After the overwhelmingly emotional and draining mess that was the chaos of the day, Harry was immensely glad to be confined to the tiny space of the threstal carriage with Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Luna.
The rush from the Burrow to King's Cross had been noticeably less stressful than in previous years, leaving them all at least twenty minutes to say good-bye before the train was set to leave. Mrs. Weasley had finally released the tears that had threatened to fall for weeks, sobbing openly into each of their chests in turn as she said her farewells to Harry, Ron, and Ginny. Mr. Weasley had firmly shaken Harry's and Ron's hands, as had Charlie, and embraced his daughter tightly. It had been emotional, and Ron had fretfully tried to ease his mother's tears by reminding her that all the danger had passed, that they would all be back for Christmas before she knew it. It had seemed to help as they boarded, but Harry saw Mrs. Weasley dissolve into tears again from the train window.
The Hogwarts Express had been a downright nightmare. An all-day, high-energy, inescapable nightmare. At first, Harry and Ron had been able to find a compartment with Hermione without incident. Neville, Dean, and Seamus had joined them shortly after the train left the station, which was a pleasant surprise. But past that...Harry shuddered, causing Hermione to raise her eyebrows at him from across the carriage.
It wasn't as though being a famous war hero was a nightmare in and of itself. No, it was the sheer amount of attention that Harry now drew that was entirely too much. He hadn't much enjoyed being the mysterious enigma that was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, before the war. But now that he had outright defeated Voldemort...Harry was beyond idolization, it seemed.
It started with a few of his old friends from the DA finding him - Luna, Parvati and Padma Patil, Cho Change, Michael Corner. Then it became people he only knew by sight, followed by downright strangers pleading for his autograph. Before long, people lingered in their compartment, begging for details of Harry, Ron, and Hermione's year away from Hogwarts, how Harry had killed Voldemort, how Harry himself hadn't died when he went into the Forbidden Forest that night.
Thankfully, Ron and Hermione had been prepared, it seemed, and they had booted each of these particular fans from the compartment without tact. Harry hadn't been able to properly articulate his gratitude, but he felt confident that they knew. When the train stopped and the trio had found a carriage, it had been an intoxicating relief to be among true friends.
When it came time to unload, Hermione led the way, taking Ron's hand and nodding to Harry to follow. Had he not been grateful for the support, Harry may have been annoyed at being silently ordered around. But when Luna took his arm in hers a moment later and began to skip up the stairs, all negative feelings melted away. If Luna Lovegood could be smiling after spending months on end locked in a dark cellar, Harry had little room to brood.
The Great Hall was nearly exactly as he remembered it, though through the ceiling's enchantments, he could make out deep cracks in the stone that hadn't been entirely mended. Other than the sheer mass of students being larger than previous years, Harry felt almost as though he had taken a huge step back in time.
But as he entered the hall and Luna left him for the Ravenclaw table, Harry felt his chest constricting. All eyes had swiveled to him, adoring and awestruck, and several shouts of love and support washed over him like a bucket of frigid water. Harry struggled to breathe as he let Hermione grab his wrist and steer him over to the Gryffindor table, shoving him into a seat and dropping into the one next to him. Neville fell into the chair on his other side and offered an encouraging smile.
The Hall was slowly settling as the students found their seats, and Harry couldn't help but think of how young they all seemed. His eyes scanned the room, sadly wondering how many were missing this year because of the war, when he found the Slytherin table, thinner compared to the other House tables. It was common knowledge that many of the older Slytherin students were not permitted to return to Hogwarts because of their crimes, but seeing the difference between Slytherin and the rest of the school jarred Harry.
Harry had been the head of that committee.
It had been Kingsley Shacklebolt, newly Minister of Magic, that suggested the idea, and Harry had agreed despite his deep wish to vanish from everything at the time. It had only been hours after Fred's funeral that Harry had been approached with the idea. The Ministry had struggled with how to handle the Hogwarts students that had committed crimes while under the Carrow's regime. Did their mere age acquit them? Or should they pay just as much as though they were adults?
And so, the committee had been born.
Harry, along with Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, Ginny, and another 10-15 students of varying age and House had been brought together to go over certain students' criminal files. Not all those students accused of crimes had been given to the committee. Most had willingly and openly confessed, stubbornly defending their actions and more or less proclaiming devotion to Voldemort's ways. Those students had been charged and sentenced to a mandatory three years in Azkaban's newest juvenile facility. Some of those students had been as young as 14.
