Harry strode through King's Cross Station on the morning of September 1st, and the crowd split. A few people did not notice him approaching and gasped in surprise when they saw him. He tried not to grin – he was still in muggle London, but he was happy to know that the large crow on his shoulder was enough to shock even the most stalwart Londoner. Maeve, the crow, was Harry's new familiar. He had written to McGonagall for permission soon after finding her in the Magical Menagerie. Crows were technically not allowed at Hogwarts, but Harry doubted he could love another owl after losing Hedwig. And he had thought Maeve an intelligent and curious bird from the start, when she managed to steal a galleon from his goblin-enchanted anti-theft money pouch in the store. On later thought, Harry realized the goblins probably never enchanted the pouch, and instead just said they did and took his money, but by that time he had already fallen half in love with Maeve, who had proven to be exceptionally affectionate. She rarely left Harry's shoulder, and she had already trained Harry to give her a treat so he could use the bathroom in peace.
Harry looked much better than he had a month previous. The fact that he had made the conscious decision to relax and enjoy his last year at Hogwarts meant that he was sleeping much better. He was still plagued by nightmares, but his skin was no longer grey and there weren't bags under his eyes anymore. He was freshly shaven and, with the once vibrant and distinctive lightning scar on his forehead now faded into a thin white line, he felt comfortable cutting his hair short enough that it wasn't quite so much of an incomprehensible mess. He was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, with a light jacket.
Harry stopped in front of the brick pillar separating platforms 9 and 10. He stood there and checked his watch, surreptitiously watching the crowd that was still glancing at him. He still had half an hour. After a few minutes, he was satisfied that everyone around was acclimatised to his presence enough to not be openly staring at him and his bird, and casually stepped backwards through the brick pillar. He turned and continued walking onto the hidden Platform 9 ¾, from which the shiny, scarlet Hogwarts Express waited to bring him to Scotland. He nodded to the two Aurors waiting on the magical side of the barrier.
"Henderson, Savage," he said to the two men. They nodded back and stepped forward. The crowd of parents and students soon noticed Harry and rushed towards him. The two Aurors remained grim-faced and escorted Harry to the train. Harry struggled not to roll his eyes as he reminded himself that, though the war had been over for a few months, there were still Voldemort sympathizers out there and he was still a target.
A few minutes later, they arrived at the entrance to one of the train cars. Harry turned to the two Aurors and gave them both a smile. "Thank you, Mal, Jimmy," he said, and offered them both his hand. "I'll see you around."
Aurors Malcom Savage and James Henderson smiled back and both shook his hand. They had worked together a few times since the battle. "I've gotta say, Potter, wish you weren't headed back to school," Malcom said.
Harry laughed. "Robards still has you working mad hours?" he asked. Gawain Robards had taken over the Auror Corps several years earlier and had been part of the Resistance during the war. James nodded sadly with an exaggerated look of despair. "Merlin, you're really making me want to go back."
James laughed. "Look after yourself, Potter," he said and threw him a salute, along with Malcom. Harry saluted back, feeling a bit like he didn't have a right to. The two Aurors turned and returned to their station at the entrance to Platform 9 ¾.
The situation wasn't much different on the train than on the platform, as many many well-wishers and fans wished to speak with him. He navigated the train corridor with as much dignity as possible and found an empty compartment. With a groan, he flopped onto the seat and pulled out his wand. He waved it at the door and set a notice-me-not ward for everyone except his friends. The crowd in the corridor dispersed, vaguely wondering why they had gathered. Then he pulled a small, wooden box from his pocket and set it on the ground. He waved his wand again and it expanded into his trunk. He levitated the trunk to the rack overhead. He brought his foot onto the seat and Maeve moved to his knee. He stroked her soft neck feathers as he waited for his friends.
He had chosen to come to the station alone. It was simpler that way. He was of age and living by himself, and, unfortunately, Ron and Hermione were living with the Weasleys, and his ex-girlfriend. He sighed. He didn't hate Ginny, and he didn't even especially want her back, but whenever he saw her or thought of her, he felt a deep cold stabbing ache in his guts. He only hoped it would go away someday, but for the time being, it made it very difficult to see his best friends, even after they had returned from Australia a few weeks ago. Hermione's parents had to stay for a little while to sell their house and business, but were supposed to follow in the Fall.
After a few minutes, the doors opened to his compartment. He looked up and smiled warmly as Luna and Neville entered. Neville was already in his school uniform, and on his chest was the Head Boy's badge. Harry hugged them both in greeting and then clapped Neville on the shoulder.
"Congratulations, mate," he said and nodded at the badge with a wide smile.
Neville matched it. An ugly scar descended down his handsome face from temple to chin – a souvenir from the past year which he spent fighting the Death Eater rule of Hogwarts. He was a far cry from the pudgy, frightened boy Harry had met 7 years previous on their first train ride looking for his toad. Neville was now tall and broad shouldered, with a lantern jaw, a friendly smile, bright blue eyes, and dirty blonde hair.
"Thanks, Harry," he said, and his smile faltered a bit. "It should've been you. You killed the bastard."
Harry rolled his eyes. He forgot how insecure Neville could still be, even after standing up to Voldemort and killing the last Horcrux. "Nev, you stepped up last year," he said. "You led. You're a no-brainer for Head Boy." Then he took a step back and buffed his nails on his shirt. "Besides, I am a man."
Neville shoved Harry and took a seat. "I can only stay a few minutes," he said. "I have to be in the Head Compartment."
