It has been two weeks. Two lousy weeks.
Another girl, indiscernible from the rest, trails out of his room self-consciously. He offers her a meaningless grin as she looks up at him through tousled hair. She's taking too long to gather her things and growing to be a bother, but he doesn't want to be entirely rude. As she makes her final effort to entice him to a next-time, he notices her blue tie still attached to a bedpost. He says nothing about it, only offers a short goodbye and rolls over in his bed to face a wall before she even reaches his door.
She meant nothing. The thought isn't meant to be rude, it's just the truth. Just like the other girls, this wasn't meant to lead to some deep, all-consuming love. It was meant to pass the time, feel a little less lonely.
Harry turns his body again to lay on his back. He stares at the ceiling for a long time. He's too exhausted to leave his bed and face the others. The second he steps foot in the common room first and second years will swarm him, bloody groupies that don't have the faintest clue about the horrors everyone faced in the war. It isn't just him they flock to, it's all the others who returned for his year. He just happens to get the most attention. He hates it.
After a while he falls into a half sleep. The day goes by quickly and uneventfully for Harry. Classes pass and friends mingle, and he stays in bed waiting for her sweet smell to fade into his distant memory.
Hermione paces in her own room. She quietly recites the spells they discussed in class today trying to calm her nerves. She doesn't see the room around her, she isn't even fully aware of what she's doing. Moments like these make her appreciate those who rebuilt Hogwarts, creating more rooms so the eight years were either placed in singles or doubles. Hermione could not stand having another person see her this way. Anyone except for Luna that is. Hermione was grateful to see that the odd girl was placed as her roommate. Luna is strange, but brilliant and fierce and kind.
Luna is also a Ravenclaw, something that the Headmaster didn't think mattered all that much anymore. He told the returning eighth years that they all fought together, stood beside one another when the world they knew was being destroyed, so they could live together at random for their eight year. Luckily for Hermione the room they were assigned was in the Gryffindor tower, something Luna also enjoyed as it made sneaking off with Neville a lot easier.
Thinking about Luna calms Hermione's nerves. The energy building within her begins to fade, and the room around her comes back into focus.
I need to find-Hermione cuts off her own thought. She doesn't know who she needs to find. For a moment she was going to think Ron. She can't find Ron. Ron isn't here. Ron has gone off. Ron left with his family to tour the world and try to regain a sense of normalcy without ever saying goodbye, without a single word in eight months.
"I need to find Dean."
It would be his bloody good lucky to be stuck in the Gryffindor tower. Whatever is going on in that blasted headmasters head to think that their houses shouldn't matter in their eighth year is beyond Draco. He can't wait for McGonagall to take over the position so she can fix this mess.
Surprisingly, the hate he receives is not plentiful from the mouthbreathers below. They typically just ignore his presence, or offer meek smiles and a look away.
Draco knew that this year would be miserable, better than life at home, but still bleak. He didn't, however, predict that it would be miserable in this bloody tower. He had looked forward to the familiar chill of the dungeon, the glow of the green banner against the cold grey wall. It became a comfort to him.
But now he is lost, more lost than ever and miserable.
Luckily, Blaise and Pansy returned as well. The three of them are among seven returning Slytherin, the smallest amount of returnees for any house, predictable. All Slytherin returnees fought the war in a shade of grey, either switching sides or abandoning He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named's fight and leaving the battlefield. Blaise switched to fight against the Death Eaters, Pansy abandoned the battle before it ever began. They were all forgiven. They were all welcomed back with the hopes that they could have a redeemable future now that they've "seen the light".
Draco isn't sure he's seen anything. He just realized that he fought for his mother. He fought so his father couldn't hurt his mother anymore than he already had. Sure, she wasn't exactly innocent, but they had all been brought up to view the world a certain way and that can't change at the drop of a hat. Change takes time. Change takes patience. Change takes one person who sees the truth underneath the facade. Maybe that's who Draco is, the person to facilitate change. Not on a grand scale, but within his own mind and possibly his mothers. Of course he still sees the value in being a pureblood, but blood isn't worth killing over. Blood isn't worth being killed over.
Draco's thoughts are interrupted by Dean slamming open their bedroom door.
"Hey," Dean offers a feeble grin. The two of them have been surprisingly friendly since the unwelcome announcement that the two would be living together. Dean is pleasant enough, a little sad behind the eyes but so are all of the other eight years. Dean doesn't mind Draco much now, at first he feared him, but then he started hearing Draco at night. Dean can hear him cry out in pain, he hears the anguish in his voice, he hears him cry for his mother. Dean knows that he's the same as everyone else who fought, he was just born on a different side.