry instinctively took a step back. Of course, he'd known that Malfoy was teaching at Hogwarts. After all, Hermione had mentioned him by name during their telephone conversation, even if he hadn't already been following the developments quite closely—developments at Hogwarts, of course. He wouldn't bother paying attention to what happened to Malfoy after the family's trial. He'd done his bit for them—more than his bit, really.
He searched for words, and "What are you doing here?" came out. Not quite what he'd meant to say. Bit too rude, really.
"Waiting for you," drawled Malfoy. "Herm—Granger is trying to get the first-years settled, and she asked me to keep an eye out. I was expecting you to come by broom, not foot."
"I fancied a walk," Harry said awkwardly. "Sorry I'm late."
"You arrived before classes start, that's good enough," Malfoy said, rubbing a hand across his face. As he moved into the light, Harry was suddenly, forcibly struck with how tired he looked. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair—usually so perfectly kempt—flopped limply over his forehead. A vague trace of stubble showed on his chin. He glanced irritably backward. "Mind you, I'd rather not just stand outside here all night," he continued.
"Right, sorry," Harry said hastily. "My luggage won't be here yet, I'm having it sent. Couldn't figure out what I was going to need."
Malfoy's eyebrow went up. "We've got some lesson outlines for you," he shrugged. "Robes and any books or things you want, I suppose. Come on."
"Where am I sleeping?" Harry asked, and Malfoy's eyes flicked to him and back down to the ground.
"Er, Professor Lupin's old room," he said quietly. "It's a bedroom and a study. No kitchen or anything, but we can figure something out if you don't want house elf cooking."
"Oh, er, thanks," Harry replied.
"I'll take you there," Malfoy said. "C'mon."
They walked in silence until they passed the doors of the Great Hall. "Oh, Granger asked me to ask you something else," Malfoy said, halting. He pushed the door open. "Sorry, dinner's almost over," he said. "But—see that kid?" He gestured over to the Hufflepuff table, where a small figure sat, wrapped in a blue cloak, between two children Harry did not recognize.
"Why's he wearing that?" Harry asked.
"It has a powerful occlumency charm on it," Malfoy answered. "That's the boy they found in the old Ministry mansion during the war. Did you hear about him?"
Harry shrugged. "I think I might've been a bit occupied at the time."
"He's a ridiculously powerful legilimens," Malfoy said coolly. "He has to wear that or he can't turn it off."
Harry blinked. "He's what?" he said. "Legilimency is something you learn, you can't just be—born with it, can you?"
"I don't know. Apparently, you can. Or at least—" Malfoy halted suddenly. "It's not important. Anyway, Granger wanted to know if you'd take a shot at mentoring him and looking out for him."
"Huh?"
"He's an orphan," Malfoy said. "Orphaned during the war, no idea who his family is, he's spent the last six years of his life being passed from household to household because no one had any idea what to do with him."
Harry's stomach turned over uncomfortably. "Why didn't anyone adopt him?" he asked.
"The Ministry kept blocking it," Malfoy said darkly. "At least, Hermione and I think that's why—she's met him a few times, kept tabs on him. I think she did try to adopt him once, but they said she was too young, wouldn't let her. It would have been a bloody awful idea, anyway. She wouldn't have had time to take care of him, cover all her teaching duties, and get her university degree. Anyways, he's here now."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, a little distractedly. This was not the Malfoy he expected. This Malfoy was polite and distant, not rude and defensive. "But I mean—what do you want me to do?"
"Granger thinks you might be able to help. Have insight."
"Why?" Harry asked blankly, and Malfoy's eyes flickered over to him again, then rolled heavenward.
"Perhaps because you're both war orphans who grew up in unstable households?" he suggested sweetly. "Honestly, Potter, I knew you were a bit dim, but I didn't realize it was quite so bad."
That was more what Harry had been expecting, but Malfoy's words still sounded oddly forced. "Oh," he said. "R-Right. Well. I suppose I can—try to help out."
If there's anything a broken shell like me can do, he thought bitterly, and then was embarrassed and shocked at himself in turn. He wasn't the only one who'd lost things during the war. He could do this. He could keep moving, just the way everyone else was. As Malfoy let the doors to the Great Hall shut, he glanced back at the boy in blue. He'd try to help. He'd try to be a good teacher. Surely, he thought, his stomach turning over again, surely he could do at least that much
