A/N: Kinda forgot to post this chapter her, it's been out on AO3 since Thursday, oops!

I was a little disheartened after the lackluster reaction (well, lack thereof) to the last chapter (I mean, what did I expect, people don't stick around for 5 years) but whatever! Here's another one, I hope whatever readers I have left enjoy it :)

Also, I've been diagnosed with COVID last week. Entirely irrelevant to the story, but it felt worth mentioning. Not doing too great.

The holidays approached rapidly, and Harry had never been more glad about it. The Saturday before Easter, he was shaken awake by Ron in the morning, and after a quick breakfast, the two plus Hermione and Ginny were queuing in the Entrance Hall for the coaches to Hogsmeade Station.

'I don't think I've ever seen so many people go home for Easter', whispered Ron. 'The train is going to be crammed.'

It was true, Harry realised as he looked around. Usually, most of them stayed at Hogwarts and only went home for Christmas, but this year, almost the entire school was gathered.

'Do you think they have extra carriages?' Hermione replied from his right. 'Or maybe they charmed the train to fit more people.'

'I still don't see why we can't just apparate home', Ron complained. 'We're all old enough, aren't we?'

Harry tuned out their conversation as Hermione began to argue with Ron about the pointlessness of sending everyone home by train. Instead, he let his eyes wander. A little farther ahead, he spotted Luna, and nodded at her when she noticed him. Smiling, she waved back.

Still looking over the crowd, Harry was brought back to reality when Ginny elbowed him in the side. The line was moving again, and then, finally, they were outside and walking towards one of the coaches. No longer horseless, and while they hadn't been horseless to him for a long time, a few gasps from the people around him reminded Harry just how many of their classmates could see the thestrals now.

Death had paid them all a visit.

After a short ride past the Forbidden Forest and through the school's gates, the convoy of coaches arrived at the outskirts of Hogsmeade, taking a left outside the village and approaching the station. Between the additional eighth year students, and the many muggle-born ones who had had to repeat a year after being banned the previous year, the platform was overflowing with pupils.

The train was already waiting and despite the stressful circumstances surrounding their departure, Harry felt relief at the sight. Hogwarts Express no longer meant a summer full of Dursleys, now it had come to mean home. Garden gnome's, Molly Weasley's cooking, trips to Diagon Alley. Family.

'Oi, 'arry! There ye are!' Turning at the sound of Hagrid's voice booming over the crowd, Harry spied the man some twenty metres towards the fRont of the train, waving at them. With his friends in tow, Harry pushed his way past the other students towards him.

'Didn' think I'd let ye off ter London an' not say goodbye, did ye?' Hagrid rumbled as he pulled Harry into a tight hug.

'Look, whatever ye do, don' let 'em get to ye, a'ight? That's fer ye too', he gestured towards Hermione and the two Weasleys, 'those hacks dunno what they's talkin' abou'. Jus' keep yer heads up.'

He patted Harry on the back as he released him from his hug. 'Now, off with ye. An' behave yerself.'

Once the group had boarded the train, finding a place to sit proved harder than expected, and not just because there were more students this year. In the first three carriages they went through, every compartment was either half empty but with seats suddenly reserved for someone else, or full of people perfectly willing to seat Harry's friends, but not Harry himself. One held a group of fourth year Slytherins, who were oddly eager to welcome Harry to their compartment, but the four of them silently agreed to find something else.

Eventually, they found an empty room near the back of the last carriage, and finally sat down. The Honeydukes cart stopped by shortly after, and surrounded by cauldRon cakes and chocolate frogs, Harry could almost forget his troubles.

By the time the train finally reached King's Cross, they had long run out of things to talk about, and Harry had never been more relieved to see the lights of London appear outside the windows. As the station drew closer, students began to crowd outside the compartments.

All that relief vanished, however, once they set foot on the platform. While the parents mostly ignored him, only some glaring at him, a flash caught Harry's attention. He whipped his head around and caught the man just as he raised his camera again, and he was just about to go over and give him a piece of his mind when Ginny caught his hand.

