Chapter 20 – Hogwarts

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The train ride passed without incident, unless you counted the First Year girl who got a severe case of car sickness and spent several minutes throwing up, but that is her story, not ours. Harry and Draco didn't see each other during the ride, though it seemed odd to many on the train that their mostly-annual confrontation didn't take place. Thus deprived of their usual entertainments, the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry remained largely in their compartments until the train pulled in to Hogsmeade station. Harry smiled and waved at Hagrid, who was present with his usual "Firs' Years this way!" cry. The half-giant waved back cheerily, and Harry was gratified to find that he wasn't sporting any obvious injuries- perhaps he had seen reason and sent Grawp back to the giants, but more likely, he simply had his 'brother' tied up more securely.

With the first years taken care of, the carriages arrived to transport the older students. Harry watched the thestrals coolly. He didn't like the way they seemed to look at him, as if they could see his blood flowing beneath his skin. He felt some semblance of what he assumed one walking in the desert would feel, if they noticed a vulture watching their every move. He shuddered. His thestral ride to the Ministry of Magic was taken out of necessity- he had no desire to associate with the ominous looking creatures any more than he had to. What he felt, though, was nothing compared to what Draco felt as he observed the creatures for the first time.

He had marked Harry's head in the crowd as he'd gotten off the train, and he had kept an eye on the other boy, subtly moving in his direction while making it seem as though he was moving with the crowd. The thestrals' appearance, though, had made him lose his concentration, and he took several quick steps closer to the dark-haired boy, not caring who saw. The winged, sable horses were looking at him, he could feel it. He knew that they could smell the blood on him; never mind how he knew, he just did. He could feel it, deep inside, and he had the illogical fear that if he didn't hold on to something solid, they would destroy him. And, at that particular moment, the most solid thing he could think of was Harry. He wasn't sure if he had really moved that close, or if Harry had somehow sensed that he was needed, but as he reached out, he felt his hand gripped firmly in the other boy's. He squeezed it on instinct, and, if anything, Harry only pulled him closer; close enough that he could feel the warmth of Harry's arm against his. It was comforting.

"Are those things...?" Draco was not so stupid as to say this entirely out loud; rather, he accomplished a sort of half-mumble in Harry's direction. Harry nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"Thestrals. Yeah, they are. They won't hurt you. We actually rode on them last year." Somehow, Draco didn't find this as comforting as he supposed he should. It took the edge off the fear, but nothing could change the feeling he had that they were sizing him up, wondering which part would be the tastiest... he shuddered. After a long moment, though, he dropped his hold on Harry's hand and stepped away as well as he could without attracting attention, suddenly aware that he was holding hands with Harry Potter in front of the entire school. The entire school, though, seemed not to notice or care. The boys had been at the back of the crowd, and the only people who had the occasion to notice were two giggling girls on one side, and one boy wearing a rather smug expression on the other.

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The annual Hogwarts Sorting and welcoming banquet was noticeably different than usual. The students had begun, of course, by looking for their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, but that seat at the head table was conspicuously not occupied. As usual, Dumbledore half-explained this, informing the students that their new teacher was delayed by personal matters, but would be arriving before the start of classes the next day. Harry noticed that Snape seemed as sour as ever that he had not been given the position, but Harry was personally quite glad of that. But beyond that noticeable absence, there was still a major difference in the mood of the Great Hall this year. It was subdued, even quiet.

The reason for this was probably that one side of the room was much less populated than usual. In fact, the Slytherin table was teetering on the edge of 'empty'. Harry did a quick mental cataloguing, going through the years as best as he could. It looked as though all of the Seventh Years were gone; the Sixth was almost violently depleted. The menacing bulks of Crabbe and Goyle were gone, just as Draco had predicted. Even as low as the Third Year, the numbers were suffering. Most (if not all, Harry wasn't entirely sure) of the Second Years remained, and the Sorting produced an average number of new First Years, who looked rather uncomfortable as they took their places with their new House. From what Harry had seen, it had been Draco and Blaise Zabini who had taken it upon themselves to shove everyone down the benches until most of the gaps filled in. While this seemed to make the First Years more comfortable, it also showed just how much of the House was missing. They only filled between half and two-thirds of the table. And then Harry realized the most startling thing of all. The Slytherin Quidditch team was gone.

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Draco had actually noticed the same thing, and much faster than Harry had. Of course, it was his House, so that was to be expected. Still, without the missing members, they would be hard-pressed to field a team at all, much less a team that stood half a chance against the powerhouse that Gryffindor had become in the previous few years. Draco grimaced. As the only remaining member of the team, the Captain position was obviously his, provided that everything proceeded normally- which meant that it was his problem to get a team ready. And the way things looked, it appeared that Slytherin House would be reduced to holding open tryouts.

Draco railed against the idea; it offended all his sensibilities. Slytherin had never had to hold tryouts; talent was simply identified and recruited. Or bought, with money or influence, it didn't matter. Draco knew his own spot on the team would have been harder to get had his father not stepped in. Still, he also knew that he wasn't a bad Seeker. On the contrary, he was actually a very good one. The problem was that he was generally flying against Harry Potter, the widely-acknowledged wunderkind of Quidditch. And compared to that, he knew, he would never really be seen as anything above 'good'.

