Chapter One - Running

Harry didn't leave the Hogwarts grounds for more than two days at a time in the weeks following the Battle of Hogwarts, though that had never been his intention. The Weasleys had invited him to come stay at the Burrow, yes. He'd found himself there with every intention of staying for one weekend at the beginning of June. By that next sleepless morning, well after he'd gotten up and leaned his body back against a creaky window just to stare out at the darkness, wishing for the light of the new morning to appear already, he'd convinced himself he wasn't ready to be back to "normal." He'd found his way back to Hogwarts, though Ron and Hermione hadn't quite understood.

As the traumatized student population had dwindled at Hogwarts, The Ministry population had increased. There had been a full team from the Department of Magical Architecture working around the clock to restore the castle to its state prior to May 2nd, and then some. Harry had helped where they let him, had not pushed for difficult tasks as there had been plenty of basic mending and cleaning up to do, even well into July.

Ron and Hermione had come to visit, sometimes even staying the night where they all crashed in the common room. Each time they left, they urged that it was time for him to depart, as well. He hadn't been so sure and, once he'd flatly said that to them, miraculously, they hadn't pressed too much more.

In the mornings, he'd begun to run alongside the lake. By the last day of August, it was part of his daily routine. It was bizarre how this had come into being, as he'd never had interest in being remotely able to stick to a plan and definitely had never given any thought to an activity that built up a sweat outside of Quidditch. His mind went somewhere else when he ran, though, which was the most welcome of changes.

As he started up the stone steps to get up to the castle, he heard his name being called and looked around to find the source of it. It was Professor McGonagall, standing on the landing he was approaching. He smiled, pulling his hair off of his face and to the left side of his head with a rogue hand. He was sure he lacked grace, but judging by her expression she was anything but surprised.

As he reached the landing, he found his outstretched hand between both of hers, "Professor McGonagall, I think you can just call me Harry now."

"Harry," she returned, as if trying it out. She seemed pleased. "It's nice you see you with a smile, especially one that doesn't come at the expense of disrupting Transfiguration class." Her tone changed after she peered into his face in a careful way. "Are you well?"

Harry stood in her gaze for meaningful moments as he contemplated her question, "Fine as anyone else, Professor."

"You may call me Minerva, if you'd like."

He wasn't quite there yet, and perhaps his expression betrayed him because she cracked the smallest smile.

"Very well, but I am quite happy to call you Harry until tomorrow morning, at which time you'll revert back to being Mr. Potter. I spoke with Maxius," the project manager of the Hogwarts restoration. "He mentioned you have been valued this summer, your help appreciated." They both looked up at the castle in a thoughtful way, coming to stop before the next stone stairway. "Was the astronomy tower always so dark?"

Harry followed her eyes to the stone of the tower in the distance. He tilted his head and decided, "Yes."

He saw her fix a glance at him. He offered her his left arm, bending his elbow just enough for her to take. She took the offer with her fragile hand, and they started up the steps. Harry couldn't help but have noticed that the months had caught up with her. She was beginning to show her age in a more obvious way, and in that he was unexpectedly concerned. He wouldn't dare say so to her, or voice his concern, as it wasn't his place to do so. He'd had much time to think, to mull things over, in the past handful of weeks, one of those things being that this woman had been a steady and stable presence in his life for closing in on a decade now. Having come to this conclusion on his own a couple of weeks ago, he felt that he was on the precipice of an emotional maturity he yearned for… but didn't want to jinx it.

They took the stairs and the walk to the Great Hall in the silence, listening to the chirping birds singing their good mornings.

"Thank you for letting me stay here," he was sure to throw in as her hand dropped away so she could get back to her plans for the day. "And welcome back for another, er… grand year at Hogwarts."

"It will be if you let it." She knew he had struggled with it, the idea of resuming his studies for an 8th year. They'd had a handful of conversations over the summer when she'd come to visit to check in or help with the castle restorations. The topic had come up each time. When they'd first spoken, he had immediately declined to return the following year, but then word started coming out about how many of his year mates were interested in returning if they thought that he would be, as well. There was a beauty in that. Solidarity, at least.

