A/N: welcome to another episode of the pansy parkinson show..haha oops i mean my drarry fic obvs. i'm not in love with this chapter but honestly i think it's because i feel like i struggle with writing dialogue a lot...legit spent all day on this one even though i had things to do. worth tho! a plot is slowly forming in my brain...
The rest of the week passed in a blur of much too much homework for a school year that had yet to even start. Harry met with McGonagall four times, directly after breakfast. He had chosen her to shadow to do his best to learn what running a school was like. So far, it was simply a mess of boring paperwork. He had met with Binns four times, too. The ghost had about as much personality as his teaching skills implied, but Harry was determined to do something about History of Magic at Hogwarts. After all, perhaps if they focussed on the right history, the Voldemorts and the Grindlewalds of the world, rather than the Goblin Rebellions of the tenth century, mistakes that were made in the past would not continue to occur.
Pansy had been expressly forbidden from telling anyone about who the new Defence professor was, but she absolutely gushed about him at every possible opportunity. Blaise was not enjoying Arithmancy with Professor Vector, and he made sure everyone knew it. Mostly, he had been stuck tutoring Harry, so Harry, at least, didn't really blame him.
For Draco, McGonagall had pulled some strings, it seemed, and under the guise of being supervised for "disciplinary measures" required by the ministry, she had put him in a Potions placement with Professor Slughorn, which he was enjoying immensely.
The first day of term was tomorrow. Ron and Hermione would be arriving in the morning, which Harry was uncharacteristically nervous about, given the dynamic between the eighth years right now. The rest of the school would be arriving in the evening for the Welcome Feast and Sorting, and Andromeda would be visiting with Teddy as well. They had visited already this week – Teddy had already stolen Pansy's heart.
The four ostensibly avoided the eighth year common room, choosing to spend most of their time instead in Draco's rooms, abandoned classrooms, or on the grounds instead. They never went anywhere alone, either. Smith had quieted down, but they often found people lurking around the common room and various corridors at all hours of the day and night. Harry was also quite sure they had people tailing Draco and Pansy, at least, but the others had told him he was being paranoid when he brought it up.
"You're thinking too loudly," Draco's voice drawled at him. "I can't focus when I can see your brain working."
They had taken a rare moment, just the two of them, in Draco's room together. Pansy was meeting with the mysterious defence professor before dinner, and Blaise was waiting for her. Harry was currently sprawled out on the bed, staring at the ceiling, while Draco worked on an essay for Slughorn at his desk. His room was small, his desk close enough to the foot of his bed that Harry could reach out with a foot and touch him. The other side of his bed housed a wardrobe, and across from the bed was a door to the room – a painting of a dog on the other side that swung outwards when you pet its head in the correct pattern.
"Stop working, then," Harry responded, throwing a pillow at him. He was being a little bit obstinate. He had work to get done, too, but he was too nervous about the next day, Ron and Hermione arriving to do anything about it.
Draco raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't you have work to get done, too, Potter?"
"Oh, I'm Potter now, am I?" Harry smirked, but Draco had stubbornly turned back to his essay and wasn't looking.
"You're Potter whenever you're annoying me," he responded loftily. "Which is most of the time."
Harry nudged him in the side with his foot.
"For Merlin's sake," groused Draco. Harry watched with satisfaction as he threw down his quill and spun in his chair. Draco's face was flushed, and his eyes dark, but not, Harry noted, with anger. With something else.
"We haven't been anywhere without Pansy or Blaise all week," Harry said, watching Draco intently. "I'm just saying, we can work on assignments when we're with them."
Draco snorted inelegantly. "No one can ever get any work done when Pansy Parkinson is around." But he stood up from the chair and jumped onto the bed, straddling Harry at his hips. "Is this what you want?" he leaned forward, his breath in Harry's ear, nose brushing his cheek.
Harry felt his breath leave him in a short gasp as Draco's mouth trailed down his jawline, found a sensitive spot on his neck. He ran his hands down Draco's sides as Draco's mouth found his, kissing him tantalizingly slowly. When Harry pressed forward into the kiss, Draco pulled back. When Harry arched his body, Draco lifted his own body away.