Briefly, Draco wondered if Harry would be given the Captain spot for Gryffindor, now that everything had been restored to pre-Umbridge status. Though he had had fun enforcing the rules of the 'regime', Draco knew he probably wouldn't have been anywhere near as sadistic if Quidditch had continued undisturbed. Beating the Hufflepuff team was lovely, but the only real challenge had been in Gryffindor, and that challenge had been grounded along with most of the team. He had spent the entire year itching for a really good match, and he knew that he could finally expect it again in the coming year, whether Harry was Captain or not. Privately, he felt Harry deserved it far more than 'the Weasel'. Harry WAS the Gryffindor team; the whole thing revolved around him. Briefly, his thoughts turned back to the beating he had received at Harry's hands. No other Seeker in the school was that passionate about the game, was that passionate about anything. Even if it was burning you, you couldn't- wouldn't- move yourself away from that kind of fire. Draco's eyes flicked over to the Gryffindor table, and he could feel himself grinning with anticipation. Blaise noticed.

"What's got you looking so happy?" He drawled, snagging the pitcher of pumpkin juice that was making its way around. Draco blinked.

"What? Oh. Just that we're going to have proper Quidditch back again." Blaise caught Draco's meaning, and nodded his agreement.

"Yeah. It was fun winning and all last year, but it's not the same. I'd almost rather lose than have to keep winning like that. It was boring. And they still managed to beat us, in the end. Well, not us, but you know." Draco did. That had stung. "Still, what are we going to do for a team?"

Draco thought for a moment. "Open tryouts to fill up, I guess. I'm Seeking, with you and Pansy we have three. Millicent might make a good Beater, what do you think?"

Blaise was nodding. "Pansy'll Keep; you know she can be vicious at that when she wants to be. I can run the Chasers, but lord knows we'll have to train the new ones. If we add the alternates, we'll be pulling from Third Year before we've got enough decent players."

Draco sighed. Getting a team together could be done. There were plenty of students left who could, with time, become a force to be reckoned with. Getting a winning team together, though, in the short amount of time they had, would take a miracle. Still, the least they could do was to begin to train what was left of the House, in the hopes that they could bring some sort of challenge to the pitch the next year. He resolved to talk to Snape later about reserving the pitch for tryouts. It was embarrassing, but necessary. And, he realized, a fitting irony. They had made Gryffindor do the same the year before.

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Harry's arrival back at Gryffindor tower was nothing spectacular. The only bit of interest occurred when they got the new password (which, incidentally, was "Bergamot". Apparently, aside from being a plant, this was also the name of one of the Fat Lady's lovers some time ago, and she had struck on the idea that it would make a fine password. Ron made hilarious choking noises through this whole explanation, and was elbowed viciously by Hermione, who seemed to find the whole thing rather nostalgic and sweet). Harry didn't really feel like staying up, and so he retired early to the Sixth Year boys' dorm. As usual, the house elves had brought all their luggage up. Harry unlocked his trunk, planning to get his schoolbooks and supplies arranged on his desk before going to bed. What he found, though, was a thick envelope, with his name inscribed in emerald ink on the front. In very familiar handwriting. With a resigned sigh, Harry picked it up and opened it- it was unsealed, and filled with several thick, folded layers of parchment. Each one was filled with the same tight, neat handwriting.

"Draco..." Harry mumbled, confused, as he unfolded the sheets and started reading.

:Harry,

By this point, I'm sure you're wondering two things- what this letter is about, and how I managed to get it into your trunk. To answer the second question first, I'm not going to tell you. That will remain my little secret. As for what this letter is about, it's quite simple. Despite my best efforts, your fashion sense has not manifested itself in any form. I had hoped that by the time we arrived back at school I would not still have to be laying out your clothes. Unfortunately, you still haven't realized important facts of life- for instance, that you look absolutely fabulous in lycra, and horrid in pastels. Anyway, the point is that I will not be seen with you if you continue to dress like you just moved from the homeless shelter. So, I have enclosed a list of outfits that I will allow you to wear. And no, if the right shirt is dirty, you may not substitute. Don't even try me on this one.

Be good, don't pretend you didn't read this letter, and I'll see you in class tomorrow.

Yours,

D.M.:

Harry laughed. He had actually been thinking of pretending he hadn't seen it, just to annoy the other boy. Draco pouting was something Harry never thought he'd be looking forward to seeing, but he had come to find that the feeling in his stomach when the blond's nose crinkled was something he liked.

He glanced at the rest of the parchment. True to form, Draco's list was all-inclusive. He was hereby forbidden from wearing briefs with the black chinos. Why, of course, he didn't know, but he assumed it was some obscure fashion rule that no one had bothered to tell him about (In actuality, it was because Draco firmly believed that Harry's ass looked delectable in the snug pants, and underwear lines would entirely ruin the view). The whole idea was ludicrous, but oh-so-Draco. He refolded his 'instructions' and set them on his desk, then proceeded to unpack. As he arranged his supplies in his desk, he glanced back down at the envelope.

"See you tomorrow." He whispered, smiling to himself, as he turned to crawl into bed.