Chapter 2
They were two weeks into the school year and Harry still felt weird about putting on his uniform. He felt silly, like an adult who was pretending to be a kid, like he was going bald and the uniform was too small and everyone could tell, but just pretended like nothing was wrong. But then again, he had a hard time himself telling some of the actual 7th years from the ones who were redoing their 7th, so the out-of-place-feeling must have been mostly imaginary. On the other hand, he had noticed the grave expressions on some of the younger students when they passed certain classrooms, and they did look wrong on children of that age.
He figured that as soon as he got used to it, he would be happy to be back. He liked sharing a dorm with Ron, Neville, Seamus and Dean again. It was almost like before the war, except they had all very quickly gotten into the habit of casting silencing charms on their beds at night, so they didn't wake each other up when they had nightmares.
"Are you coming, Harry?"
Ron and the others were waiting by the door.
"Yeah, just a second," he said.
He finished tying his shoes and they all headed down the stairs and towards the great hall for breakfast.
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It wasn't just him – Hogwarts was different this year. For one thing, the division of houses seemed to have weakened dramatically. Harry and his dorm mates all found seats at the Gryffindor table, but around them were just as many blue and yellow ties and badges as there were red. Harry had realized they must be the members of the Dumbledore's Army that had reformed in his absence under the leadership of Ginny, Neville and Luna. Some of the members were the same as when he had been leading the group, but many were new, and the dynamics were very different.
It was mainly when he saw his friends assembled like this that it became obvious to him how much had happened while he was away. Seamus seemed closer to Neville and Luna than Harry had ever been himself, and he had been surprised that Cho had visited the Burrow while he was staying there over the summer, but apparently her and Ginny were friends. And now that people no longer cared so much about being seated according to housing, it seemed silly that they had ever done it before. It had never been a rule that you had to sit at your house table except for the feasts at the beginning and end of the year, during the sorting and the announcement of the winners of the house-cup.
So that was one of the changes. There were other things about being back that were almost unbearably normal. They had patched the castle up over the summer, and you hardly ever found physical signs of the battle. The first years still got lost on the upper floors, the prefects still got lost trying to find them and next to him, Ron and Hermione were bickering about homework, their voices slowly rising above the otherwise peaceful breakfast conversation:
"For the last time, Ron, no you can't copy my essay!"
"I won't copy it, I just want to look at it - or just the introduction, at least. You could help me with the introduction."
"After last year one would think that you would be able to write a few pages about defense against the dark arts. Honestly Ron, that was all we did."
"Yes, but that was all practical, this is theory. I hate theory."
"Well, then it is only good that you do it yourself so you can get better at it, isn't it?" she said triumphantly.
Ron leaned in and kissed her cheek – of course that part was new.
"Please?" he said.
She rolled her eyes.
"No, still no."
"It's weird that they let the death eaters come back, isn't it?" commented Ernie Macmillan.
He was looking over Harry's shoulder towards the Slytherin tables.
"They aren't death eaters," said Padma.
"I know. But that's what they all have in common, that's why they gather like that."
Harry turned around to look at the Slytherin table. It was the least mixed of the three house tables, still dominated by green and silver.
"No it's not. The ones with Death Eater parents haven't come back."
"Some have."
Such as Draco Malfoy. Harry could see him sitting among the other 7th years, conversing with two girls with their backs to Harry. He had been surprised to see him on the train even though he knew he hadn't been imprisoned.
Harry had been called in as a witness for the trials of both Malfoy and his mother, and had told about how they had lied for him. He had also mentioned how Draco had lowered his wand in the astronomy tower, and had been surprised he even remembered that. His statements hadn't seemed to matter much though. The heaviest argument had been how young Malfoy was when he took the mark, that he was underage when he committed most of his crimes, and that he had been pressured by his family into joining the dark lord. It had been almost even how many had voted for and how many against pardoning him. He remembered how long it took to count the raised hands.
Malfoy had been three votes from a life sentence to Azkaban.
