(Updated 8/4/2021) I have long since given up on coherent narration, if you haven't realised :) But if you're still here, thank you for enjoying this complete shit-show with me. I know it's been a while, but I haven't stop thinking about this story, the stream of consciousness is still flowing (more's coming soon)
4. Resignedly Ritualistic
"Malfoy." Harry nodded by way of greeting as he passed Draco in the corridor.
He looked startled for a second, then nodded back, "Potter."
Pansy sighed, "Draco dear, you might as well bow to him. That'd make proper etiquette by the standards of…" she squeezed her brows, "great-great-grandpa Malfoy's times."
Draco glared, put on his poshest accent and said, "Surely, Miss Parkinson, you understand that if I bow I'll have to pause and converse, which would be a disastrous strain on our newfound non-rivaling relation."
"I wouldn't mind freaking Potter out, though."
"And we'll go on from the weather to asking after the respective health of our parents, which I'm sure will be a merry subject of conversation."
"Could be a point of bonding, what do you know."
"Is it a ritual you have with Malfoy?" Anthony asked Harry.
"What? What do you mean?"
"Every time you see each other in the corridors or at a door, you nod with the most serious face, announce each other's last names, then walk on."
"It's just greetings…"
"It's really weird."
Harry sighed. "I know. And guess whose fault it is? Since the stunt you pulled last time we've had to interact knowing the absence of mutual hatred, and it's hard, alright?"
Anthony cocked his head. "Maybe we could help you with another 'stunt' then. What do you think about a test for mutual affection?"
Harry gawked. "You wouldn't."
Anthony frowned, "I'm just trying to help."
"I— I don't need help for this, alright? I can talk to Malfoy and I will, just you wait."
It was the start of Potions when Harry unceremoniously dunked himself into the seat next to a startled Draco.
"Potter!"
Harry silently ducked his head to grab his bag, spilling its contents across the table.
"Potter?! What are you doing here?"
"To ruin your potion this lesson, obviously."
"Can't you find someone else's life to ruin?"
Harry blinked. "Your potion is your life? That's… revealing."
"By Circe. Go. Annoy. Someone. Else."
"The only other open seat is with Michael, and I'd rather not risk my life today. And his last partner is with my last partner," Harry shot a glare towards Hermione and Ron, who grinned sheepishly back, "so this is pure self-preservation."
"I didn't know you had any of that."
"Sod off. Where is Parkinson today anyway?"
"Sick."
"Oh."
"Of potions."
"...Very relatable."
"I thought Corner was the least threatening of the Ravenclaws?"
"You're right, Michael is the chill one, but he also made some two dozen changes to the textbook procedure last time. Poor Hermione, it wasn't good for her nerves."
"You're talking a lot."
"I know. So are you. This is all very surprising."
"You probably should talk less. Start the chopping then, and stay away from the cauldron."
"Fine, you git."
The next time Luna caught Harry in the halls, she looked at him like the world's most adorable crup had nested in his hair. "Harry! What have you been doing?"
Harry was alarmed. "If anything happened, it wasn't my fault— Ron started it!"
"The wrackspurts are choreographing for a victory ritual in your hair!"
"That might explain the headache."
"What did you do?" Luna said thoughtfully, "your wrackspurts are always about Draco. Did the two of you do anything?"
"We… talked to each other a bit."
"That's brilliant, Harry. I'm happy for you— I'm sure you'll be together in no time."
"We— what?"
As if on cue, Draco walked towards them from the corridor end. His face did something complicated as he hesitated, then resignedly settled on a serious blankness.
When he walked by, he nodded and said "Luna, Potter."
Harry could only nod back. "Malfoy." Once he walked past, Harry grimaced. "looks like 'we' still aren't getting anywhere at all."
Luna laughed, "don't be so stiff, Harry, it's only Draco— oh, even your wrackspurts have stopped dancing."
"Since when have they been 'mine'?"
"The wrackspurt chooses the wizard, Harry, everyone knows that."
And Harry gazed, soberly, in wonder, at the strange girl and her breed of weirdos, whom for all appearances seemed unbeaten by the war, and Harry finds himself feeling suddenly grateful.
Luna smiled at him, "Come, Harry, let's take a walk outside. The autumn winds are singing such a pretty song."
"Luna, how do you keep thinking about enlightenment and this thing called truth?" It's easier to ask silly questions like this with silly people, Harry decided, especially while sitting cross-legged on the grassy slope that runs down to the lake. The early evening wind is gentle.
"Because it's there, isn't it?"
"How do you know it's there— when things are, such a mess— and it seems like we're just hiding here at Hogwarts from everything now—"
"But Harry Potter," she looked amused, "you of everyone must know that there are true things, and there are good things. If we say that nothing is true, then when Voldemort lost he also had won,"
Harry didn't reply, so she kept talking to the bird sitting on the branch above them, "the truth is never what we think it is. It might be everywhere. In this pebble, this drop of water."
The bird chirped happily.
"I'm glad you agree," she beamed at the ball of fluttering feathers shining in the golden sun.
And somehow, Harry felt better. There are true things, good things carried everywhere— with the people who left us, even if we don't know what they are, or can't ever see the full picture now. Knowing that they were good and true— at least partly, nothing can change that— it felt okay to put them down and finally go marching on. Dumbledore be damned.
Dinner is never uninteresting at the Ravenclaw table. Sitting across from each other, Anthony and Terry were staring daggers at each other. The tension was palpable. The two of them— and a few onlookers on either side— were completely silent, save for Anthony's rhythmic clicking of his fork on his goblet.
"You," he jabbed the fork towards Terry, "have no rights to decide the validity of someone else's greeting rituals."
"First stumble, Andy, there's no such thing inherent in the universe as rights— more than the illusory self-important labels people gave themselves, which mean nothing out of our social context."
"Yes Terry," Michael whispered from the side, "shots fired!"
Anthony glared. "Fine. The society gives you no permission to judge—"
"—Then shall I forever bow and abide by only what society tells me to do? Imagine that."
"Stop generalizing my claims!"
"Stop making ungeneralizable claims then."
"Terry, it breaks my heart to interrupt you all, but here's the final draft of our project as promised."
"Oh Draco! What a lovely addition to the discussion— come sit down, you're the subject matter." Luna said.
"They're fighting about whether your 'greeting ritual' with Harry is an insipid and forceful structure that limits everyone's human potential."
"Am I meant to understand what is happening?"
"I think so, since you're the topic being discussed."
"Terry, please just take this draft, then you can be forever free from me and the agony that I surely inspire."
"Draco— what are you talking about? I enjoyed working with you! Can we be partners again for the next project?"
Draco looked faintly horrified.
"Oh Terry," Luna said, "Draco doesn't want to work with you, he's just too polite to say so."
"It's alright Malfoy just say no," Anthony said drily, "Terry doesn't abide by social niceties."
Terry giggled, "It's okay Draco, I know you prefer Harry to me."
From the Gryffindor side, Harry could be found watching the scene avidly.
"Do you think they get a rise out of these fights or something?" He leaned in to Ron and said.
"Dunno, Harry. Did you and Malfoy?"
"Ron!"