'It's not worth it, Harry', she whispered. 'Just… let's go home, alright?'

And Harry let himself be dragged towards the exit, where he could already see Mr Weasley waiting for them.

TROUBLE IN PARADISE? Potter disappears — Malfoy still at Hogwarts

by Heribert Kettlemaker

Has love forsaken Harry Potter? The wizard was spotted by witnesses leaving King's Cross in the company of his ex-girlfriend, Ginevra Weasley, towards a destination unknown. Potter's unexpected association with Draco Malfoy, Britain's second-mist infamous dark wizard, made headlines last month, leading to speculation (the Prophet reported). Several concerned witches and wizards have since written to Potter, urging him to break ties with the infamous Death Eater. (see our interview with Mrs Dowell of Stoke-on-Trent on page 8). So far, all attempts to warn him have gone unanswered.

Our sources confirmed Malfoy currently still resides at Hogwarts castle (Mr Malfoy could not be reached for a comment). What does this new development mean for the two wizards? Several classmates have hinted at a romance between the couple, a development as unlikely as objectionable, while many concerned parents shared their fears about Mr Malfoy's possible plans for Potter and their children with us. Mr Malfoy had only recently been acquitted of several charges in a highly controversial trial, in no small part by the testimony of Harry Potter (see page 11 to read what the Ministry of Magic's chief prosecutor has to say about the terms of Mr Malfoy's parole).

Mr Malfoy, who was described by several witches as handsome but manipulative, has avoided any public appearances since his trial, and rumours are running rampant about his private life. 'He can be very charming if he wants to', said one classmate who wished to remain anonymous. 'I always thought there was something off about him, even before the whole You-Know-Who story', confirmed another.

Many students were concerned about Mr Malfoy's re-admittance to Hogwarts, but are nervous to speak out against the new leadership of the school…

Every word was like a stinging hex. In an attempt to make Harry comfortable, Mrs Weasley had banned all copies of the Daily Prophet from the Burrow, but Harry had owled George and asked for a copy to be mailed to him. Hurtful as it was, he had to know what they wrote about him. And by the looks of it, he had been right to suspect his withdrawal from Hogwarts would cause an uproar.

Many are nervous to speak out against the new leadership. Harry read the sentence over and over. So now they were dragging McGonagall into it, too. Harry remembered that her decision to allow Draco to return had been controversial, but compared to now, the headlines at the time had been downright tame.

Steps sounded on the stairs, and Harry hurried to close the newspaper. Before he could find somewhere to hide it, the door opened to reveal Hermione.

'Harry? Molly asked me to tell you that Arthur needed your help with something, and I wanted to tell you that Ron and I were planning to go to the village later, in case you wanted to come with us.'

'Er, no thank you', Harry declined. Feeling like the third wheel with the couple was the last thing he needed right now. 'Have fun, though.'

Judging by the sympathetic look she gave him, Hermione knew exactly what he thought. Whatever. If this was an attempt to cheer him up, he didn't want it. He didn't need to be cheered up.

Hermione's eyes fell on the Prophet still in Harry's hands. She grimaced.

'Don't let Ron see that. He gets so angry whenever someone brings up the Prophet, I think he might have an aneurysma if he sees you reading that rubbish.'

Harry hurriedly shoved the offending paper into the nearest drawer. 'Right. I, uh, better go and see what Arthur needs me for.'

Hermione nodded. 'He's probably found another Muggle toy and wants you to explain it. See you later, Harry.'

As it turned out, Mr Weasley didn't need any help whatsoever. As soon as he saw Harry approach, he directed him towards the new shed he had made his workshop after the Burrow's rebuilding.

'Harry', he began. 'I've been meaning to, err, talk to you about certain things…' He nervously adjusted his glasses. 'Uhm. Molly doesn't want me to bring this up, she thinks you shouldn't be bothered with it while you're here, but, well…'

'Is it about Malfoy?' Harry interrupted him, already dreading where this conversation was going.

