A/N: I am SO sorry that i basically fell of the face of the earth. Life got accidentally too overwhelming and I had to hide for a minute there. I v much hope you all enjoy this chapter, I have reading week coming up so I'll be able to catch up on my writing and hopefully have a backlog for writing for this story now so it's easier to post more often. thank you thank you for sticking with me, this story is so much fun to write and i am in love with every single one of the characters and every single one of my readers who loves them just as much as i do 3

"This is exhausting," Pansy groaned from beside Harry. Their first week of classes at Hogwarts was complete, but instead of the weekend being the respite from work they all needed already, Harry was burying himself in lesson plans while Pansy was wading her way through a thick and unfriendly looking Dark Arts book.

"Should have chosen a different subject then, shouldn't you have?" Blaise asked with a smirk, looking up from his position on the floor where he was playing a one-person chess game.

"Don't worry," Harry said with a sigh in Blaise's direction. "I'm dedicating tomorrow morning for arithmancy. Just you and me until lunch." He gave Blaise a cheeky look, but the other boy just rolled his eyes.

"And when are you planning on doing the rest of your work?" he asked. "Between old McGonagall today and meeting with Binns tomorrow it's not as though you'll have time."

Harry groaned. "Don't remind me, please. I'm trying not to think about it."

They were all huddled in Blaise and Harry's room, as usual. Harry was on his bed, lesson plans for his first years spread out around him along with their introductory essays. Pansy was at Blaise's desk, the heavy tome open in front of her. She had some complex looking calculations on a parchment beside her that Harry didn't have enough of an arithmancy grasp to even come close to understanding. Draco was at Harry's desk, pretending he couldn't hear them all in favour of his potions book. Blaise was, of course, on the floor between beds.

"You're all making it awfully hard to focus," Draco said, finally looking over from Harry's desk.

Harry pointedly ignored him. "I have twenty-eight students in my first year class. Three of them can't write – at all. They're eleven!" He sighed. "How does a child grow up for eleven years and not learn how to write a proper sentence?"

"Not everyone can afford a tutor," Pansy said, looking at him levelly. "And some parents don't have the time to teach from home themselves."

Harry rubbed his face in frustration. "Why don't they go to muggle schools, then?"

"Lots of reasons," Draco said. "At least I'd imagine. There's the risk of exposing muggle children to magic, for one thing."

"That's why your school is such a good idea, Potter," said Pansy, scrunching her face as if the compliment hurt her to hand out. "It provides an option for families that wouldn't normally have one."

"Yeah," Harry said. He leaned back on the pillows and closed his eyes for a moment. "How has wizarding society existed for so long without solutions for problems like this?"

"There are solutions," Pansy said. She paused a moment, twirling her hair as she thought. There were prominent bags under her eyes – Harry knew from Blaise that she'd been having especially bad nightmares. But of course, there wasn't really anything he could do about it. They had taken to shifting their sleeping arrangements – Harry with Draco and Pansy in Harry's bed instead. It wasn't as though Hermione was horrible to Pansy, but she felt safer with Blaise. And Harry couldn't complain – he was, of course, more than happy to stay with Draco.

"There are solutions in a lot of other countries," Pansy finally said. "Wizarding Britain is – I mean, very focussed on blood purity, of course, but classist too. The sacred twenty-eight has the resources and influence but they won't use it to help half-bloods or poor pure-bloods. It's something you're taught not to question. Until you do question it, I suppose."

"I guess I never realized that there were children coming to Hogwarts without any sort of school before that," Harry said. "It must be hard."

"I'd imagine," Draco put in. "Now please be quiet."

Harry watched Pansy and Blaise exchange exasperated looks. "One day," Harry said, "I'm going to introduce you to a Walkman. Or noise-cancelling headphones."

"A walk-man? That sounds-"

But Harry didn't get to hear what it sounded like, because at that moment a knock on the door sounded, followed by hushed voices from the other side. Everyone looked at each other for a moment before three sets of eyes landed on Harry.

"They're probably your Gryffindor's, anyway," Blaise said when Harry turned a pleading look on him. Since it was clear that no one else was going to help him, Harry hauled himself up with a sigh, careful not to touch any of his papers strewn over the bed.

The knocking came for a second time before Harry finally made it to the door. It opened to reveal the faces of Ron and Hermione, as Blaise had predicted.

"Erm – hi," Harry said. It was a strange moment, where he longed for the Days Before when he could talk to his friends without any awkwardness or shame. He was a product of the Days After now, hardly thought about the Days Before anymore.

"We were wondering if we could talk," Hermione said carefully. She was glancing past him, into their room, and Harry could feel the cold stares his friends aimed at her, even if he couldn't see them.

He glanced behind him quickly, tugging on his hair that was long enough now to graze his ears, although still wild as ever. He locked eyes with Draco, who gave him a nod and a small smile.

"Sure," he said, turning back to Ron and Hermione. "Maybe we can go for a walk."

"Alright," Hermione responded primly. Harry grabbed a jumper off his bed-post before gently closing the door behind him and following his sort-of friends into the corridor.