Many of the new "eighth years" would be returning to the castle that evening instead of in the morning. Their role, as McGonagall and the Hogwarts board had decided, aside from picking up where their studies had left off months ago, would be to shepherd and stabilize the younger years, keep an eye on them.

Harry held his left forearm with his right hand behind his back as he peered up and around at the restored foyer. There were improvements in the details following restoration, little things that were barely noticeable but just enough for students who had walked these halls for seven years to pick up on.

"I only could hope so."

When he looked back to her, for her input, a wide open book, she lifted her eyebrows, "It is a wonder to hear you can still hope."

"Professor?"

She turned, hands held together in front of her.

"Thank you for everything."

When she disappeared towards the chatter coming from the Ministry group convening in the restored Great Hall, Harry opted to head up to the Gryffindor common room. As he climbed the stairs, he wondered where they were going to fit everyone. Space was already tight, though in retrospect he couldn't help but give himself a strong side eye when he remembered the closet under the stairs on Privet Drive. That had been tight.

It'd been a hell of a ride from the Harry in that closet to the Harry leaning against the door frame of the 7th year Gryffindor room he'd been sleeping in. He crossed his arms while sizing up the room, and then laughed when he heard the question in his head, mimicking McGonagall, which he was only maybe sixty percent mortified about. Had the dorms, with the heavy maroon curtains hanging over the windows between each bed, always been this dark ? He pulled away from the door frame and began pulling open the curtains between each bed.

Morning light poured in from the north windows like liquid gold.

He plopped down on the unmade bed and leaned forward, wrists crossed loosely between his knees. He let the sun warm him, soaking it in for a few thoughtless moments until the chatter returned. It was a constant stream of chatter, and rarely ever a full thought. It was easy to let it affect his mood, so with his morning run behind him and a full day ahead, he stood, stretching in the sun for good measure with his arms up and bent behind his head, and opted to go help with whatever he could in preparation of the evening and next day's events.

Later, hours later, so many hours later that his run around the lake felt more like the day before, a select few of his classmates arrived, including Hermione but not Ron, who had elected to help George out with the joke shop instead of returning. George never would have asked for the help, "but it's what family does," Ron had told him over Butterbeer and biscuits in Hogsmeade which was also where the thirteen classmates ended up that evening.

Harry sat in a corner window seat booth against a cold window. Next to him sat Hermione, across from them Seamus and Daphne Greengrass, who Harry had never known much about other than sharing some classes with her over the years. Two longer tables had been pushed next to theirs, surrounded by the rest of their returned peers. After all had been discussed, it seemed like they would be joined by a couple of other classmates in the coming day.

"Pansy and Millie both secured jobs over the summer. I haven't heard from or about the others," Daphne was explaining to Hermione from across the table in a much more posh and controlled voice than Harry was used to hearing. She had just confirmed to them that she was the only female Slytherin from their year to have returned, according to Professor McGonagall. She looked to Blaise Zabini next to her. "We might be the only two."

Blaise considered her, took a look at Harry, Hermione, Seamus, and then to his other side where he was surrounded by Hufflepuffs. He lifted the rest of his Butterbeer and downed it in three gulps. It was surprisingly silly and harmless, especially because they were all tuned into one big conversation around who had not returned and why.

Comic relief, Blaise Zabini. Who'd have thought?

Harry peered at him with interest, hadn't said much at all quite yet the entire evening other than hugs and handshakes hello. No one had been really quite sure what to say about the unusual situation back at the castle, so loosening up their mouths and minds with alcohol at the Three Broomsticks had been a welcome idea

"I'm sure there's an upside," Hermione tried. "You'll have more say in how you want to do things with the younger Slytherins."

"That's a nice way of saying Pansy ruled with an iron fist," Blaise chuckled, and some of the table laughed. There wasn't any spite in the comment or the laughter, as it was acknowledgement of a fellow classmate's personality that they had all witnessed. "What's the upside of being the only male Slytherin eighth year, then? I suppose it might be nice to come in first for classes… not that I have a well developed complex about that."