Harry's committee had been given only around twenty cases of students that claimed to have acted only out of fear for their own lives or the lives of their families, and it had been up to the committee to decide if they believed them or not.
The Great Hall's doors burst open, revealing an achingly familiar, oversized man with wild hair and beady black eyes crinkled into a smile. Hagrid waved at the erupting applause and led an enormous group of first years to the front of the Hall, breaking away from them to take his place at the staff table.
The number of students being Sorted was literally twice as many as usual. Though Sorted, the previous year's number of first years had been drastically diminished, as Voldemort hadn't allowed muggleborns to be permitted, nor were many half-bloods. Due to this, all of the previous year's first years were repeating the Sorting alongside those that hadn't been permitted to attend with them and the current year's actual 11-year-olds.
Harry's eyes strayed from McGonagall as she began reading from the list, calling up each child by name to be Sorted. He looked back to the Slytherin table, and this time they fell upon a sleek mop of white-blond hair.
Malfoy was as pale and pointed as ever, but even from across the Hall, Harry could see how frighteningly thin he was. He stared blankly at the table in front of him, lips pursed as though about to be sick. His left eye looked slightly swollen and purple, as though in the beginnings of a bruise.
When the committee had been formed, Harry alone had been given the list of students they would be discussing, and he had immediately seen Malfoy's name. Without a second thought, Harry had appealed to Kingsley directly that Malfoy, as well as his mother, be acquitted. When asked what evidence or reasoning he had for their innocence, Harry had used the weight of his own name for the first time to ask that they simply be cleared without a trial as a favor. Though obviously confused, Kingsley had agreed, wiping the name from Harry's list and seeing to the acquittal personally. Ron and the others had openly wondered why Malfoy hadn't been on their list, but Harry had remained silent. Hermione and perhaps Luna may have supported Harry's decision, but he knew few others would be so forgiving of the Malfoys.
But Harry knew. He would never be able to rid Malfoy's terrified face from his mind. There wasn't even a particular time that Harry recalled each time. When Harry sliced him apart int he bathroom sixth year? When he caught Malfoy sobbing into the sink just moments before? When Harry saw through Volemort's eyes and saw Malfoy fighting tears under Professor Burbage's damaged body? When Malfoy entered the cellar last year? When Lucius turned a stern eye on his son in Flourish and Blotts before their second year? There was no end to the number of times Harry had seen that face.
Malfoy had been nothing but a total pain in his backside for seven years, but Harry couldn't believe that someone truly evil would wear so much fear so often. No, Harry had more or less come to the conclusion in his time since the war that Malfoy, though hardly an excuse for his choices, was just another victim of the war Voldemort began over fifty years ago.
Besides, Harry thought as the last of the first years found their seats and the Sorting Hat was put away, everything Malfoy did likely came down to wanting to please his family or keep them safe, something that Harry could only vaguely understand.
Draco hadn't lifted his eyes from the table during the Sorting Ceremony. His left eye wanted to water, but no tears came. He figured that even his physical body knew that he deserved the black eye that was now forming. It wasn't as though the ambush on the train had been much of a surprise. The train had been particularly full, seeing as there was essentially an extra year's worth of students attending that year, leaving Draco with little choice but to find a compartment that already had people in it. He at least had chosen one filled with Slytherins. Pansy had been among them, and though Draco grimaced with embarrassment at the memory of their last time seeing one another, he had slithered into the seat beside her. Thankfully, she had said nothing to him, and Draco had harbored the hope that he could go the entire train ride ignored.
He scoffed lightly at himself for having been so foolish.
At one point, he had needed to use the lavatory, and one his way back, Draco had been found by a group of students that he barely recognized. They had spewed insults and threats, which he had silently let wash over him, but his passiveness only seemed to infuriate them. The next thing Draco knew, he had been on the floor and was being pummeled as though by muggles in an alley, then abandoned when his nose began to bleed.
No one had asked what happened when he had made it back to the compartment.
"Welcome, all, welcome," Professor McGonagall called, bringing the thundering Hall to silence in the span of a few seconds. She smiled down at them, a rather unusual look for the strict witch. "Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, though this is the first year in the school's history that so many students are actually being welcomed back.
"As most of you are aware, this year is a particularly unique one for Hogwarts for more reasons than one. Due to the...chaos of last year's term, we are having what the Daily Prophet has labeled as a 'do-over' year." The student body murmured, and Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, reclaiming silence. "This means, whatever year you were expected to have completed last year, you will be taking this year. For some, this is asking you to repeat an entire year. For far too many, however, this will be your first chance to tackle the workload.