Harry nodded and turned to Luna, who had sat down beside him. She was a slip of a girl a year younger than Harry. She had straight, dirty blonde hair and blue, protuberant eyes. Harry noticed that her eyes were less bright and curious than usual, and she wasn't wearing the assortment of strange jewellery and charms, to scare away or attract creatures only she had ever heard of, that she had always worn. Harry wished Luna, of all people, hadn't suffered as much as she did. She was an odd one before the war, but innocent and sweet. Like everyone else, though, she had changed. She had spent several weeks as a prisoner of Bellatrix Lestrange – Voldemort's most sadistic lieutenant – in order to bring her father, who owned an independent newspaper called the Quibbler which was publishing anti-Voldemort propaganda, to heel. Since then, Luna had been far more grounded, which, if you asked Harry, was a damn shame.
"How was the rest of your summer, Luna?" Harry asked. Luna was also Ginny's best friend, so Ginny had won primary custody of her after the break-up. Harry had seen her a few times, but not nearly as much as he wanted.
"Fine," she said with a small smile. "A lot of healing." Harry nodded at that. "Your new familiar is beautiful. What's her name?"
Maeve ruffled her feathers at Luna's compliment. Harry chuckled and pet her neck. "This is Maeve," he said. "Maeve, this is Luna and Neville, two of my best friends." Maeve nodded at the two of them and squawked twice. "She says hi."
Luna giggled. "It's nice to meet you, Maeve," she said, leaning down to look the bird in the eye. Harry smiled at seeing his friend acting more like herself.
"You didn't get a new owl?" Neville asked. They had communicated that summer with his grandmother's grey owl, Diogenes. Maeve could deliver mail, but did so with extreme reluctance. Harry didn't mind – he hoped his days of needing a fierce and dedicated protector of his correspondence were behind him.
Harry felt tears sting his eyes at the question and he suddenly looked down at his hands. Maeve hopped up to his shoulder and stroked his cheek with her beak. Neville's eyes widened and he started stammering an apology, but Harry waved it off and wiped his eyes.
"Sorry," he said. "I wasn't sure if I was ready for another owl. Hedwig was special." Maeve continued to stroke his cheek. He cleared his throat and turned to Neville. "But Maeve is great. She's a complete suck."
Further discussion was stopped by the door to the compartment opening again. Harry looked up, smiling, to see his two best friends – Ron and Hermione. Ron was a tall young man who had managed to attain some muscle after years of being incredibly lanky. He had straight red hair, many freckles, and a long nose. Hermione, beside him, was a bit shorter than Harry, with bushy brown hair she constantly struggled to control, warm brown eyes, and, almost always, a slightly concerned expression on her face. Harry got to his feet to embrace his friends, but his joy was mitigated when he saw Ginny sulking behind them.
"Ron! Hermione!" he said after they had embraced. "How are you?" He looked at Ginny and winced when he saw she was pointedly not looking at him. "Ginny," he said with a nod. She nodded as well, but didn't respond or make eye-contact.
"We're just stowing our things, sorry!" Hermione said. By the tone of her voice, and the state of her hair, she was stressed out. "Someone didn't pack in time." She glared at Ron, who shrugged.
"We're allowed to be late," he said and lifted his trunk into the overhead racks, apparently forgetting that he was a wizard.
"No, we're not," Hermione hissed. Harry tried not to chuckle – Hermione always hissed when she was angry, and it always reminded Harry of the time in their second year she had been transformed into a catgirl for a couple of weeks. "I'm the Head Girl!"
Harry then noticed she was wearing her school uniform, and the Head Girl badge was pinned to her chest. Ron was also wearing his uniform and was wearing his Prefect badge. He stifled a groan. It seemed like all of his friends, except for his ex-girlfriend and her best friend, would be busy with Prefect duties during the train ride. Still, he smiled at Hermione. "Congratulations, Hermione!" he said. "I knew you'd get it."
Hermione turned to him and smiled. "Thank you, Harry," she said, then worried her lip. "Sorry I didn't tell you; it must have slipped my mind."
Harry shrugged. "I didn't even think about it," he admitted.
Neville looked at his watch and turned to Ron and Hermione. "We should get going," he said. "The meeting's supposed to start in five minutes."
Hermione nodded but Ron groaned. "We just got here, mate," he said. "Can't I sit down for a few minutes? I've been running around for the past two hours."
Hermione huffed at her boyfriend. "That's your own fault," she said. "Come on, we can't be late."
"Yes, we can," Ron said simply. Hermione glared at him. "We're war heroes, we can do whatever the hell we want."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, but we shouldn't be late. Now come on," she said and walked out of the compartment. Ron groaned again, but followed, along with Neville.
Harry shook his head at his best friends and, as an almost automatic reaction, looked to Ginny. Much of their previous friendship had been built on their shared amusement and exasperation at the byplay between Ron and Hermione over the years, and Harry would often catch Ginny's eye when one or the other did something especially aggravating.
Harry and Ginny's eyes caught and, for a moment, both sets were alight with amusement, before they both remembered who they were looking at. They both averted their eyes.
"Luna?" Ginny asked quietly. "Do you want to find a compartment?"
Luna nodded and turned to Harry. "I'll see you around, Harry," she said and left Harry alone.
Harry sighed as the door slid close. His plans for a fun and relaxing year at Hogwarts with his friends were already up in smoke, and the train hadn't even left yet. As if on cue, the final whistle to board blew, and the train started to move. Harry watched the platform slip away, and noticed quite a few people waving at him. He smiled and waved back. Then he sank into his seat and wondered how he should spend the day.
