Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me. Labyrinth characters belong to Jim Henson. Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling. Fiona Phillips belongs to the So Weird universe.
Author's Notes: Technically, this story is a sequel/companion fic to my "Between the Stars", which detailed the Jareth's trial for his deeds during the movie Labyrinth. In that story, I made several references to other fandoms, including to that of Harry Potter and Hogwarts.
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It was only the beginning of October and the new Headmaster Severus Snape had called a staff meeting. Two years since Albus Dumbledore had retired; two years since he claimed he had had enough, that after living through the Two Great Wars and the 1945 uprising that he was done, and meant to take a vacation. Some said he was in Bermuda, spending his days on beaches with tropical drinks in hand, holding conversations with Merlin and Archimedes, other said he was in Siberia or Alaska, enjoying the snow and the wind, drinking hot chocolate and holding chess matches with the Yeti. Wherever he was, Minerva McGonagall had followed him.
While most of the Wizarding World–especially those wizards in the United Kingdom—were surprised to learn of Dumbledore's choice of successor, they didn't question it. Most even went so far as to agree that Snape was a good man for the job, that he certainly held the right integrity for the job, even if he sometimes lacked the necessary patience. And he had mellowed some, since Voldemort's defeat, but that might have been as much to do with his recent marriage to Nymphadora Tonks, and the much more recent birth of their now one year old daughter, Esmerelda.
"Now," Snape started the meeting, taking his seat at the head of the table, "first order of business: Quidditch. First game between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor in two weeks time. What seems to be the problem, Potter?"
If Harry Potter was surprised that Snape addressed him, he didn't show it. "We don't have a proper referee. Bloody difficult to have a match without one."
"Why can Oliver not referee?"
"He left."
If Snape felt any compassion from the heartbreak in Harry's voice, he didn't show it. "So find another one."
"I've looked. Tonks said she'd do it, but she'd have Esme with her."
"I'll talk to her." Snape sighed. "Next order of business, the upcoming Hogsmede weekend. Potter, Granger, Firenze, Draco, you've agreed to stay on the ground with Argus. I trust the remaining lot of you will enjoy your time there. Last order, the Yule Ball. If you have suggestions, come with them to the next meeting. Otherwise, don't bother showing. Dismissed."
Snape stood, leaving the room, those robes billowing behind him, leaving no time for anyone to respond. "Well," Hermione finally said, "I should find Arthur and Emma, and I still have those lesson plans to finish. Harry? You coming?"
"You go ahead, Mione. I'll meet with you later."
"Are you certain? I mean---"
"I'll be fine. Go." Only after he was certain Hermione was gone, did he drop his head against the table. A loud crack at the contact of his skull against the wood resonated throughout the room. "Bugger," he muttered, but only half-heartedly.
"You tell them," laughed Fiona. "Or it," she amended.
Harry flashed her a weak smile, and he sat straight, rubbing his forehead. A quick glance around the room, and he confirmed that he, Fiona, Blaise and Draco were the only ones left in the room, that everyone else had followed Snape and Hermione out already. He gave a long, almost inaudible sigh, and he pushed his chair back and stood, all in one fluid motion. "I'll see you three later."
"Is he ok?"
"I don't know." Draco shook his head, inadvertedly shaking some strands loose from his low ponytail. He stared after Harry's exit. "I don't know."
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Since the Second Great War, the entire Wizarding World had tiptoed cautiously around Harry Potter. No one understood Snape's agreement to Dumbledore's intentions of having him teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, especially when it was no secret that Snape longed for that same position, especially when most parents had made no secret that they thought Harry Potter to be dangerous. He had to be dangerous; he had defeated Voldemort, and he had a temper and a certain charisma to match.
The actual stories varied. Some said Harry destroyed Voldemort single-handedly, while others said he had help. Some said he used his magic and wand, while still others said he used Godric Gryffindor's sword. But all agreed on two very important elements: one, that the only person who could clarify the actual events from the varying rumors was Harry Potter himself, and that he refused to talk to anyone outside his closest friends, and that even they knew very little; and two, that Harry Potter had indeed lost much. Probably too much for any single person to endure and live.
Perhaps most notably he had lost several good mates and one best mate, and one godfather (which had been very much what he imagined would be losing his father all over again), and his one-time lover. He had lost any chance he might have had at playing Quidditch or being an Auror. Not that he wanted to be an Auror anymore. After seeing that much bloodshed and that much death, he wouldn't have been able to fill that position very capably. That especially he didn't talk about. Even the still very tender subject of Ron, he and Hermione would sometimes whisper about over late night cups of tea. But his leg was one of those things that certainly fell more into gossip and rumor as to what people knew compared to his truth.
His leg was what had ultimately almost destroyed him physically. His leg was only one more physical scar for him to carry. Most these days, the limp was only barely noticeable, but he had trouble sometimes with stairs, and he couldn't fly on a broom for very long, and he couldn't walk for very long distances at one time. Eventually he had learned to cope with that, but it had taken a lot from him. Between his own pain, and between the mental anguish he had endured, Harry Potter was a changed man. In that last year, in that last fight with Voldemort, he had been forced to grow up; he had been forced to leave his childhood forever.