With a frustrated groan, Harry wrapped his legs around Draco's hips, pulling the other boy against him. Draco let out a keening noise. "So it's like that, is it, Potter?" he asked breathlessly between kisses. Harry felt himself grow hard, angled his hips upward towards Draco, shuddered at the pressure.
And was interrupted by a shriek. "Merlin, my eyes!" Draco sat up suddenly, blocking Harry's view of the door. But of course, he didn't need to see who it was to know.
"You could knock," Draco groused. He turned his body back towards Harry, bent low and nuzzled his cheek once before rolling off him. Harry, in turn, sat up quickly in an attempt to hide his very clear erection from view. Blaise's smirk in his direction told him he hadn't managed to hide anything, at all.
"Knock on your solid stone door? Or is it better to slap your dog portrait until he barks?" Pansy snapped, but she still came around and sat on the foot of the bed. Blaise deposited himself on Draco's chair.
Draco nudged her back with a foot. "Stop it, you're making Potter blush."
This, of course, only caused Harry to blush harder, while Pansy snickered downright evilly.
"Aw, Pans," Blaise said, "Not everyone is as blasé about sex as you are."
Harry had never been more uncomfortable in his life.
"How was your meeting with Professor Mysterious?" he settled for asking.
Pansy's eyes lit up and she leaned forward towards them. "Apparently, McGonagall is making an announcement tonight, and he may or may not have let slip what that exact announcement will be."
"I had to listen to her prattle on about it all the way here," Blaise groaned, "And she wouldn't even tell me what it was."
Pansy whacked his shoulder. "Instead of the eighth years keeping their prefect status, and because we don't get the opportunity to be Head Boy or Girl either, the professors decided to do something else with us."
Harry realized he hadn't thought of this – whether or not the eighth years would contribute to the ranks of prefects or not. It wouldn't have affected him, but Draco and Pansy had both been prefects.
"He said she's choosing eight eighth year students to be assigned two to each Hogwarts house. We're supposed to make sure the younger ones feel safe, and that the older ones don't kill anyone, I suppose," she sighed theatrically.
"They really are trying to make sure we have the most work possible, aren't they?" Blaise sighed. Draco smiled at him, but Harry noticed that it didn't quite reach his eyes. He knew it was frustrating to Draco to watch his classmates get to choose professors to shadow, be assigned to rooms, help younger students, meanwhile he wasn't even allowed to carry a wand outside of class.
He leaned in toward Draco, who shot him a small undecipherable look before putting his head on Harry's shoulder. Blaise mimed gagging, but Pansy shushed him.
"Listen, Blaise, this is important. They're going to assign people to houses that aren't their own. So no Gryffindor eighth years for Gryffindor houses, no Ravenclaws for Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs for Hufflepuffs or Slytherin's for Slytherins. What if someone like Zacharias Smith gets put with Slytherin?" Harry felt Draco tense beside him, saw Blaise's eyes flicker and the dark look he cast at Pansy.
"McGonagall wouldn't-"
"Shut up, Potter." Harry jumped, accidentally jostling Draco's head off of his shoulder. It was Blaise, who normally neve rose his voice. He was glaring daggers at Harry. "She didn't do shit for us last year, left us to save ourselves, just like the rest of your stupid little army."
Stunned into silence, Harry could only gape at Blaise. After a moment of silence in the room, he seemed to deflate with a sigh. "Sorry," he said finally. "It's not good, though. Those bastards will abuse their power, people are going to get hurt."
"You're right," said Harry, drawing a surprised look from Blaise. Which was mildly hurtful, he thought. Surely they'd know how he'd feel about this better by now. "I'm going to go talk to her, make sure there's a Slytherin for the Slytherins."
He stood and stretched, giving Draco a small smile.
"I'm coming," Pansy announced. "Blaise, stay with Draco."
Blaise made a noise of protest while Draco, who was halfway to his feet, glared at her. "Look," Pansy sighed, "Draco can't get involved – sorry love," she added directly to Draco. "It will look bad. And dinner is soon, he can't go down there alone, and Potter can't go up to the Headmistresses office by himself. It's asking for trouble. So Potter and I will go bond over arguing with McGonagall, and you two can do whatever you'd like, and we'll meet you in the Great Hall."