He could stay in the compartment and wait for his friends to swing by on their patrols, but that sounded boring. He knew he didn't want to leave the compartment and face the grateful masses again, though. He felt bad about it, but he had a difficult time accepting the thanks of the wizarding world sometimes. Hermione had called it survivor's guilt when he told her this. He was glad that what he was feeling was common enough that it had a name, but he still had to deal with it. As far as Harry was concerned, he had to fight in the war – fate and his own morality would demand no less – but fighting in the war was the worst thing he had ever done. He had killed, for Merlin's sake. He felt like a fraud whenever anyone thanked him for it, but he couldn't explain that to them. The people who thanked him, he knew, needed him to accept their gratitude and needed him to be strong. They needed that and they deserved that for surviving the war, but Harry really didn't like doing it.
Still, he couldn't hang out in the compartment all trip, and they did deserve the chance to thank him, so Harry pushed himself up from his seat. He approached the door and, with a deep breath, slid it open. Almost immediately, a younger boy in the corridor spotted him and rushed over.
Harry continued his way down the train, stopping every couple of meters to speak with someone who wanted to thank him. He peeked into the compartments as he passed, but he only saw the smiling faces of strangers. Eventually, after twenty minutes of shaking hands, Harry spotted a compartment with some people he knew. He begged off the crowd around him, stepped into the compartment, and slid the door closed. He sat down heavily, groaned, and greeted the other four members of the compartment – Padma and Parvati Patil, Dean Thomas, and Seamus Finnegan. Dean, Seamus, and Parvati were Harry's year mates in Gryffindor, and Padma was Parvati's twin sister from Ravenclaw. As such, the two women looked very similar – they both had a pretty face, bright and dark eyes, and long, straight black hair. Dean was a tall black man, and he had lost his left hand in the war. He was a muggleborn, and so spent much of the last year running and hiding from Voldemort. In its place was a brass clockwork hand, over which Dean wore a black glove. Seamus was a small man, with messy straight brown hair and an easy grin perpetually plastered to his face.
"Tired of the adoring masses already?" Seamus asked.
"There's just so many of them," Harry groaned. "And they all want to thank me for murdering someone."
"Do you really see it that way?" Padma asked. She had a book open on her lap.
Harry sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "No," he said. "Just, I know Voldemort was an evil prick, but I saw him when he was a kid, for Merlin's sake." The others looked at him in confusion and horror. He hadn't talked a lot about his experiences in the war, so they had no idea what he was talking about. He waved a hand. "Dumbledore showed me memories, to better know my enemy." He sighed again. "Don't get me wrong, Voldemort was a creepy kid, but…" He shook his head and looked around the compartment. The other occupants were looking at each other uncomfortably.
Harry winced. "Sorry," he said. "I'm trying not to be like this."
"Harry," Parvati said carefully. "You're allowed to be sad."
Harry shook his head. "No," he said. "I'm trying to be different this year. The war is over, the monster's dead, and I am going to relax."
"Oh yeah?" Seamus asked with a laugh.
"Yeah," Harry said with a determined nod. "This year I'm only going to worry about three things. Number one," and he raised a finger. "I'm going to win the Quidditch cup. Number two," he raised a second finger. "I'm going to be an animagus. And number three," he raised a third finger. "I'm going to make out with the hottest girl in school."
The rest of the compartment burst out laughing. Harry looked at them, confused. "What?" he asked.
Dean sobered himself first and wiped tears from his eyes. "You're going to make out with the hottest girl in school?" he asked, incredulous. "You?"
Harry looked at him. "Yeah, why?" he asked.
Dean shook his head. "Mate, you are terrible with girls," he said.
"What?" Harry asked. "No, I'm not."
"Harry, remember when we went to the Yule Ball together?" Parvati asked. Harry turned to her and recalled the night in Fourth year with a wince. "Yeah, you treated me like shit. I hated you after that." Harry tilted his head at her. She sighed and shook her head. "By that point, I knew you, Harry. I knew you could be this sweet, brave, charming guy, and you danced with me once then ignored me for the rest of the night. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?"
"Oh," Harry said and looked down at his lap. "I'm sorry."
Parvati rolled her eyes. "Whatever, it was years ago," she said and nudged her sister. "At least you were a better date that Ron."
Padma huffed and looked up from her book. "A blast-ended skrewt would've been a better date than Ron," she said. "He spent the entire time glaring at Hermione and Krum." Harry laughed at the memory – it was the first time Harry noticed that his best friend was head over heels for his other best friend. Padma shook her head. "I can't believe they actually got together."
Harry looked at her. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"Ron and Hermione are not going to last," Parvati answered authoritatively instead. "They fight too much and they're too different. It's not a good relationship."
This time Harry burst out laughing, but no one else joined him. He quickly stopped and looked around the room – no one else looked like they were going to disagree with Parvati. He turned to her. "You're joking, right?" he asked.
Parvati furrowed her brow. "Not at all," she said. "They're going to kill each other."
Harry shook his head with a disbelieving smile. "I can't believe I'm hearing this," he said, then looked Parvati straight in the eye. "Look, I know they fight a lot and they are very different. I love them both dearly, but they are flawed people. But…" He shook his head again. "You have no idea how much they love each other, do you? You have no idea how much care and devotion they have for each other. It's inspiring to see." He wiped a stray tear that threatened to form in the corner of his eye. "No, everything those two do is for the other. If I could find a relationship half as solid as theirs, I'd be set for the rest of my life."
Parvati watched Harry carefully through his little speech, then shook her head. "This is what I'm talking about, Harry," she said. "Why can't you talk this way to girls?"