"Malfoy," Seamus realized who he meant, and the name immediately became the topic. Everyone was looking down the table now at Seamus. "Never thought I'd hear myself say this, and Harry, back me up on that," and Harry gave him an amused nod of solidarity and motioned for him to proceed, "but I feel something resembling pity for the arsehat. Even my gran and her bridge group gossip like schoolgirls every Sunday about the trials, and the papers and gossip rags have been relentless on the Malfoys. It's pathetic."

"Is it true his mum fled to the States?" Sue Li asked after a few minutes of consistent discussion around the Malfoys during which Harry had tuned out in favor of looking out the window which felt like a sheet of ice next to him.

It seemed fitting when a family of three appeared on their way to the café across the cobbled stone street. There was a small blonde child walking ahead of his two parents, oblivious to the rain coming down whilst his parents fussed over him by trying to pull his hood over his hair. It didn't go over well, ha!

"I couldn't tell you," Blaise was saying. "We haven't spoken in a couple of months. Pansy mentioned she's had a hard time getting a hold of him, too."

"He has a trial coming up," Harry reminded them. "And the only thing I know about Narcissa Malfoy is that she would never leave her family, or Draco, at a time like this."

He left out that he'd heard from a Ministry representative the week before that Narcissa Malfoy had told the Wizengamot her account of what had happened in the forest, and her deception in telling Voldemort that Harry had been dead, thus giving the purposeful assist in basically saving their world from Voldemort. This was a detail that had not yet reached the public. He was to come in, at some point, and testify to the validity of her claim and the timeline, and he was sure once he did so, it WOULD become public knowledge.

Blaise tilted his head at Harry well after the conversation had changed, catching some eye contact. Harry looked back at him instead of flinching away, holding himself accountable to the moment. Wasn't this that emotional maturity he was looking for, dealing with complexity straight on? He had nothing to distract himself with otherwise at the moment, not Quidditch, not Ginny or even his friends, and, ah, yes, not Voldemort or the future of their world, or the fact that had Narcissa Malfoy not lied that day, he would have been killed.

After a moment, his eyes slipped down to his glass, and he subtly pushed it away with a stray finger. He'd had enough to drink and decided to fade away into the background for the rest of the evening's events. That turned out to be a relatively easy task, as they left for the walk back to the castle earlier than anticipated. The next day would be a long day, after all, and everyone wanted to get a head start on settling in and unpacking. And while his fellow Gryffindors went up to the common room, Harry took his usual night stroll, lastly winding up on the restored Covered Bridge by the Clock Tower courtyard.

He looked down into the vast darkness below, then out into the night sky while the warm summer wind blew through his hair and rippled up under his thin cotton shirt while he leaned against the wood railing. Was it a mistake to have agreed to stay for an eighth year? If it were any other year, he would have said yes! Had he been asked two years ago if he'd ever stay for an eighth year at Hogwarts, he would have had some expletives to insist otherwise.

However, Hogwarts had been his home more than any home had ever been in his life, so maintaining a presence here, even just for stability's sake, seemed like a good idea while he tried to process what he was going to do with the rest of his life.

Also, quite suddenly he found himself missing Ron.

It was raining the next morning, but he still got his run in. When he returned to the castle, he found he wasn't alone for breakfast in the Great Hall. There was a setup at the Hufflepuff table, so he slipped down across from Blaise, and they began to eat in silence. Other sleepy eighth years trickled in, followed then by their Professors who sat with them at the table and broke bread with them. It felt like quite a special thing, but it was a special and unusual time for them all.

"I will be personally overseeing your activities and duties this year," Professor McGonagall explained. "As mentioned in your Hogwarts return invitation, there are two tracks you will be asked to choose from by week's end. Track one puts you on an accelerated course to finish out the classes you didn't get to finish last year. This will see you finish your coursework by the end of January, at which time you are free to leave as a graduate of Hogwarts. The second option sees you finish out the courses you missed from last year over the full school year's time, leaving much time for you to take on duties and a role as a mentor, guide, and peacekeeper for younger students, or, if you so choose, spending purposeful time with your professors to learn more about their areas of expertise."

This was all news to Harry who looked to Hermione down the table to get her take. She wasn't surprised, but she had also received the aforementioned letter from Hogwarts detailing the year's possibilities. He didn't doubt for a moment that Hermione would choose to finish out the year early. Much as he admired her, he couldn't see her mentoring younger Gryffindors without losing her mind or her patience. She was eager to get out on her own and work in the Ministry anyway.