"Fine," groused Draco as he sat back down on the bed. Harry looked at him in concern, he was picking at his sleeve on his left arm – right where the Dark Mark sat on his skin.
Blaise ushered Harry and Pansy out of the door, making them swear they would retell every moment when they were all at dinner. Pansy and Harry walked in silence, at first, which Harry didn't mind. He imagined Pansy was working out what she would say, and he was always content to be left with his thoughts in the Days After.
His flashbacks were less, now that he had been here for a week. He less often walked through the corridors shaking and gasping for breath, less often had memories rise to the surface. When they did, he could push them down. He wondered if it would have been the same if he had been back in Gryffindor, with Neville and Dean and Seamus.
Everyone was changed, but he knew what he thought it would be like – curtains pulled around their four-poster beds, silencing spells casted, grief dealt with quietly, screaming from nightmares hushed. When he looked at the three of them – which he didn't often, hurt as he was by their behaviour – he imagined that his guesses weren't far off. They often looked drawn and tired. Then again, they had more horrendous memories here than he ever had, really. Nothing he had experienced could amount to the seventh year they had spent here.
He didn't begrudge them for how they acted towards him either, not really. They were right – he had been gone. Maybe being on the run wasn't the best way to spend the year, nor the Horcruxes or Ron leaving, but it was a sight better than watching the Carrows force students to hurt each other.
He didn't know, though, if he would be coping so well if he were rooming with them as normal. Blaise woke him up during nightmares; Harry did the same for Blaise. They had cleaned up after each other when they'd been sick, spent late nights talking about the past and the future. On one memorable occasion already, they had snuck Pansy and Draco in and sat up all night with hot cocoa delivered by the house elves when it was all too much.
Harry was uncomfortable thinking about how Ron and Hermione would fit into this dynamic when they returned. Would they join him, Pansy, Blaise, and Draco for their walks around the castle? Shuffle themselves into their group to make sure no one went anywhere alone? He hadn't told them anything about Draco, had been scared to. Would they fall in, instead, with Zacharias Smith? No, definitely not that, but perhaps with Dean, Seamus, Neville, and Nott. In the Days Before, he would have been sure of where they stood. In the Days After, he wasn't quite sure about very many things anymore.
"What's the story with Nott, anyways?" Harry broke the silence to ask Pansy curiously.
Pansy let out a small, dark laugh. "He's interesting," she finally said. "His dad was a Death Eater, I'm sure you know. His mum left him when we were in second year, I think. Left Theo with his dad for the whole summer between second and third year, thought it was still important for them to bond, I think."
She gave Harry a soft smile. "I don't know what happened, really. You probably don't remember him in third year, but he was tiny, like he was starved. He was angry, at first. People were picking on him, but he was picking fights with everyone he could. I guess he spent Christmas with his mum, because when he came back he wouldn't even talk to any of us. Draco used to say he'd get to their dormitory after lights out every night, and leave before everyone woke. We think Snape let him do whatever he wanted, so long as he slept at some point. Spent a lot of time with Ravenclaws in the year above. We were all horrid to him about it, of course.
"Then, last year, he didn't come to school. Rumour was going around he was in hiding with his mum – she was never a Death Eater. Not many women were, though. And this year it seems he's become pals with your lot. That's all, really."
Harry nodded, thoughtfully. "Were your parents Death Eaters?"
Pansy scoffed at him. "The Parkinson's aren't even Sacred Twenty-Eight anymore, though my parents and grandparents tried to pretend like we were. But no, and it wasn't a noble decision, either. 'Neutrality never loses' is practically the Parkinson motto. Neither was Blaise's mum, though she was a pureblood. Too busy marrying rich men and then killing them; doesn't care whether they're wizarding or muggle or anything so long as they're rich. Actually," she leaned in conspiratorially towards him, "I'm fairly sure Blaise's dad, whoever he was, was muggle, from the way he talks about him. I've never asked, though. Blaise was a right ass when we were younger, anyways."
"You mean he's not, now?" Harry snorted. Pansy smirked back at him, but her expression was slightly vacant.