Harry groaned and looked around the compartment again. "You guys really don't think I'm good with them?" he asked.
"Mate, you've kissed, what, two girls?" Seamus asked. "That's sad." He shook his head. "Actually, considering you're Quidditch captain, a national celebrity, and Harry friggin' Potter, it's pathetic."
"I don't like fangirls," he mumbled, then remembered something. "I got together with Ginny." He ignored the stabbing cold in his gut. "She's fit."
Dean scowled. He had dated Ginny shortly before Harry did, and, apparently, there will still some bad feelings there. "Ginny got together with you," he corrected. "After you ignored her throwing herself at you for three years."
Harry's eyes widened. "Really?" he asked. Dean, still scowling, nodded. "Oh…"
Parvati rolled her eyes. "Relax, Harry, we can help you," she said. Harry looked at her gratefully. "Who were you thinking, anyway?"
Harry furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure," he said, and turned to Dean and Seamus. "Who's the hottest girl in school?"
The two boys looked at each other. "Why're you asking us?" Dean asked.
Harry frowned. "Don't you guys keep, like, a list?" he asked.
Seamus snorted. "Yeah, in Fifth year. Besides, why would I care about that now?" he asked. Harry stared at him blankly. "I'm gay, mate. Remember?"
Harry blinked, then laughed. "Oh yeah," he said and shook his head. "Forgot about that for a minute."
Over the summer, Harry had gone out with his dormmates a few times. One night, after Ron had returned from Australia, Seamus came out to the group. He told them he had known for years and had always been too scared to admit it, but, since the war, it felt dumb to live in hiding anymore. They celebrated by getting very drunk. A few days later, the cover story of Witch Weekly was about Harry Potter being spotted in a gay muggle nightclub, with an accompanying photo of him, shirtless and wearing a pink feather boa, pole-dancing badly against a back drop of sweaty shirtless men. It had been a good night.
Seamus rolled his eyes. "Whatever, prat," he said. "So, you don't have any ideas about who could be the hottest girl in school?"
Harry frowned. "Not really," he said and scratched the back of his head. He tried to think about the girls in their year, but he had always been so preoccupied with stuff like staying alive that he never spent a lot of time watching them. He remembered that Susan Bones had a good body, but she was a redhead, like Ginny.
"And you're not looking at anyone?" Parvati asked.
Harry shrugged. "I guess I kind of figured there'd be, like, a universally accepted answer," he said. He shook these thoughts from his head.
"You could ask the lower years," Dean suggested cheekily. "They might have a list."
Harry scowled at him. The conversation moved on from there, but Harry was still thinking about girls. He had assumed that, while he knew he wasn't particularly suave or a player or anything, he was pretty decent with girls. Sure, his relationship with Cho Chang was the definition of a train wreck, but she was also very pretty. He had managed to snag, according to him, the two most attractive witches at Hogwarts, and he was proud of that.
He was joking when he said he wanted to make out with the hottest girl in school, kind of. What he meant was that he was going to spend time this year pursuing girls. He thought, as Seamus had said, that as a Quidditch star and Saviour of Wizarding Britain, it'd be pretty easy. But now, he thought back to the times he had actually talked to girls or tried to flirt and physically cringed at the memories.
A few hours after lunch, Harry bid the others adieu and braved the appreciative hordes once again to return to his former compartment. He wanted to stretch out, read a magazine, and figure out how to talk to girls. More people had settled into compartments, so there were fewer in the corridors to demand his attention. He carefully watched a few of the fangirls who talked to him - though not too carefully, it wouldn't do to give them ideas. They had been a presence in his time in the Wizarding World since the aforementioned Yule Ball, which he had been forced to attend and forced to bring a date. He had figured out how to deal with them since: treat them like any other fan and absolutely do not give them any idea that he might be interested, because they will take that inch and run a mile. Of course, this meant that he had zero idea of how to actually get a girl to think he was interested, which meant he didn't know how to flirt, which he understood was part of the whole wooing process.
A few minutes later, he returned to the compartment where he and his friends stowed their trunks to find it occupied. A young woman with light, almost white, hair and pale skin sat in the seat under his trunk, reading a book. She looked up when he opened the compartment door, and her vibrant blue eyes widened in surprise. She hurriedly stood up – she stood a few inches shorter than Harry. Her straight chin-length hair was pinned back, she had large bright eyes. and a pointed chin.
"Mr. Potter," she said, and curtsied. She was wearing a very cute dark red dress with white polka dots, he noticed. She grabbed her book. "I – I'm sorry for sitting in your compartment. I should leave."
It took Harry a moment to connect the nervous woman in front of him with the sneering and cold Ice Princess of Slytherin. "Greengrass?" he asked. She started slightly, but nodded. Harry was surprised – he didn't expect anyone from Slytherin to actually come back, but, come to think of it, all Daphne Greengrass ever did was sneer, and that was only sometimes. He couldn't remember her even insulting anyone. "Sorry, I didn't recognize you for a moment. Please, stay?" Daphne eyes widened. Harry backpedaled. He had no idea why he said that. "I mean, you don't have to, but you were here first. I was just, er, going to read, like you are. So, it's, er, not a big deal, I mean, if you stayed."
Harry had averted his eyes from Daphne and started to look around the compartment as he rambled nervously. He got the distinct impression that his bird was looking at him in amusement from his shoulder. There were two new trunks in the luggage racks. He looked back at Daphne, who hadn't made a move, and frowned. "Who else left their trunk here?" he asked.