"I will be setting up one on one time with each of you based on the track you decide, placing more importance, at first, on those of you deciding to finish out in late January. Additionally, I would like you to work as a group to come up with a strategy on how to best make your unique presence here useful."

"You mean like painting the Quidditch sheds? Ma'am, the sheds are in need, and it might be a good activity for the younger students to bond over a common goal."

Professor McGonagall paused, looking towards Seamus with surprise (Harry too) and then gave a nod of approval, "An excellent idea, Mr. Finnegan. That is exactly the spirit the board and Ministry are looking for from you as eighth years. I would look to Mr. Potter for details on any of the restoration work and projects that have been completed over the summer or remain in progress, all of which would be made better by your involvement." She looked right at Harry without apology. "I look for you to be a leader on any of these efforts, as you have gained an architect's knowledge of the castle's intricacies over the summer."

Exactly the role he didn't want. She had to know that. He forced a tight lipped smile, though, and then pushed down the knot in his throat by swallowing a bite of vanilla custard. Was she trying to give him purpose ? That was all fine and good, but she also knew him well enough to know he was not a particularly organized person.

"I don't think I've ever seen you with a tan," Hermione commented as they walked down towards the lake later in the morning. He looked at her strangely for explanation, then down to his bare arms. He looked at them in comparison to the arm she held out next to his. It was true, he had darkened up. He did a double take.

"I guess I have spent more time outside this summer than… ever... in my entire life."

"Harry!" She laughed, putting her head back and shaking it. "What have you been doing?"

"Running in the morning, most of July I was working on the outdoor restorations… and flying a lot," he started to add up on his fingers as he peered up at the overcast sky hiding the sun, almost accusingly. He was strangely chuffed, though.

"I think you've even got a little sunburn," she teased. "What do you think you'll do after we graduate?"

"You mean in February?"

"Of course. Oh," she turned towards him and began to walk backwards, looking up at him. "Were you thinking about staying the entire year?"

"I didn't know there was an option otherwise until two hours ago. No doubt you'll want to graduate early, huh?"

"It doesn't feel early enough, actually. Feels truly strange to be back here after everything. I didn't think this many of us would return. It almost makes me want to stay the entire year."

"Almost," Harry smiled genuinely and gave her a playful elbow as she returned back to walking beside him. "Don't stay. You need to graduate. I don't know what I'm doing yet. About graduation… or life." He paused and glanced at her. Before she could react, he found this odd laugh come out of his own mouth, up from his stomach. He had almost missed this.

Hermione cocked an eyebrow at him instead of commenting, then settled on, "Molly was concerned you'd spent too much time alone this summer. I think she may have been right. Who are you? What have you done with Harry?"

"I don't know where he went. A tan and self reflection?" He looked back over his shoulder back at the castle, in all seriousness, even came to a full stop, as if to search for himself. She looked over, too, and he could see her squinting at him. He took his time in pulling his eyes away, dramatically, and looked deeply at her with a furrowed brow before he let it go and laughed again, this time into his wrist. He was equal parts amused and frustrated with how she had been and was currently treating him. "I'm fine , Hermione." He put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a little shake and gently urged her back into step. His hand traveled and he loosely draped his right arm over her shoulders as they walked. "Tell me about your plan to get your parents home. Has Maxwell," a man from the Ministry Arthur had put her in touch with and a man she would be getting an apprenticeship with come March, "been able to help arrange a plan for reversing the charm's effects once we get them back here?"

"The Ministry has gone out of their way to help. They're arranging for my dad to get a transfer from Australia back to London, and once they're here and settled, we'll start working on undoing the damage."

"It has to be a slow process?"

"It doesn't have to be, but that's the safest way to do it. It will be less of a shock to them once the charms are completely lifted. And that's, well… if it works at all."

Harry watched her profile as they walked, and instead of saying anything, because there was nothing he could say, he squeezed her shoulder as they reached the lake. They stood there awhile as they were, looking out over the clouds above it until the sun found a crack to peek out of, casting some golden sunshine on them both and the castle, too.

