Draco Malfoy sneered about him, letting the air of disdain distance himself from the stares. It was September 1st at King's Cross Station and he was returning to Hogwarts. Parents gave him disapproving looks, but whether that was because he was using magic to carry his bags, or if it was his very existence they didn't approve of, he neither knew nor cared. After stowing his belongings, he made his way quickly onto the train to find an empty compartment he could claim. Sliding a door open near the front of the train he stepped in and shut the door behind him, sighing at the relief solitude. He sat by the door but gazed out the window, taking note of the other students.
He was pleased to see at least a handful of students that were also unaccompanied by family and using magic to put away their things. Their presence meant he hadn't been singled out to return and prove that he had 'acquired the skills necessary to survive in the Wizarding World.' He snorted. Surviving in the world was something he had learned when he was eleven, but owning the Wizarding World was what he had been working on ever since. Now both his mother and father were in prison, and his money was held in a trust for him until he graduated at the end of the year.
The compartment door slid open, snapping Draco out of his gloomy thoughts. Standing there was Ron Weasley who called over his shoulder "Found one!" before entering the room. Belatedly he noticed that it was already occupied and then jerked his wand out. "What are you doing here?" Before Draco could bother himself to answer, the outraged red head was shoved aside by Granger. Her hands were full with a large wicker basket. "Really Ron, move! He's here for school, the same as us" The tall boy grudgingly helped the witch set the basket by the window and then sat at her prompting. Not long after, the hero walked in.
"Ginny is sitting with the other regular seventh years." Potter looked concerned to see Malfoy smirking at them but sat across from the Slytherin, closing the door behind him. Before it could slide shut, a dark hand grabbed the door and pulled it open. Zabini stood in the doorway blinking in surprise at the compartment's inhabitants. His eyes widened but he took a seat next to Draco. He let them all stew in the awkward silence for a moment, and then Draco decided he had had quite enough.
"Zabini, I am perfectly aware that I do not own you. So do relax if you can stand our exalted company." Starting to enjoy himself, he turned to the golden trio. "Granger, you and I sit as living proof that breeding isn't everything. Weasley, a preemptive strike is not necessary. And Potter, I really haven't been back long enough yet to 'be up to something.'" He smiled lazily at them all and waited for their reactions. His fellow Slytherin shrugged easily pulled out a magazine. The Gryffindors took longer to get over their shock. Surprisingly Ron was the first to respond.
"Well even if I did, it'd be your fault." Hermione rolled her eyes at her friend's statement but it was Harry who said "Ron, take it out on the pitch." The conversation quickly descended into Quidditch between the two and the tension eased as the focus shifted off Malfoy. Hermione pulled out a book and Draco thought he heard the girl mutter, "Oh yes, let's all hide behind our coping mechanisms. That will last us a whole week."
A little after the candy cart had come and gone, Ron turned to Hermione. "So explain it to me again, there are no houses for the seventh years?" Hermione put down her book and spoke in her lecture tone. "Professor McGonagall is making the change permanent. She feels that our generation especially needs to learn how to overcome old amnesties." Zabini spoke up, making the Gryffindor trio jump. "Is that why they're making us retake seventh year?" Harry shrugged. "I guess so. Being a part of the war has made most of us more qualified to being adults than normal students. I mean they'd have all years retake their last year, not just ours, if it was due to classes being…well like they were." Ron sighed. "They probably want to see if we've been tainted. Like how after a famous chess player dies, his pieces are useless to all other players." Hermione nodded. "Or like Mad-Eye. He wasn't really able to function in normal society."
Deciding it was time to break the gloomy atmosphere, Draco snorted. "Well, if that's all they want great. We will give them all a nice little show of how well adjusted we are and keep our emotional scars to ourselves." Zabini nodded, agreeing with the sensible outlook, but Ron's face turned as red as his hair. He stood, pissed, and pointed his wand at Draco. "What do you know about emotional scars?" He spat. "Most of this is your fault!" Malfoy rolled his eyes, not caring about the hot head's threat. Zabini on the other hand, stood and gave him glare for glare. "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on Weasley." The compartment began to hum with the potential for violence.
" Yes it's his fault his parents worshiped a madman and expected him to do the same. It's his fault he was raised to be the very picture of pureblood breeding and led the rest of the Slytherins to behave the same. His fault he was given a do or die mission. His fault that every single Slytherin knew how they were expected to act, so that they remained whole and safe from punishment from the death eaters they lived with. His fault that the first years and near squibs escaped notice during the "extra lessons" they had to endure, because all eyes were on him when he tutored them. His fault that those caught by the trusted Slytherin students were humiliated, but mostly managed to get away without being sent to the Carrows. His fault that blood traitors and mudbloods were so below his notice that he failed to identify them until they had already gone missing. His fault that he used his father's reputation and his own popularity to keep the actual sycophants in check and following his lead." Ron stood for a moment in stunned silence after Zabini's outburst.
Looking kind of pale he sat, and stared disbelieving at Malfoy. Draco shot his fellow Slytherin look and the boy grudgingly sat as well. Then he turned back to the Gryffindors and leaned in close, as if to whisper a secret. "It is also my fault Weasly…" He paused for dramatic effect. "That you spent most of third year spiting up slugs." He sat back smugly in his chair. "So no hero worship, please."