'Well, yes', Mr Weasley admitted, 'naturally.'

'Forget it', Harry waved off. 'I don't want to hear it.'

'Harry, wait', Mr Weasley urged. He sighed. 'I understand that this has all been all very difficult for you, but I want to help you.'

'Fine', Harry grumbled. / The wizard beamed. 'Great! Then why don't you start by telling me what's actually going on between you two. Your words, not whatever the Prophet prints these days.'

Harry shrugged. 'There isn't really anything. We're… friends, I suppose.' He pushed aside a disassembled toaster to sit down on the workbench. 'He hasn't really done anything this year, you know? No, no insults in the hall, no nasty rumours, I don't think he's picked a single fight.'

At Mr Weasley's incredulous glance, he added, 'oh, he's still all', he gestured vaguely, 'all Malfoy-ish and sassy and arrogant and all, but… I don't know, it's not like him.'

'I asked him for help with Potions a while back', Harry continued, 'and he actually did help me.' After making you grovel for about ten minutes, he added in his head. 'And we've sort of made it a regular arrangement. We meet, we study together. That's it. He helps me with Potions and I help him with DADA.'

'Fascinating', Mr Weasley commented. 'You and Draco Malfoy, friends.'

Harry snorted. 'It's odd, isn't it? I don't know, but I think he's changed somehow. He's not the same. We actually get along, and he's not so bad to spend time with, once you get to know him.'

He regarded Mr Weasley curiously. 'I suppose you're going to tell me I need to stay away from him, too?'

The man shook his head. 'I can see why you would think that, but no. As you know, my old job required regular visits to Malfoy Manor—'

Raids was more like it, Harry thought. Lucius Malfoy's bad habit of collecting cursed artifacts had been infamous.

'—and, well, Lucius and I spent more time with each other than either of us would have liked. I like to think I got to know him fairly well.'

Mr Weasley brushed a strand of ginger hair behind his ear. 'Lucius Malfoy is an evil man, Harry. There's no other way of putting this. He has dedicated his life to restoring a pure-blood aristocracy that hasn't existed for half a century. But his son Draco… he's never quite left the same impression as his father.'

'Oh, of course', he interrupted Harry before the latter could protest, 'he's behaved every bit like I would expect from someone who's had the dubious honour of being Malfoy's only son. But I believe he is as much victim of his father's education as he is himself to blame for his own actions. If he can overcome what he was raised to be, who are we to reject that?'

'You sound like Dumbledore', Harry said without thinking.

Mr Weasley smiled. 'You flatter an old man, Harry. But if you can find it in yourself to forgive Draco Malfoy, then I don't see why you shouldn't. Be cautious – I'm not saying you should blindly believe every word he says! – but I trust you to handle yourself.'

Thunder rolled in the distance, and he sighed. 'We had better go back inside. And remember, not a word of this to Molly. We wouldn't want to upset her.'

Around 500 miles away, Draco was brooding over a similar article. He had chosen a spot far away from the castle, on the far side of the lake, before opening the bundle of newspapers his owl had brought him, and in a move entirely unbecoming of a Malfoy, he had screamed his frustration into the air until the tree behind him had gently patted him on the back with its branches.

At that point, he had hurried to move his campsite away from the woods. Stray magic seeping out of the castle did strange things to the surrounding nature.

Above him, the raindrops fell and evaporated with a sizzling noise when they hit his protection charm. He tossed another paper on the pile besides him. The Prophet, Witch Weekly, a special issue of Thaumaturgic Tales, and a few others. Some were more, or less, sympathetic to him, but the tenor was the same. Potter was either innocent and victim of his, Draco's, charms and manipulations; or had sold out his beliefs to join Draco in some sort of never-seen-before evil scheme. Witch Weekly's editor Margaritha Hatbad had written half a page about Draco's supposed 'subversive seductions' and his 'effeminate yet powerful appearance', and Draco still wasn't sure whether that was meant to be criticism or admiration.

