Chapter 2- Decisions, decisions
Harry Potter sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. But what else was there to do? Ginny was still here, refusing to move; spouting some bullshit about having a connection to the home or whatever. And he could not be here. But where, if not here? There was nowhere to go- Ron was off with Hermione on an impromptu vacation in Europe, the Weasleys were still mourning Fred, and the remainder of his friends were either gone or too scared to approach him- after the war. The war- it seemed so long ago, yet it had been only 3 months since he had collapsed to the ground, wand arm still trembling after the most intense duel of his life, an eerie silence in his ears and (though he didn't know it) a vacancy in his eyes. Where could he go? Everyone was slowly putting themselves together, crawling out of their misery, supporting each other. Luna was getting married in July, Dean was opening a small business, Neville was undertaking a Herbology apprenticeship. Even Hogwarts had been repaired- it opened in September for the start of the new school year.
It's funny, Harry would later think, how you can think about something, and then receive a letter from the object of your thoughts just a few minutes later.
At first, returning to Hogwarts seemed pointless. After all, Harry's success over Voldemort opened almost any door for him now- he wouldn't need perfect grades or teacher recommendations to get his dream job. Besides, his old school contained too many memories; he didn't know if he could handle the weight of them. But the more he thought about it, the more the idea began to make sense. He just had a feeling in his gut that Hogwarts would give him the closure others had gained months ago, the closure he was so desperately seeking. Perhaps reliving memories wouldn't be so bad, not to mention he felt as though, somehow, he owed to all those that had died, to finish the education they had all fought so hard for.
His mind was made up. Harry Potter would return to Hogwarts.
Hundreds of miles away, Draco Malfoy sat in a similar but different situation. The familiarity of a Hogwarts letter provided solace in the current chaos of Malfoy Manor. It had taken the Ministry three months to decide what to do with him. They had been confused when he rejected his family's blood racism and prejudiced views, even more so when he begged them – imagine, a Malfoy! Begging! – to give him a second chance, pleading with the Wizengamot to take note of his lack of negative action, trying to convince them he had been forced into it. He agreed when they decided to exile his parents to France. When they searched all the Malfoy properties and confiscated any object they deemed "dark". When they decided to liquidate all Malfoy assets and absorb the majority of the Malfoy fortune into the Ministry. A fortune that had been amassed over hundreds of years. And now, he was agreeing to hand over his childhood home. He had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. All his acquaintances were under some form of punishment, and the Malfoy name was no longer what it used to be- he was back down to the bottom of the ladder. So, really, accepting the Headmistress' offer was not a choice at all; what else could he do? Draco sighed as he rose to pack the few remaining belongings he had back into his old Hogwarts trunk.
Draco Malfoy was also returning to Hogwarts.
And, boy, would it turn out to be one hell of a year…