"We weren't good people, any of us," she finally said. "Except maybe Nott. And the Greengrasses, they were always wonderful. Tracey Davis was a cow, though. Actually, I probably was, too. Crabbe and Goyle were horrendous. I have it on good authority that Goyle decided not to return because he didn't want to see what we would do to him after we found out he may have had a little too much fun being the Carrow's sidekick."
Harry winced. "I'd like to think it would have been different if I had been here, but I know nothing would have changed." He sighed. "All summer Andromeda had to remind me that we were still kids when it all happened. I've used Unforgivables, I've killed people, I doubt any of us were charming to you lot either, when we were in our younger years."
Pansy hummed – thoughtfully or in agreement, Harry wasn't sure.
"The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin when I was sorted," he continued. Pansy looked up, shocked. "Everyone says it was because I had part of Voldemort's soul in me, or something. I talked to Andromeda about it, too. She was Slytherin, you probably know that. She was horrid when she was younger, too. But Slytherin – ambition, cunning, valuing friendships, even – I don't think any of those are bad traits, not any longer. And I think they all represent me, too. Maybe the House system has just been taken too far.
"I did a lot of reading this summer, too. No one viewed Slytherin as an evil house, not until Voldemort, not really. I mean – Dumbledore was in Gryffindor and he almost helped Grindlewald take over the world, and maybe if he had gone through with that, people would act the same way about Gryffindor. Even the way people talk about Salazar Slytherin or the chamber of secrets, that's changed in the last fifty or so years, since Voldemort. So maybe you all just became what we made you to be, you know?"
"That's awfully poetic, Potter," Pansy said in response. She sniffed and looked away, as if in indifference, but Harry was fairly sure he could see a tear escape one of her eyes.
"It was, at that." They both jumped at a voice behind them. It was Professor McGonagall, having clearly just exited her office, which was just around the corner. Harry felt himself blush.
"Now, have I assumed correctly that you are here to speak with me and not taking a casual stroll around the castle? If I'm wrong, by all means," she gestured to the corridor behind her. Harry had to stifle his laugh at Pansy's confused look.
"Yes, Headmistress," he responded, giving McGonagall a small smile. Between the amount of time he had spent here rebuilding over the summer and his near-daily meetings with McGonagall this year, he felt he knew her quite better than any other student did.
"Very well," she sighed. "Come along, then."
She led them not into her office, but into an unused classroom instead. Harry smiled at Pansy's confused look. "No portraits of old heads in abandoned classrooms." He often had his meetings with McGonagall in any room but her office as well.
"They can be quite meddlesome," she said, with a tilt of her head. "Now, what would you like to know?"
Harry laughed to himself. McGonagall had been trying to find out from him what exactly was the cause of the strange dynamic between the eighth years, but he had refused to say anything. Better it come from the mouths of the Slytherins, if they decided to tell her.
"We heard that you were planning on assigning two eighth years per house this year," Pansy began after a pregnant pause. The Headmistress looked shocked – whatever she had been expecting from the two of them, it was not this.
"Dare I ask where you discovered this information?" she gave them each a piercing look, but Pansy merely shrugged.
"It's not important," she said. Harry was impressed – not even he was that flippant with McGonagall. She was still the Headmistress, after all. "What's important is you can't do that, Professor. They all have it out for us, it doesn't make sense anymore but they do. They didn't help a single Slytherin last year, not even a first year. Some of them hurt the kids, even. You can't let it happen."
Pansy was pacing. Harry thought she looked shocked from her own outburst, was sure she had planned to say something more eloquently. But she looked the Headmistress in the eye and didn't back down.
"Ms Parkinson," McGonagall said with a sigh, "I promise you, this has been taken into account by all the professors and we have come to what we believe is a suitable arrangement."
Pansy scoffed loudly. "Forgive me if I don't believe in your definition of suitable." Harry stepped slightly closer to Pansy, a quiet show of support. He didn't want to speak, didn't entirely fell it was his place and was sure that Pansy would not appreciate it if he did. But he did want Professor McGonagall to know that he agreed with Pansy implicitly.