"Why don't we go outside?" he asked after a moment of heavy silence. They followed him through the halls of the castle, toward the Entrance Hall. They weren't talking, but he could feel them silently communicating with each other in that way they always did.

"How's working with Binns?" Ron asked, finally breaking the tension.

"Alright," Harry said, giving his friend a small smile. "Don't see much of him, really. McGonagall is much more interesting."

"Really?" Hermione asked suddenly. "Only, I imagine there's a lot of work that goes into her job. What do you help with?" She looked uncomfortable again – about speaking so eagerly to him? Or something else? Harry wasn't sure.

"Everything, really," Harry said after a moment's pause. "I've overseen two detentions so far. We're updating curriculum-" he cut himself off. He wasn't supposed to tell anyone this, really – except Draco, and by extension Pansy and Blaise. In fact, McGonagall had given him and Draco express permission to tell the other two, seeing as they were always together anyways.

But at Hermione's expectant look, he caved. "Muggle studies will be mandatory for everyone from first year to seventh year, starting next year. We've something planned for this year, too, but I'm not allowed to say yet."

"Mandatory even for muggleborn students?" Hermione asked immediately. Harry sighed to himself, nodded at her.

He waited until they were outside in the grounds to speak again. "It's not – it won't be taught the way Muggle Studies was before. It's not just about things like electricity, not a way to make muggles look eccentric. It will have a large focus on muggle and magical history, taught in a way that emphasizes reading comprehension and writing skills, especially in first and second year. Then it will focus more on wizard-muggle relations and how to navigate the muggle world. Spending money, technology, using the post, the library, applying to muggle unis – the lot of it. There will be mandatory field trips and everything."

Harry paused, realizing he was definitely rambling. Ron was looking at him in a sort of bemused way, but Hermione seemed fascinated.

"Is it just you and Professor McGonagall working on this?" she asked.

"There's a team of people," he responded, hoping that was all he needed to say, but she just raised an eyebrow at him to continue. Harry sighed. "Well there's me, of course. Professor McGonagall, Professor Strickland, one squib who works in muggle liaison for the Ministry of Magic and one wizard who works in the muggle government's wizard liaison office. And Draco."

He winced, knowing it was coming before he even closed his mouth. He had debated leaving Draco out of it, not saying anything, but better they find out from him now than find out he was lying to them later.

"Malfoy?" Hermione asked calmly, almost too calmly.

"It's part of his parole," Harry said dully. "And it's important to have a committed pure-blood on the team. He knows more than anyone what information he's missing to integrate into muggle culture."

"Oh please," Ron said, finally. His face was bright red, like there was anger boiling just beneath the surface. Harry could feel the explosion coming – wished he could run, wished he would be able to yell back. In the Days Before he certainly would have been able to – yell back, at least. But in the Days After he was just struck by how desperately he wanted to sleep the world away.

Or maybe how badly he wanted a cigarette.

"You put him there," Ron said finally. "He would never be working on that if it hadn't been for you."

Confused, at least a little, Harry raised an eyebrow. "I already said it's part of his parole. The Headmistress is confident in him, the plans were put together long before we came back to Hogwarts. I don't see how I have anything to do with it."

Ron scoffed – actually scoffed. Hermione looked almost frightened, but she would back Ron up no matter what came out of his mouth, Harry knew. "You were also fucking him long before we came back to Hogwarts," Ron said, finally. "Or did you think we've forgotten?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "That didn't have anything to do with-"

"Like hell it didn't," Ron snarled angrily. "I'm sure he's loving the benefits of fucking the Saviour of the Wizarding World – the sooner he does his time the sooner he can fuck off back to his life of luxury and muggle killing, right?"

"That's bollocks and you know it," Harry hissed. He opened his mouth to say more but was interrupted by a squeal.

"Harry!" It was Mar, of course, entirely unable to understand the tension of the situation she was approaching, as usual. "Guess what?"

He glanced over at Ron and Hermione. They were both watching with unabashed curiosity. Ron still looked like he was fuming. With some effort, he turned a smile to her. "What, Mar?"

"I'm getting my hair cut!" she plopped down on the grass in front of him.

"Er- that's great, Mar. Is Pansy doing it?"

"Nope!" Mar said, emphasizing the word with a popping noise on the P. Ron wrinkled his nose, Harry saw out of the corner of his eye, which made him bristle with protectiveness.

"Okay," Harry replied cautiously. "Who's going to cut it, then?"

"Mary, she's a fifth year Ravenclaw," Mar said, as if it were the coolest thing in the world. "I told her she was pretty, and she said she'd cut my hair for me, and I really want it shorter."

Harry measured his next words very carefully. He could feel Hermione, especially, watching him, sure she was picking up on his tension even if she wouldn't say it. "What exactly did Mary say to you, Mar?" he asked gently. The girl was practically bouncing in excitement, flapping her arms and smiling widely. Her movements slowed when he spoke, though, as if sensing Harry was worried.