Not that he had seemed to care; the boy at the hearing had been almost unrecognizable to Harry. His skin had been dull, almost grey, his eyes sunken in their hollows and the cheekbones jutting out like they were about to cut through the skin. It had reminded Harry of how Sirius had looked when they first met. His hair had been matted and dirty, far from the smooth silk Harry remembered, and all the arrogance and confidence that usually emanated from him had disappeared. Before them had sat a frail teenage boy with slack mouth and dead, unseeing eyes. His voice was monotone when he was questioned, and Harry would have thought he was completely indifferent towards his sentence if it hadn't been for the way he winced whenever the dementors were mentioned, more a physical than a conscious reaction to the word.
When they read the charges, they mentioned that Malfoy had been on the run for a few weeks after the battle of Hogwarts, and that he had been kept in custody under dementor guards for a week before his trial. Harry knew well how hard dementors could affect you, but he hadn't thought it was possible to physically wither away so quickly. The Malfoy he was seeing now in the great hall was miles from that figure, perhaps still thinner than he used to be, but nothing you would notice if you weren't looking for it.
"I think they're trying to distance themselves from their parents. I mean, I think the Slytherins are by far the most serious students in my mugglestudies class."
Ginny scoffed.
"Oh sure, they're studying for an obligatory class, they've all changed, let's forgive them for whatever they did last year."
"Don't be mean, Ginny," said Hannah.
"Sorry," Ginny mumbled and ran a hand through her hair. "I had a bad night. I didn't mean to be snarky."
Hermione shrugged it off.
"It doesn't matter."
Neville stood up.
"I'm heading to class, does anyone want to come?"
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Slytherin had Transfiguration with the Gryffindors this year. Professor McGonagall was still teaching it; apparently they hadn't been able to find another teacher, or maybe she was just sad to let it go. It had happened before that the headmaster had been teaching a class as well, Dumbledore just hadn't since he had been too involved with his politics on the side to have time for it. This was also going to be Draco's first Transfigurations class of the year. The plan had been to concentrate in all of his classes, do his homework and work hard enough to earn good grades that could possibly make up for the disadvantage his name had become. However his courage or confidence or whatever it was had failed him for the last few Transfiguration classes, and he had skipped it. It was stupid, but it was too late to try to make good first impressions on the professor anyway, so he just settled down in the back and hoped he could make up for his absence later. He had been taking the class last year as well, so he knew some of the curriculum already.
He was flipping through his textbook when he glanced up and caught Potter staring at him. He raised an eyebrow at him and the other boy immediately turned away. Potter was another major problem. He figured he could work his way back into the respectable hierarchy of the Slytherins in the course of the year one way or another. Blaise wasn't going to be able to keep up his cold attitude no matter how hard he tried, and though he had never really had much to do with Nott, he might be able to win him over this year. No bonding-over-lost-fathers, of course, but Nott had more family left than Draco did, and he was from a noble and most ancient house with significant political influence, so he could become a powerful ally if they could just overcome the Death Eater associations. In that respect Nott was already doing much better than Draco: even the less than intelligent members of Gryffindor house seemed to be able to distinguish Theodore from Cantankerous, and they weren't doing nearly as well with Draco and Lucius.
However, the difficult part was figuring out how much political influence Potter's faction had gained. No doubt the houses of Longbottom and Bones would try to use the hero-status of their relatives to grasp at power, but it was unlikely anyone but the heroes themselves would have success. It was all a question of whether or not they would be able to use the power, but Dumbledore's Army had created soldiers not politicians, so really, it seemed unlikely. They hadn't been raised like he had…
"Draco Malfoy," called a sharp voice.
He startled visibly – he had been lost in thought and hadn't noticed the professor coming in. She looked up from the parchment when he didn't answer.
"Present", he said.
"Yes, I can see that. What an honour it is to have you join us, I haven't seen you in quite a while. But perhaps you consider the subject of Transfiguration to be beneath you?"
"No, professor."
"Good. I don't want anyone to think that they can take it easy with their classes just because they were able to attend school last year. Mr. Malfoy, I will see you tonight in detention so you can make up for some of the work you've missed."
"Excuse me?!" his voice rose indignantly though it really shouldn't have.
"Detention, Mr. Malfoy. In my office at 9 this evening."
He pressed his lips together and said nothing more.
"Theodore Nott?" continued McGanagall.
"Here."
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He spent the rest of the lesson focusing on his spellwork and he was picking it up quickly. He had hoped McGonagall would notice and possibly change her mind about the detention, but of course she didn't.