"Whatever happens, 'mione," he told her, turning from trying to skip a rock over the surface of the lake a couple of minutes later, "I'll be here."

Hermione, now sitting in the grass with her arms around her knees, smiled in return and motioned him to come sit. He plopped down next to her and draped his arms over his bare knees. He looked at his hairy calves, giving them a rub with his hands. He subtly glanced to check if his legs matched his arms.

Hermione saw through it and laughed into her arm, "So silly."

"I've never been tan before," he defended himself. "It's weird. It's weird, right? It's weird. Skin is. Humans too. Weird."

"You're weird. Are you going to testify for the Malfoys?"

"It wasn't the Malfoys or anyone representing them who reached out about whether or not I would. It's the court pulling me in to confirm whether or not Narcissa's account is true. The full context of how it came up, I don't know."

"I don't know if I could do it. No, actually. I know I would not."

Harry considered her expression, thought about her interactions with the Malfoys, and then peered back out at the lake. He understood where she was coming from, but so secretly he heard some part of him justifying the difference between them. She had the privilege of not having to be forgiving.

As close as he was to Ron and Hermione, their experiences were not the same despite having orbited the same group of people and situations over the years. He didn't have the luxury of letting Malfoy rot, nor would he have wanted to. In the most unexpected way, his relationship with Malfoy had branches and veins that reached outside of the context of childhood disagreements. It was a nearly intimate hate and rage Harry had felt for him several times over the years. There was power in that, emotions in that, and he was dealing with that, too.

Going to court for anything having to do with the Malfoys, then, was a natural part of trying to put closure around the sour parts of the last seven years.

"Sometimes I try to wrap my mind around what it might be like to be a Malfoy."

"Why would you want to do that?"

It was complicated, and he wasn't sure how to put that into words yet, so he struggled stupidly.

"You know me, I love to play the Devil's Advocate, but not with this. Voldemort may be gone, but his ideology was there before him. It'll still be around after him."

"Not for long, 'mione. The older generation will die off."

"That just means they'll learn to conceal it better. Could you imagine Draco ever allowing his child to be intimately involved with someone who wasn't a pureblood?"

"I prefer not to imagine Malfoy having children."

"Ugh," and she flicked his knee. He only raised an eyebrow at the tiny sting. "You are annoyingly blasé about him."

Harry struggled, "Look, I… 'mione, none of us are simple. There's a familial element that permeates all of those families… the Blacks, the Lestranges, and all of the "Sacred Twenty Eight." Even when Sirius spoke about his family, it was with the same whimsy-exasperation, yeah… but whimsy. The principles you mentioned are ones that have served them for centuries. Why would they think to change?"

"Nuanced Harry is going to take some getting used to, and while I can appreciate this side of you, I wish my exposure to it weren't you trying to find any redeemable qualities about Malfoy . He nearly got you killed multiple times."

"I know, 'mione. That wasn't my point, though." He blinked himself away from his trance on the water and crossed his arms over his knees, leaning against his thighs. He flexed his toes up off of the ground so his calf muscles stretched. They yearned for another run. "We have to paint the Gryffindor Quidditch shed."

"Really," she commented at his abrupt change of subject. "We could get creative with it."

"Creative how?"

"Maybe the houses could paint their sheds with a theme. You know, Ravenclaw spirit? Hufflepuff power? Gryffindor pride? Slytherin… spite? Just kidding. Ra ra?"

They continued talking about it, and once back at the castle, they happened to run into Professor McGonagall. Instead of Hermione staying to champion her idea, though, she headed off for the common room. Meanwhile, in a strange turn of events, Harry found himself in what was now her office, once Dumbledore's, talking to her about "guidelines on the creativity."

"And no charms."

"No charms? But how else would we make a lion stalk the siding of the Gryffindor shed when a Slytherin approaches? Or a group of ravens... swoop around the Ravenclaw door when a Hufflepuff nears it?"

"An unkindness." She saw his confusion. "A group of ravens is called an unkindness."

"Okay. It is also an unkindness to prohibit charms."

