Harry loaded his trunk into a cart, his heart heavier than his belongings as he ran through the gateway onto Platform 9 3/4, not seeing Ron or Hermione anywhere. He sighed. Perhaps it was for the best; that way, he could sit in a compartment alone, instead of having to face more inquiries about his well-being. And he did.
However, no sooner than he had leaned back in his quiet compartment than the door slid open to reveal Draco Malfoy and his bodyguards, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.
"So, Potter," he spat, his voice dripping with malice, "I suppose you think you're too good to sit with your little friends now? I don't see why. You're even worse than the Mudblood; I don't see where you're so special."
But Harry merely stared out the window serenely, not allowing himself to get riled up for the sake of peace and quiet. "Go away, Malfoy," he said.
As usual, Draco refused, saying, "What, does poor little Harry miss the useless old has-been?" He smirked. "That bloke got what was coming to him, he did."
And with that, he left, leaving Harry to cry in silence and in sorrow.
J?K?L
Harry got off the train later, looking around at the landscape and sighing. It seemed like ages ago when he had so eagerly anticipated returning here, returning to his true home. Now, however, it seemed that he almost dread it, the constant reminders of Sirius: the Whomping Willow, the fireplace in Gryffindor Tower, the beech tree by the lake, and, most of all, the ever-present repetitions of apologies from his classmates. And now, with the prospect of facing the entire school's watchful eyes, he grudgingly started off toward the thestral-drawn carriages.
"Harry! Over here, Harry!" Harry stopped on the pretense of climbing into a cab to see Ron waving at him from the window of his cart. "Come on, sit with us!" He nodded, coming over and jumping in next to him and across from Hermione.
"Hey, where were you on the train? We couldn't find you anywhere!" Hermione said, looking incredibly concerned.
Harry shrugged. "I was in a compartment. By myself."
The look on his face made Hermione refrain from inquiring any further. "Ok, Harry," she said, trying to sound nonchalant and failing dismally.
If Ron noticed this, he did a very good job of covering it up, saying, "So who do you think they'll get to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts this year?"
Harry thought about it for a moment, replying finally, "Whoever it is, I just hope they're not as bad as Umbridge." He fingered the small scars on his right hand, all that was left of the horrible detentions in which he had had the words "I will not tell lies" engraved on the back of his hand. He shuddered, partly out of hatred, and partly out of the pain that lingered in his memory.
Ron's eyes traveled to the scratches, and he nodded solemnly as they got out of the carriages. "She was evil, all right. Pure evil. But just think, Harry--she was the lowest of the low. Things can only get better now."
J?K?L
And he was right. As the three friends entered the Great Hall, they were met by a cheery smile from Professor Remus Lupin as he sat at the staff table.
"Definitely better," said Harry happily, waving back at Lupin and sitting down, looking at the teachers. Snape was, as usual, leering unpleasantly back at him, looking thoroughly disheartened at Lupin's return. And for good reason: Snape had been enemies with him and the rest of the Marauders since his school days.
Harry's gaze traveled from this unwelcome sight down to a more puzzling one: Dumbledore was gone. "That's odd..." he said, thoroughly confused. That is, until he heard a familiar voice speak up from behind him.
"What is?" asked Professor Dumbledore mildly. "I believe I am allowed to roam the Great Hall to speak to my students." There was an edge of humor to his voice, though his normally laughing eyes were somber and devoid of emotion.
Harry blushed slightly, feeling his friends' gazes lingering on him as he turned to face the headmaster. "Yes, of course!" he said, somewhat embarrassed. "I'm just not used to it, is all."
Dumbledore nodded, his piercing look almost unbearably solemn as he said, "I thought as much." He paused, then continued, "There are a lot of things that you need to get used to, and I feel we should talk about them." Seeing the look on Harry's face, he added, "In my office, of course."
Harry sighed. Somehow, he had known something like this was going to happen, and had been dreading the mere thought of it. He didn't want to move on, get used to new things; he only wanted to, somehow, return to the moment months ago when Sirius had died, and stop it from happening... But no. That was impossible. Still, though, there was a part of him that wanted desperately to refuse, to yell for once and for all that Sirius was not dead, and they shouldn't move on, they should all just stay put...