With a sigh, he set the pile on fire. Know your enemy, nothing wRong with that, but after studying the various smears against him for an hour, Draco felt none the wiser. He wondered if Harry had seen them and hoped not.

Harry. Right.

Getting away from Hogwarts was probably the best move, but oh how Draco envied him. He would much rather have gone with Harry than be stuck in this miserable castle all alone. The house tables in the Great Hall had temporarily been replaced with a huge, singular breakfast buffet – no doubt one of the headmistress's brilliant ideas about unity – but for the sake of his health and an undisturbed breakfast, Draco had been taking his meals in the dorms, or, whenever the weather allowed it, outside.

Harry.

No matter what he tried to distract himself with, Draco's thoughts always seemed to return to the subject of Harry lately. Spending too much time with Gryffindors was bad for your head, apparently. With most of the school gone, Draco had even gone down to the Quidditch pitch a few times to train, or just fly around for fun, but even there – or perhaps, especially there – his thoughts inevitably dwelled on Harry. The man was a menace, sure, but he was also a prodigy with the broom. Draco would have loved to play him, seeker against seeker, no audience or game.

Despite Mr Malfoy's colourful past, we were unable to find any past girlfriends, or in fact any evidence that he has ever shown any interest in the fairer sex, Kettlemaker from the Prophet had written. Draco had been enraged enough to hurl the paper at the nearest tree, which had thankfully not thrown it back. For one, there were plenty people who could testify to his and Pansy's past, and for two… well what business of the Prophet was it anyway? Oh Salazar, him and Potter, what an absurd thought.

Like Potter would, Draco thought. Disgraced intellectuals hardly seemed Potter's type. If – if! – Potter even leaned that way, surely he would go for someone like Weasley's sister, just, like, a bloke. Bad temper, popular, red-headed, athletic, dirt poor. By Merlin, Draco had an easier time picturing Potter with one of the male Weasley's than ever showing interest in someone like him.

Draco stood up and dismissed his protection charm with a wave of his hand. Absurd. Potter and him. Ha! There were higher chances of him getting together with the squid in the lake, or a house elf, than with Potter. Not that it was something he was even remotely interested in. Absurd, far-fetched, and not at all what he or Potter or anyone else wanted. A waste of time to even think about.

Nevertheless, later that day, when he had dried himself up and curled up in a seat by the fire in the empty Slytherin common room, Potter's absence didn't stop gnawing on him.

Bloody Gryffindors, he thought, never there when you need one. Bloody, short-sighted, comforting, idiotically self-sacrificial, brilliant Gryffindors. Especially the ones with scars and black hair.

He chose not to dwell on the fact that needing this particular Gryffindor was a sensation equal parts novel and shocking to him.

When Draco woke up the next morning, his mood hadn't improved in the slightest. He took advantage of the absence of his housemates to have breakfast in the near-empty common room, unbothered by the few Slytherins who had remained. The first-years usually gave him a wide berth, and the older ones knew to stay away from a wizard with twice their experience. Picking on Draco season would be on again once his classmates returned, but without Goyle or Thorley to back them up, the third and fourth-years wouldn't dare.

After breakfast, he retreated to the library. Even without homework to do – the teachers had been easy on them, and what few assignments there were, Draco had finished during the first few days –, the library had become one of his favourite places to be. Not least because, under the ever-watchful eyes of Madam Pince, he was at least somewhat safe from aggression.

With nothing else to do, Draco pretended to immerse himself in the study of an old tome about advanced potions. He had tried taking a nap once or twice, but the risk was too great, and even now, when the castle was all but empty, he didn't fancy letting his guard down. Nevertheless, after a few hours, he found his eyelids getting heavy.

Most of his dreams were incoherent and barely comprehensible, and if the few that made sense revolved around Harry… well, then that was entirely his business and nobody else's.

A/N: We are getting somewhere! At last! After 50,000 words of "slow", we're finally getting closer to the "burn" part xD