She turned around with a quirked eyebrow at the unexpectedly quick reply. He gave a slight nod of his head, as if to agree it had been a risky move, and he left the subject at that while she moved up the three stairs to get to the platform her desk was on. She set her wand down on it and motioned him to one of the seats in front of it.

Harry followed her up the steps and sat, as requested.

She sat, too, but in the chair next to him instead of on the other side of the desk. It was something he could have never imagined Dumbledore doing, "Fine, but the charms must be appropriate and cleared by the eighth years of each house, which means you and your classmates will be held accountable for the end product."

"Should you okay the final design proposed by each house, then?"

"I feel that puts me at a disadvantage when I have to vote for my favorite."

"We will take responsibility." She was satisfied.

"You and your classmates will shape what our world looks like, and that is because you are at the helm, and we, as a community, are on par for a vast shift. And Potter, it is not with pressure I hesitantly say this to you, but I have been proud to see you grow into a natural ability to lead from a humble, and therefore powerful, position. You voice matters, whenever, or however, you may choose to use it. Please be aware of that, of the weight of your words."

"Professor, do you… do you think I should stay the full year?"

"You must make your own decision."

"If you were me," he tried.

"Take the week to think about it. If you're still not sure, ask me again. In the meantime, how is the Gryffindor common room looking?"

"Ready for fifteen to thirty new students and one hundred and thirty old ones." He followed her eyes to the clock on her desk, as if reminding them both that it was only hours until all of those mentioned students would be arriving. She had many last things to do, as did everyone else, so he thanked her for her time and encouragement about Hermione's idea and found his way back to the empty common room.

It did need a little sprucing, so he opened the windows to get fresh air in and opened all the curtains wide, just like he had his dorm room windows. The light was nice and illuminated the entire staircase that went up the curved wall. He sat down midway and looked down at the common room. It was the greatest place he had ever known. It was where he had spent the best times of his life with his friends, laughing in front of the fireplace, commiserating over assignments, eating leftovers and stuffing candy wrappers into cushions… only to be yelled at days later when someone found it and accused him because, "only you eat this rubbish!"

Guilty.

It was like a blink later that he was back on the stairs again, though now dark outside, watching the common room fill up with returning students. It was so loud, a constant buzzing. He had given the first years a pep talk, taken them back to the common room early from the feast to give them a chance to get a look at their Gryffindor common room for the first time. The awe on each of their faces was so beautiful it was nearly painful, hit Harry with nostalgia so hard he could have cried.

Their new Gryffindor prefects did the usual spiel, while the eighth years stood on the stairs, taking it all in. Their role had been explained during the feast, that they were not only there to finish out their schooling, but there to act as mentors and helpers. The younger students had been encouraged to "take advantage of this opportunity, as it will benefit and enrich your time here, and theirs, as well."

Harry had been stared at constantly the entire meal through, which, true, was not an experience he was totally unfamiliar with. It was at a whole other level now. He had not particularly planned for this, because he had spent much of the summer in solitary with interactions, especially with people he didn't know, few and far between. He understood it, had even heard quiet conversation between a group of fourth years that they were surprised he would have come back when he could have been doing "literally anything, anywhere ."

"It's going to be a long year," Seamus sighed at Harry on the way up to the dorm they were sharing with four seventh years they both knew well enough to not be nervous about. It was the same dorm room Harry had been sleeping in, but an extra bed and desk had been added. It was much more cramped, but he dove on to his bed and spelled the drapes of the four poster bed to close around him.

"Aye Potter, it's a bit early for a wank, innit?"

"Leave him alone, mate. Never too early for a wank."

"True and wise words, Finnegan."

Harry laughed as he lay on his back in the new darkness of his personal space. He agreed silently with Seamus, that if he decided to stay, it was going to be a very long year, but he also agreed that it was never too early for a wank. But the truth was, he just wanted to escape the day and fall away into peaceful sleep which he treasured still now. He hadn't had a nightmare in months, a true gift, but he also did not dream at all. Or, if he did, he didn't remember.

That night, of course, he dreamed of, and remembered upon waking up, Madam Malkin's Robes in Diagon Alley, where he stood as himself, at eighteen years old, watching from between two mirrors, a small version of himself, and a small version of Draco Malfoy, meeting for the very first time.