"Along these lines, as you may have noticed from the Sorting, this means that we have twice the number of first years that we usually do. For this reason, seventh years in each House have been drawn additional quarters than the normal dormitories to make room."
A burst of applause broke out at this announcement, bringing another rare smile to Professor McGonagall's lips.
"This year, we have several new staffing developments. As I have taken over as headmistress-" More applause. "-Professor Wilkinson from London will be taking over Transfiguration, and Professor Vector of the Arithmancy department will be the new Gryffindor Head of House."
There was more applause as an unnecessarily stocky man stood up and waved alongside Professor Vector.
"Professor Flitwick will continue his former duties as well as taking on the role of deputy headmaster."
More applause, though Draco couldn't tell if Professor Flitwick stood or not.
"Professor Carraway, from Wales, will be taking over Defense Against the Dark Arts."
A tall woman with a square jaw stood and waved to the continuing applause.
"And Professor Smith, also from London, will be teaching Muggle Studies."
Draco's stomach twisted painfully as a small, elderly woman stood and nodded at the students applauding her. Bile filled his throat, but he fought it down as the memory of the previous Muggle Studies teacher, Professor Burbage, being tortured above his dining table filled his mind.
The applause died away, and Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, again commanding quiet. "Now, before we can begin our feast, I must discuss something of the utmost importance with each and every one of you sitting in this Hall tonight."
Draco felt the atmosphere shift ever so slightly as the students tensed.
"This is a new year at Hogwarts, but it is also a new era for our world. This is a time of peace, unity, and kindness. It is never easy to move on from the tragic pasts we now all hold. It does not do to forget those times, but we ought to use those memories to chart our paths into a better and brighter future. Every witch and wizard here is living in the aftermath of a deadly war that cost us all something. Old habit die hard. But I must impress upon you all that while you are within the walls of this castle, blind prejudice and hate are not going to be tolerated. Each and every individual here has the same right to be here. Any disrespect or violence guided by these prejudices will be dealt with most severely."
The tension in the room increased as Professor McGonagall spoke, and Draco kept his eyes trained on the table, careful not to look around the room. All eyes would be drifting to the Slytherin table.
A small girl beside him, a true first year no older than eleven by the looks of her, sniffled. Despite having died inside long ago, Draco's heart ached at the sound. He glanced over at her. Immensely tiny with a head of tight brown curls, the girl looked downright miserable. No matter what Professor McGonagall could say, all the younger students knew that Slytherin was the bad House, the House that produced more evil witches and wizards than any other, the House that the Dark Lord himself was sorted into while at Hogwarts, the House that didn't stay to defend the castle, the House that was now being eyed with suspicion.
Draco might, but the mere child beside him didn't deserve those looks.
"Now, with the formalities out of the way, let us begin a new year!" Professor McGonagall called, sitting down rather abruptly.
She seemed to take the tension with her. Light laughter followed her words, and soon overlapping conversations filled the Hall again as food appeared on the tables.
Draco didn't move. He hadn't been able to eat properly in nearly two years, and what little he did manage to choke down usually found its way back up again. The girl beside him wiped her eyes a few times but also didn't move to take any food.
"Here, this chicken is good if my memory serves me right," Draco said, forcing a smile that may have looked more like a grimace as he dumped some food onto the little girl's plate.
She looked up at him and sniffled again. "I'm not hungry."
"Neither am I. But you're littler and stronger than I am. You need to eat."
"I'm not stronger."
"Okay. You still have to eat."
The little girl sniffled again, but she smiled. "Thank you."
Draco sighed as he wistfully watched the little girl begin to eat the chicken. It didn't take more than two bites before she was eating properly and going back for seconds. Satisfied, Draco let his attention wander the Hall, safe in the knowledge that the other students were too busy eating to notice him in the moment. After a few seconds, a found a wild head of black hair and round glasses that could only mean one person.
Potter was looking right back at him, and it took a lot in Draco not to look away. In the past, he would have glared or made a face, but now he simply stared back. After a few moments, Potter's lips twitched into the smallest of smiles before returning to his conversation with Longbottom. Draco watched Potter a moment more before he realized that Weasley's eyes were on him. Draco did drop his gaze then, not wanting to see the justified hate there.
He really was a coward.
Despite Professor McGonagall's words, this year looked as though it was going to go exactly as Draco expected it would.