"Miss Tracy Davis, from our year, in Slytherin," she said, then looked fearful. "I hope it's alright we put our luggage here. The compartment was empty when we arrived."
Harry waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, don't worry about it," he said. He pulled out his wand – he winced when he noticed Daphne flinch – and floated his trunk down from the rack. He opened it and noticed in the corner of his eye, with some surprise, Daphne sitting back down. He had expected her to flee at the first chance, despite his invitation for her to stay. He reached for a Quidditch magazine, then looked up again at Daphne, this time at the thick book in her hands. He didn't know Greengrass, but she was kind of cute, and he was pretty sure she wasn't evil. As far as he could figure out, she had stayed out of the war, which, honestly, was a smart choice. And it didn't look like she was about to leave the compartment. So, instead, he reached for a book on the Patronus Charm, hoping it would look a bit more impressive.
He extracted the book and sat down. Daphne had resumed reading, but Harry could tell she was uncomfortable in his presence. He stifled a sigh and started to read. He had realized that summer, soon after making the decision to return to Hogwarts, that almost the entirety of his personal library was dedicated to either the dark arts or the defences thereof. They were all gifts. He very rarely bought books for himself outside of the necessary textbooks for class. He didn't have a problem with this – he had had very little free time in his life up to this point and leisure reading had been a rare luxury – but he had decided to do something about it when he realized the only non-Defence book he actually owned was Quidditch Through the Ages, which he had read so many times that it was now thoroughly foxed and bound together with spell-o-tape.
After several trips over the summer to book stores where Harry had brought home strange tomes on obscure topics that he wasn't even interested in, he sought out help from his most, or, to be honest, only, literate friend: Hermione. It took the studious woman a little while to understand Harry's problem that he didn't know what to read. She had never, in her life, had this problem, so her advice of "just read what's next on your list, then" didn't help, as Harry had never had such a list. Hermione had been scandalized by this admission. Harry couldn't tell where she got the idea that he read anywhere near as much as she did: he, she, and Ron spent nearly all their time together. Then again, much of that time, Hermione's head was in a book. Maybe she just assumed Harry's and Ron's were, too. In any case, when Hermione finally wrapped her mind around the problem Harry was having, she suggested he thought about aspects of magic or specific spells that personally appealed to him.
Harry felt kind of dumb that he had never considered this before. He had always been great at Defence Against the Dark Arts, and he didn't know anyone else who had a signature spell – Expelliarmus! – but he had never excelled at either of those because he especially liked them. He had tried hard because he had to survive. The first spell Harry could think of, that he actually enjoyed casting, was the Patronus Charm. It was a part of Defence, but it didn't have the sharp edge the rest of the class had. The spell was pure Light magic, and Harry was very good at it. He had managed a corporeal patronus at 13 – an unheard of feat. So, when Harry next went to the bookstore, this time with some idea of what he would actually want to read, he picked up several books about the charm.
This book was about the connection between the Patronus and the caster. Harry was quickly absorbed – it wasn't an aspect of the spell he had considered before, but there must be a relationship between the Patronus itself and the wizard. His took the form of his father's animagus, and, with the ideas this book was giving him, he was thinking that might have something to do with the feelings of protection the thought of his father gives him. The book provided a different perspective on magic than the dry theory that filled their textbooks. The book wrote of magic, and the Patronus, as something alive, as something that could grow and change.
There was a knock on the door to the compartment. Harry looked up to see the Trolley Witch standing on the other side of the door with a wide smile and pushing her cart. Harry smiled and waved his wand to open the door. He stood up and stretched and approached the Trolley Witch. He glanced at Daphne, who was looking at him. She had closed the book in her lap, but had kept her place. Her face was blank.
"You want a cup of tea, Greengrass?" Harry asked. Daphne blushed a bit, but nodded. "Two teas, please," he said to the Trolley Witch. "And a couple of pumpkin pasties."
"Your teas, dears," the Trolley Witch said as she passed over the two cups. Harry passed the one with more milk in it to Daphne – the Trolley Witch always knew the way her customers liked their tea – who thanked him politely. The Trolley Witch handed over the pasties. "That'll be 4 sickles and 3 knuts, Harry."
Harry gave her a handful of silver and bronze coins. "Thank you, ma'am," he said. "I'm glad you're looking well."
The Trolley Witch smiled. "Thank you, Harry. You as well," she said. She pushed the cart forward and Harry slid the door closed. He retook his seat and took a sip of his tea. He sighed, contented. It was perfect – a dash of milk and a pinch of sugar. He used to take it unsweetened, but since he decided to return to Hogwarts, he had taken the sugar. He deserved it.
He opened his eyes and saw Daphne across from him. She, too, had fully closed her book and was enjoying her cup of tea. Harry watched her for a moment. She was pretty. He had never paid much attention to her before – she was a Slytherin and part of the blood purist clique Harry and his friends fought with throughout their years at Hogwarts, but she was always one of the periphery members. She never really took part in the hostilities, always standing towards the back and, maybe, laughing or sneering at the appropriate points. He struggled to think about anything else about her. He knew she was from a wealthy family and he was pretty sure she had a sister.
"Er," Harry said. Daphne looked up at him in surprise. "How have you been, Greengrass?"
The woman's eyes widened, but she nodded. "I have been fine, Mr. Potter," she said. "I am grateful to have made it through the war." Harry tried not to snort at the response – it was very formal and completely pre-empted further conversation – but he couldn't really blame a Slytherin for not wanting to make small talk with him. "And yourself?"