"Um," she said, nervously glancing at Ron and Hermione as if only just noticing their presence. Harry gave her an encouraging smile. "Well, I told her she was pretty and then she said if I was acting like a dyke she could make me look like one," Harry did his best to stifle a gasp. Or groan. He wasn't sure. "But I didn't know what that word meant, so I asked and she said I needed shorter hair, and I told her I always wanted short hair but mum never let me, and she said that if I met her in the charms room after curfew she'd cut it for me."

Harry ran his hand through his hair. A couple times. These were the kinds of things he needed Pansy for. Mar had started tapping her collarbone, though, like she often did. And the more he let the silence go on, the faster she tapped. He gathered himself together in a deep breath.

"Mar," he said as gently as he could. "Do you know what sarcasm is?"

Mar scrunched up her face. "That's like when someone says something they don't mean, right?"

"Kind of, yeah," Harry agreed. He wanted to touch her hand, hold it still, but was fairly certain that was the wrong thing to do. "Mary was being sarcastic. She was trying to be mean to you."

"Why would she be mean?" Mar asked, looking confused. Harry did his best to keep his cool. He would tell Pansy about this as soon as he could. They would figure out what to do.

"I don't know why she would be mean," he settled on saying. "People can be mean for a lot of reasons. Maybe she was having a bad day."

"Okay," Marlene said. "I understand that. Like when Draco tells you to be quiet at breakfast?"

Harry let out a laugh that sounded more like a choke. "Like that," he said. "Draco is always mean before he has his coffee."

"Ew," she said, making a face. "But Mary didn't say anything mean. She just said she could cut my hair."

Harry sighed. He could feel Hermione's eyes boring through the back of his head, refused to turn back, to see the judgement of Mar he knew must be on their faces. He focused on Mar, who was hitting her leg now, with the bottom of her fist. Not hard enough to hurt, but he was worried, a bit.

"The word she used, the one that you didn't know," Harry said.

"Dyke?" Asked Mar, still hitting her leg.

"Yeah," Harry said. "That's a word – a really mean word – for a girl who likes other girls."

"What's wrong with liking other girls?" Mar asked, scrunching her face again.

"Nothing," Harry said emphatically. Maybe too emphatically – the small girl startled. "There's nothing wrong with anyone liking girls or anyone liking boys."

"Then why is it a mean word?" she asked.

"There are mean words for a lot of things, and a lot of people that there's really nothing wrong with," Harry tried. Mar looked confused. He tried again. "A lot of people say mean things, and that's why there are mean words."

"Oh," she said slowly. "Do people say mean things to you and Draco because you're both boys?"

Really, this whole conversation was much above Harry's non-existent paygrade. "Sometimes," Harry settled on saying. "But it doesn't bother us, because we know the things they say aren't true." He glanced back quickly at Ron and Hermione. Ron was looking tactfully down at his crossed legs. Hermione simply raised an eyebrow at him.

"It's okay if it bothers you, though," he continued. "Sometimes mean things hurt."

She sat for a moment, rocking back and forth while she tapped her collarbone as if considering what Harry was saying. "Can I still get my hair cut?" she finally asked.

Harry smiled at her and she smiled tentatively back. "How about this," he said. "Tonight I can come by the common room with Pansy and she can cut your hair. How does that sound?"

She lunged forward and flung her arms around him. "Thank you," she said into his shoulder. Then she jumped back almost as abruptly as she had leapt forward. With one last, wary look at Ron and Hermione, she ran off. Hopefully, Harry thought, to do homework and not stir up anymore trouble.

"You should report that to McGonagall, you know," Hermione said once Mar was out of earshot.

"Yeah," Harry said. He was exhausted, now. "I'll have to talk to Pansy about it."

"Wow," Ron snorted. "You really are one of them, aren't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked. He tried not to sound angry, not to sound threatening. He was so tired, so exhausted already – the world was greying around the edges of his vision.

Ron tossed down a newspaper clipping in front of him, from the Daily Prophet. He could only make out a headline, dark black on the pale parchment of the newspaper.

Wizengamot Passes Vote to Track All Known Death Eaters and Associates

Something simple was scribbled beside the title in Ron's handwriting. Them or us? It said.

"Want to deal with it yourself, do you?" he asked, as if Harry hadn't spoken. "Ready to chase down a fifth year girl in the corridors to attack her for revenge? What's the curse going to be? I heard you have a pretty mean cruciatus. I know your stupid boyfriend does. You're just like them. You deserve this."

Hermione said something, maybe, Harry wasn't sure. He was dimly aware of them getting up and leaving – or were they backing away from him? He couldn't see anymore, couldn't feel. The world had gone from grey to white, he was angry like he had never been, not even in the Days Before, not when he had hated the world. The newspaper crunched in his hand and then felt hot, as if it had burst into flames.

And then everything was exploding, straight from his hands, his chest, his head – he didn't know. The world was electric, like lightning. Someone was screaming – it was him, he realized. He was screaming. And then there was nothing.