McGonagall rubbed her temples and gave a glance heavenward before continuing. "Very well, Ms Parkinson. We have decided that this rule will be broken for the Slytherin house alone."
Harry smiled as Pansy stopped pacing immediately and started at McGonagall, mouth agape slightly. He nudged her and she closed it.
"When I approached the professors about this very situation, Professor Slughorn was adamant he would only put his support behind it if you were able to be the Student Guardian to the Slytherin House. The staff were almost all unanimously in favour of this. You and Mr Potter are to be in charge of the Slytherins. And – I was going to tell him this tomorrow at our meeting, but I shall instead explain to both of you now – if Mr Malfoy were to lend a hand in an unofficial capacity, it would not cause me concern, nor would it be reported ot the ministry."
She moved to open the door to the classroom, but looked back at them. "I admit that I thought those in Slytherin would have been safe from the Carrows due to blood status. I see now that I was incorrect; all the Carrows cared about was harm. Hogwarts failed you, and I hold myself responsible for this. I will do all in my power to ensure Slytherin House is a safe and welcome environment for every student that passes through it as long as I am Headmistress of this school."
With that, she swept out of the room, emerald robes trailing after her. Moments later, Harry found himself rather uncomfortably holding a sobbing Pansy Parkinson.
Later that evening, Harry found himself curled up in Draco's bed, relating the conversation to him. When Pansy had calmed down, they had gone to the Great Hall for dinner. She had refused to tell the other two what happened – hadn't wanted to talk about it. Draco was clearly upset by this, so after dinner Blaise had waved him away with Draco, said he'd stay the night with Pansy and Harry should stay with Draco, if only to calm everyone's nerves before the school was filled the next day.
Draco heaved a deep sigh when he was done. "No wonder she didn't want to talk about it," he said finally. "It's funny, that year was so horrible, but perhaps if it hadn't happened the way it had we would all still be as horrid as we were in sixth year."
Harry shook his head. Unsure if Draco could see it in the dark, he added, "No. It was unnecessary. It all was. You can't survive a war, can't watch people die and not be changed by it. The rest of it was…I don't know, Draco. Beyond horrible."
Draco sighed beside him. "Are you nervous for Granger and Weasley to arrive tomorrow?"
Harry accepted the offered change of subject. "Yeah," he said simply. "I had trouble leaving Andromeda's for Hogwarts, this year. Didn't want to go. I think it will be nice to have them back. But I'm worried…" he trailed off.
"Worried they'll hate us?" he couldn't see Draco's expression in the dark, but could imagine the quirked, slightly unsure smile.
"Something like that," he said.
"Worried you won't have enough time for me?" Draco asked, then. He sounded confident, but Harry could feel the tremble in his body that gave him away. He rolled over and propped himself on top of Draco. They were hardly clothed, he could feel every touch of Draco's skin to his like fire.
Harry kissed Draco slowly. Tried to convey what he couldn't with words; how Draco was essential to him, how being with him felt like breathing again after suffocating for so long. Draco responded in kind, lifting his body against Harry's, biting at Harry's lip, making him groan.
There was no urgency, but neither did they hold back. Harry braced his arms at either side of Draco's head, kissing down his neck, rutting against him and relishing in the feel of the pressure it created. He moved his body lower, kissing his chest, pausing to catch his nipple between his teeth, listen to Draco keen with want.
Draco's hands were in his hair, on his sides, scratching his back, grasping his hips, urging him on. They went on like this, Harry shifting his weight onto his left side, moving his right hand down to give Draco a gentle stroke. "Faster," Draco groaned.
Harry obliged, gripping harder and increasing the pace. He latched his mouth around Draco's nipple, sucking in time with his strokes. It didn't take long for Draco to finish with a stifled cry, nails digging into Harry's side.
They were breathing hard, but Draco had hardly paused to recover before Harry felt a mouth on him, licking his cock slowly, tantalizingly. He wrapped his hands in Draco's hair, knew he was being loud but was hardly sure what noises he was making. There was pressure building in him as Draco began to move faster, licking and sucking and grazing him with teeth that made him squirm. Before he could form a coherent thought, his vision exploded with stars, and his heart with tenderness.