Harry blinked and shrugged. "Okay, I guess," he said, then he chuckled. "I mean, shit's been fucked, but –" He looked up in horror, certain that the refined lady in front of him would be mortified at his language, but, surprisingly, she was smiling, just a tiny bit. "But, I've been okay."
Daphne nodded and took a sip of her tea. "Your crow is beautiful," she said after a moment. Maeve preened under the attention. "What's her name?"
Harry smiled and stroked the vain bird. "Maeve," he said, at the same time as Maeve let out a squawk that sounded surprisingly like "Mae". Daphne's eyes widened in delight.
"She knows her name?" she asked. "Oh, what a clever bird!"
Maeve squawked happily and, in a cacophony of feathers, flew over to Daphne. She landed on the seat beside the blonde woman and Daphne, surprised and smiling, started to pet the crow. Harry chuckled.
"She likes you," he said and Daphne smiled at him.
The door to the compartment slid open. Harry and Daphne looked up to see Tracy, who had stopped in place in the doorway. Harry smiled at the small Slytherin woman – she had fought at Hogwarts and they had talked a bit after. Harry liked her, she was tough as nails and he loved her floral sleeve tattoo, though he hadn't mentioned that. After a moment, she caught herself and stepped in. "Potter," she said with a nod. "How's it going?"
Harry nodded back. "Alright, Davis," he said, then grinned. No time like the present to express admiration over a work of art. "You're looking well. Love the ink."
Tracy smirked and sat down next to Daphne. Daphne stiffened a bit. "Thanks, I saw you got some work done, too," she said.
Harry looked at her confused, then groaned. "You saw the article?" he asked.
Tracy nodded with a bright smile. "Everyone saw the article, Potter," she said. "So what's the deal? You're a bender now?"
Harry laughed and shook his head. "Nah," he said. "You know Seamus? Finnegan?" Tracy nodded. "He came out this summer and we celebrated. There must've been a wizard with a camera at the club we were at." He stared off into space and scratched his chin. "Or it could've been Dean or Seamus. They'd do something like that."
"Sorry," Daphne said. Blood rushed to her face when Harry and Tracy turned to her. "What article are you talking about?"
Harry started. "You didn't see it?" he asked. "It's been all over Witch Weekly for, like, a month."
Daphne shook her head. "I stopped taking Witch Weekly," she said.
"Oh," Harry said, somewhat thankful that she hadn't seen the picture. "Well, like I said, we went out to celebrate at a gay club. I guess at some point I took my shirt off and started pole-dancing. Someone took a picture of it and sent it into Witch Weekly."
Tracy looked at him appraisingly. "You don't seem terrible bothered about it," she said.
Harry shrugged. "The papers have been telling lies about me for years," he said honestly. Ever since he was entered into the Triwizard Tournament – a huge international wizarding competition – against his will in Fourth year, reporters and paparazzi have been following him around and telling tall tales in the newspapers. The stories had gotten so bad at one point that his friends were having boobytrapped mail sent to them. "At least this time, it's connected to a good memory."
Tracy nodded. "So, to be clear, you're straight?" she asked. Harry nodded. "Hmm. So what about the tattoo? What's the deal there?"
Harry looked down. Maeve flew back over to his leg and he pet her absently. "A sprig of lavender," he said. "All of us in Gryffindor got one."
Tracy furrowed her brow for a moment, then nodded. "For Brown," she said softly. Harry nodded. "I'm sorry, Potter. I didn't know her, but she didn't deserve to die."
Harry nodded vaguely. "To be honest, I didn't know her either," he said. "Not as well as I should've." He had been year mates with Lavender Brown for 6 years, and all Harry could really remember about her is that she used to have a pet rabbit and she had been a really clingy girlfriend to Ron. She had also liked that Celestina Warbeck song, "Charming". It was a terrible song, but Harry listened to it every so often now. Lavender had been killed in the final battle.
Tracy nodded sadly and didn't respond for a moment. "Have you thought about getting any other work done?" she asked.
Harry shrugged. "I have," he admitted. "I thought about more pieces for other people who…" He didn't have to finish the thought as Tracy winced sympathetically. He shook his head and laughed bitterly. "But I might run out of space. Besides, then I'd have to explain to people why an owl or an elf has a bigger commemoration than Dumbledore."
He suddenly looked up at the two Slytherins. He hadn't meant to say that. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore had been Harry's teacher, mentor, and friend before he was tragically murdered before Harry's eyes, and Harry was pretty sure Dumbledore ruined his life. Dumbledore had sent him to his muggle relatives for 10 years of Hell and Dumbledore had raised him to be a sacrificial pig, all in order to defeat Voldemort. Harry didn't really blame Dumbledore for what he did – Voldemort had to be put down like the rabid dog he was and Dumbledore's plan was the only way to accomplish that. But, still, Harry had a difficult time parsing exactly how he felt about the late headmaster.
Thankfully, neither woman jumped on his statement. Instead, Tracy raised an eyebrow. "An elf?" she asked.
Harry nodded sadly. "Dobby," he said softly then cleared his throat. "He used to be the Malfoy's elf. I freed him Second year. He was a good friend – saved my skin more than a few times." He looked back down at his lap. "He died, during the war, rescuing us from Malfoy Manor." He let out a shaky breath and tried to smile. "I miss the little bugger."
"Elves are exceptional creatures," Daphne said. Harry looked at her in surprised – she had barely spoken since Tracy showed up. Daphne blushed again at the sudden attention and Harry, feeling bad for her, was about to say something, but she continued. "I – our elf, Vonny, kept me sane this past year. We never spoke very much, but just the fact he was there, always, when I needed him, meant the world to me."