Perhaps it was that single fact which drove him now. That he lost almost everything.
Except for maybe Remus Lupin.
If he had to describe Remus Lupin in one word he would choose: sanity.
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After Harry left the staff room, the other three left dispersed soon after. Fiona mumbled something about finding a way to get a Muggle telephone and light bulb in here to show to a fourth-year class she had early tomorrow morning; Blaise offered to help, but only after he went up to the Astronomy tower to make sure the scopes were ready for the meteor shower he had promised to show to his students that evening, in which case Fiona promised to follow him, joking that they could give the students some competition. To which Blaise laughed.
"Draco?" he asked. "Did you want to come also?"
"Nah, you two go ahead. I think I'm going to try to find where Harry disappeared to."
"Sure," Blaise shrugged. "Come by our rooms later. I still have that book you lent me to return to you."
"Sure, later," Draco agreed.
He forced a smile in the direction of his best friend and his best friend's wife, and waited until they left before he let out his sigh.
Draco Malfoy knew exactly where to find Harry Potter. There was no question in his mind that Harry had gone to the Owlery. The only question on his mind was how much time he should allow Harry before he went to find him.
Certainly no one in the Wizarding World had expected such a deep friendship to spring between two such hated enemies and rivals while in school. But after their fifth year, with his father in Azkaban, Draco had had a lot time to think, and a lot of time to scream at house elves. That was the summer that Blaise had spent more time in the States holidaying with his mother, and meeting his little half-brother's for the first time; that was the summer that Pansy Parkinson was on holiday in France with her parents; that was the summer he tried to distance himself from Crabbe and Goyle… and Voldemort…
He spent many times alone that summer, owling long letters to Snape asking for advice, Snape humoring him with slightly shorter letters in return. Upon the end of the summer, he had come to a decision. He didn't want to follow in his father's footsteps; he didn't want to become a Death Eater.
He wished he could say that he returned to school that year and that everything was better, but that wasn't what happened. It had been a long and hard road uphill to get people to respect him on his own, revised terms, and it was even longer before Harry Potter considered him a friend. He had been more than thankful for Blaise in those waning months, and even on some level, Pansy as well.
He didn't exactly turn to the Light side, but he did distance himself from the Dark. And he didn't make that decision strictly to become friends with Harry Potter, but he knew, that in the back of his mind, ever since he had offered his friendship that day in first year on the train, that there was something about Harry that captivated him, that wanted to be friends with him even as they hated each other. It was right before Finals of sixth year, when he had been sitting at the Lake, when Harry found him and sat down next to him. "Ever considered just leaving?" he asked quietly.
Draco didn't remember his response word for word, he didn't figure the actual response to be very important. Just that from that moment on Harry respected him on new, revised terms, and maybe even trusted him. They wrote twice during that following summer, short letters that didn't really say anything, but arriving back for seventh year, it was just understood that they were friends. Even the Weasel and the Mudblood had accepted him eventually, and even eventually he entered uneasy friendships with them.
In retrospect that was probably the best move for both of them: becoming friends. Especially given that final showdown between Harry and Voldemort.
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Just like he predicted, Draco found Harry sitting just inside the Owlery, Hedwig on his arm, with he stroking her feathers, ruffling the wings and the back first one way, then smoothing them out. Hedwig was certainly being very patient.
"I'm not ready to talk, Mione," Harry half-groaned, and half-whispered. He didn't even look up.
"It's not Hermione. It's me."
"Oh, hello, Draco." He sighed, and with only a little difficulty, he stood. Draco knew better than to offer any help. He patted Hedwig's head one last time before he placed her back on her perch. "I decided to send one of the school owls with a letter to Remus, and then realizing I haven't seen Hedwig much recently, thought I'd spend a spell with her."
"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Potter." Draco shrugged. He leaned in the doorway while Harry walked again into the day's fading sunlight. He offered Harry a shaky smile. "How is Remus?"
"Lonely," Harry shrugged. "He keeps after me about this weekend."
"Are you going to?"
"Maybe." Harry shrugged again. "It'd be nice to see Remus again." Harry leaned against the other pillar of the owlery doorway. "I miss him."
"That's understandable."
Harry shrugged again. His head fell back against the pillar. "I'll tell him you say hello."
"Appreciate it."
Harry didn't say anything. Draco studied him briefly; noticed how his hair fell into his eyes; noticed how his glasses were slightly askew atop the bridge of his nose; noticed those bags underneath his eyes; noticed how plainly that scar on his forehead stood out. "Dinner'd be ready by now," he finally spoke again.
"You go ahead," Harry stated. He had closed his eyes. "I'm not hungry. I'll get something from the kitchens later."
"Hermione will worry if you don't show."
Harry's eyes opened, and a small frowning crease appeared in his forehead. He nodded. "Very well," he noted. "Figure I should probably eat something too. She'd probably alert the Minister if I didn't."
"Probably." Draco allowed himself to smile.