"Absolutely," he said. "That'd be fine."
However, no sooner than he had leaned back in his quiet compartment than the door slid open to reveal Draco Malfoy and his bodyguards, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.
"So, Potter," he spat, his voice dripping with malice, "I suppose you think you're too good to sit with your little friends now? I don't see why. You're even worse than the Mudblood; I don't see where you're so special."
But Harry merely stared out the window serenely, not allowing himself to get riled up for the sake of peace and quiet. "Go away, Malfoy," he said.
As usual, Draco refused, saying, "What, does poor little Harry miss the useless old has-been?" He smirked. "That bloke got what was coming to him, he did."
And with that, he left, leaving Harry to cry in silence and in sorrow.
J?K?L
Harry got off the train later, looking around at the landscape and sighing. It seemed like ages ago when he had so eagerly anticipated returning here, returning to his true home. Now, however, it seemed that he almost dread it, the constant reminders of Sirius: the Whomping Willow, the fireplace in Gryffindor Tower, the beech tree by the lake, and, most of all, the ever-present repetitions of apologies from his classmates. And now, with the prospect of facing the entire school's watchful eyes, he grudgingly started off toward the thestral-drawn carriages.
"Harry! Over here, Harry!" Harry stopped on the pretense of climbing into a cab to see Ron waving at him from the window of his cart. "Come on, sit with us!" He nodded, coming over and jumping in next to him and across from Hermione.
"Hey, where were you on the train? We couldn't find you anywhere!" Hermione said, looking incredibly concerned.
Harry shrugged. "I was in a compartment. By myself."
The look on his face made Hermione refrain from inquiring any further. "Ok, Harry," she said, trying to sound nonchalant and failing dismally.
If Ron noticed this, he did a very good job of covering it up, saying, "So who do you think they'll get to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts this year?"
Harry thought about it for a moment, replying finally, "Whoever it is, I just hope they're not as bad as Umbridge." He fingered the small scars on his right hand, all that was left of the horrible detentions in which he had had the words "I will not tell lies" engraved on the back of his hand. He shuddered, partly out of hatred, and partly out of the pain that lingered in his memory.
Ron's eyes traveled to the scratches, and he nodded solemnly as they got out of the carriages. "She was evil, all right. Pure evil. But just think, Harry--she was the lowest of the low. Things can only get better now."
J?K?L
And he was right. As the three friends entered the Great Hall, they were met by a cheery smile from Professor Remus Lupin as he sat at the staff table.
"Definitely better," said Harry happily, waving back at Lupin and sitting down, looking at the teachers. Snape was, as usual, leering unpleasantly back at him, looking thoroughly disheartened at Lupin's return. And for good reason: Snape had been enemies with him and the rest of the Marauders since his school days.
Harry's gaze traveled from this unwelcome sight down to a more puzzling one: Dumbledore was gone. "That's odd..." he said, thoroughly confused. That is, until he heard a familiar voice speak up from behind him.
"What is?" asked Professor Dumbledore mildly. "I believe I am allowed to roam the Great Hall to speak to my students." There was an edge of humor to his voice, though his normally laughing eyes were somber and devoid of emotion.
Harry blushed slightly, feeling his friends' gazes lingering on him as he turned to face the headmaster. "Yes, of course!" he said, somewhat embarrassed. "I'm just not used to it, is all."
Dumbledore nodded, his piercing look almost unbearably solemn as he said, "I thought as much." He paused, then continued, "There are a lot of things that you need to get used to, and I feel we should talk about them." Seeing the look on Harry's face, he added, "In my office, of course."
Harry sighed. Somehow, he had known something like this was going to happen, and had been dreading the mere thought of it. He didn't want to move on, get used to new things; he only wanted to, somehow, return to the moment months ago when Sirius had died, and stop it from happening... But no. That was impossible. Still, though, there was a part of him that wanted desperately to refuse, to yell for once and for all that Sirius was not dead, and they shouldn't move on, they should all just stay put...
"Absolutely," he said. "That'd be fine."