Harry stared at Daphne with a growing smile. Her face was bright red and she had averted her eyes again. He had never heard anyone talk about an elf like this before, like they were a friend. Every other pureblood he had met had dismissed elves as servants or, worse, abused them like slaves. Even Hermione, who had gone on a crusade for house elf rights, didn't really get elves. The way Harry saw it, Hermione considered elves to be little tiny humans, when they're not. They're elves. They're creatures of magic and have no need for breaks or wages or vacation. Elves gain a sense of purpose in serving wizards, and they genuinely love cooking and cleaning. An elf is at their happiest when they're helping a wizard, but many wizards take advantage of this relationship. Dobby, for example, had been so abused by the Malfoy family that he had literally jumped at the first chance to escape his masters, which made Harry very angry whenever he thought of it. Fortunately, Lucius, the Lord Malfoy, was already going to rot in Azkaban Prison for the rest of his life.
Tracy cleared her throat and Harry looked at her. Her eyes were shining. "Anyways, Potter, I came back because we're almost at the station," she said. "Do you mind stepping out so we can change?"
Harry nodded and stood up. He waved his wand to retrieve his trunk from the storage racks. "I'll change in the bathrooms, then find some friends," he said as he put his book away and removed a school robe. He returned his trunk to where it was and turned to the two Slytherin women. "Davis, Greengrass. I guess I'll, er, see you around." He stepped towards the door, then stopped and gave Daphne a small smile. "It was nice to finally meet you."
He stepped out of the compartment and slid the door closed. Tracy turned on Daphne, her eyes still shining. "What the fuck was that?" she demanded.
Daphne blinked. "I'm sorry?" she asked.
Tracy laughed. "Miss Greengrass, are you trying to seduce Harry Potter?" she asked.
Daphne blanched. "Miss Davis!" she squealed. Tracy giggled, then suddenly stopped.
The two women stared at each other.
"But really," Tracy said, a moment later. "Why was he in here?"
"It was his compartment before," Daphne said. "He said he only wanted to read."
Tracy raised her eyebrows. "You guys weren't reading when I came in," she said. "You were laughing and smiling at each other. And did you see the way he looked at you when you were talking about your elf? The man's into you."
Daphne blushed again. She had almost shown up late for the train that morning. She hadn't slept well the night before and it wasn't until 10:51 that she finally pulled her nerves together enough to leave for King's Cross. As a consequence, Daphne didn't board the train until a moment before the final whistle and, unfortunately, all of the compartments were occupied by that point. She quickly found Tracy and, despite the tension between them, they decided to at least put their luggage away together. It took two trips up and down the train before they found a compartment that was empty - they couldn't find Blaise and everyone else looked at them with suspicion and hostility, if they recognized them at all. Astoria didn't even look at Daphne, and Daphne was far too anxious already to try and reconcile things with her erstwhile sister. Eventually they found an empty compartment, though there was some luggage stowed away, and Daphne sat down. Tracy left quickly, Daphne didn't know to where but she didn't ask. She wondered if Tracy had friends, as no one in Slytherin could be friends with her because of the muggleborn thing and very few in the other houses would give a Slytherin the time of day.
Daphne had settled in with a book – a treatise by a Scandinavian witch on the weather patterns near the mountains by her cottage – and figured it had been a good thing she had spent the past year more or less alone, because it looked like that trend would continue at Hogwarts. She read through most of the trip and ate lunch at the appropriate time. Then, mid-afternoon, to her surprise, The Harry Potter stepped into the compartment. Daphne recognized him immediately, of course, but was shocked to see how much he had changed. She had never spoken with Potter before outside of a few words in class but, in previous years, she had always noticed a sort of dark cloud around the boy. No matter the situation, Potter was miserable and brooding and angry. The only times Daphne could remember Potter actually looking like he was enjoying himself was during Quidditch. She had expected him to continue this way at Hogwarts, if he came back at all. The man was an international celebrity, after all. He didn't really need his NEWTs.
The Harry Potter that walked into the compartment was not the angsty boy she had gone to school with. He was taller and broader, and he had been the only person that day who was at least ambivalent about her presence. Even Tracy had been cold to her that morning, but Potter hadn't glared or try to chase her away. He had even asked her to stay. He was relaxed and kind. He bought her tea and had the most gorgeous crow. He recognized her, but didn't bring up the war or Slytherin or any of that. When he did talk about the war, he wasn't celebrating or boasting, and he didn't even seem happy that the war went the way it did. He just looked sad and weary about the whole thing. And of course she had seen the way he looked at her when she was talking about Vonny, like what she was saying was right and important and, and that he completely agreed with her. It was a very endearing look and she had almost melted into his green eyes. They were mesmerizing - a fact that even wizarding pictures never seemed to grab.
She shook these thoughts from her head. "Potter is not interested in me, Miss Davis," she said. "I- "
Tracy cut her off. "Look, Daphne, can you stop with the 'Miss Davis's'?" she asked with a roll of her eyes. "You can call me Tracy. I give you permission, or whatever."
Daphne felt blood rush to her face again, but she nodded. "Thank you, Tracy," she said.
Tracy nodded with satisfaction. "You're welcome," she said. "Now why do you say he's not interested?"
"Because…" Daphne said, attempting to get her thoughts in line. "Because he's Harry Potter! He saved the world. And I'm just… I'm a blood purist Slytherin who was lucky enough to escape the war."
Tracy looked at Daphne sadly. "You're not a blood purist, Daphne," she said. "And, I don't know, but I don't think Potter really cares about the Slytherin thing." Daphne looked up at her. "He never brought it up with me."
"I didn't know you had spoken," Daphne said with a furrowed brow.
Tracy shrugged and averted her eyes. "I was at the battle," she said. Daphne's eyes widened. "We chatted a bit."
The two girls fell into silence, before Tracy got to her feet. "We should change," she said.
They changed quietly into their uniforms and soon the train slowed to a stop at Hogsmeade Station. Tracy and Daphne disembarked from the train. They were given a lot of space – now that they were wearing the Slytherin green, the other students knew that they were the bad guys. Silently, they joined the queue for the thestral-drawn carriages for the remainder of their journey to Hogwarts.
They climbed into the carriage and looked back at the crowd of students waiting. No one else was about to join them. Tracy scowled and shut the door. The thestrals – horse-like creatures with reptilian heads and massive wings who could only be seen by those who had witnessed death – started trotting towards the castle, pulling the black carriage. Daphne suddenly got the very uncomfortable thought that she may be one of the only students at Hogwarts who still couldn't see them.
They sat in silence. Daphne squirmed a bit in her seat. She glanced at Tracy, who was looking out the window. She had no idea what to say.
"You have a sister, yeah?" Tracy asked suddenly. Daphne looked up quickly and nodded. "How is she?"
Daphne shook her head. "I – I don't know," she said. Tracy looked confused and Daphne sighed. "I haven't spoken to her in four months. She – during the battle, she wanted to fight. I… I couldn't let her. We dueled, and I bound her until the battle was over. She left after. I haven't seen her since." She felt a tear slide down her cheek and she wiped it away.
Tracy snorted. "She wanted to be here for that?" she asked. "She's what? A Fifth year? What an idiot." Daphne looked at her. Tracy was looking back and nodded. "You did the right thing. That battle was no place for a kid."
Daphne wiped her eyes again. "Thank you," she said. Her voice was quiet. Tracy just nodded again.
They fell back into silence for a moment. The carriage turned a corner and, through the windows, they could see Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hogwarts was a massive and ancient castle built on top of a cliff over the Black Lake. Looking out, Daphne could see the many halls and towers of the castle ablaze with light, but she winced as she saw the scars from the battle. A few sections looked like they had been rebuilt – the stone didn't look as old – and there were a few holes and gaps still left unrepaired. Daphne shivered and looked over at Tracy. Tracy was looking out the window again.
"Is it hard for you?" Daphne asked. Tracy looked up. "Coming back to Hogwarts, I mean."
Tracy nodded. "I'm good," she said shortly. Daphne knew she was lying, but didn't push.
They sat in silence for the rest of the carriage ride. The carriage rolled through the gates and up the stone lane to the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts. Tracy and Daphne stepped out and joined the crowd of children and teenagers pushing towards the school. They entered the Entrance Hall.
The Entrance Hall was a massive room – you could probably drop a few houses in it and they wouldn't even touch the walls. Large double doors led, on one side of the Hall, to the Great Hall, where meals were taken. Across from the doors the two women had just entered was a stairwell leading into the rest of the castle. The floor was marble and, currently, the crowd of students was obscuring a large Hogwarts Crest laid into it. They had halfway crossed the Entrance Hall towards the Great Hall when they both heard a voice behind them.
"Tracy! Daphne!" someone with an Italian accent called. They turned around to see a widely smiling Blaise Zabini walking towards them. "Ben tornato!"
Daphne blinked at the cheerful man approaching. He looked a lot like Blaise – tall, dark, and handsome with a slim build – but he wasn't acting like her old classmate. Blaise was quiet and aloof, content with existing in his own world. He would rarely speak unless spoken to, and Daphne always got the sense that he always had somewhere else he'd rather be. Before she could give him any further thought, Blaise embraced her and her cheeks burnt red again under the kisses he planted there. He went on to greet Tracy the same way.
Tracy glanced over at Daphne. "You seem happy, Blaise," she said.
The tall man smiled. "I am ecstatic, Tracy," he said. "Finally, we don't have to listen to those pureblood bastardi hatefully jabber away anymore." He smiled between the two women. "And I am overjoyed to see the two of you getting along!"
Tracy and Daphne looked at each other. "We're trying," Tracy said.
Daphne nodded. "I apologized to Tracy this summer for my previous actions, and she was gracious enough to accept," she said with a small smile.
Blaise laughed. "A grand start to a beautiful friendship," he said and spun around towards the doors to the Great Hall. "Come along, we cannot miss the sorting."
He strode off towards the dining room, his robes flapping around him. Tracy and Daphne glanced at each other once more, but followed him into the Great Hall.
There we go! Comedy!
In case anyone's curious, the rest of the story is going to be much more similar to this chapter than the last one. I really like writing scenes of a group of characters who genuinely like each other trying to make each other laugh. A lot of this story is going to be scenes like that.
I have more that I could say, but I'll just let this speak for itself for now. I'm having a lot of fun with this story so far, and I hope that's reflected in the text.
Edited on 21/11/2020
This will come up a lot, because it's apparently part of my process, but I am constantly editing these stories. It seems like my process for this story, so far, is write a chapter that I really like, read it over once or twice, post it, then smoke a bowl, reread the posted chapter, and see a hundred things I want to change or expand upon. I am sorry, but this is a living story, and there will be a lot of edits. I swear, I'm not trying to bump up my view numbers or anything, but the first chapter has been edited extensively, and this one has been added to, as well.
