...
Author's Note:
TW on this chapter for references to self-harm, past torture, and past abuse. Nothing super detailed or graphic, more reflective.
Heads up: we'll get heavy on angst in the next chapter.
Thanks for reading!
...
"Mind if I join you?" came a voice from beside him, and Draco looked around blearily, blinking.
He had been sitting at the corner table of the castle's smallest library in the Bell Towers working on his Ancient Runes essay for nearly seven hours, poring over his coursebook for helpful excerpts until the words had all begun to swim together.
Looking up and beginning to stretch out his inky hands, his vision finally focused on Hermione Granger. She smiled at him expectantly and looked almost apologetic as she motioned to the seat across from him with a raised eyebrow.
He motioned back, signaling for her to take the seat and began to consolidate his workspace a bit more so that it wouldn't be in her way.
"So, are you last minute cramming for our final project proposals tomorrow…" Hermione trailed off, examining the smattering of Ancient Runes texts and excerpts and outlines surrounding what seemed to be an entire scroll written out in Draco's crisp penmanship. "Is that the Ancient Runes essay?"
Draco nodded.
"The one that's not due until the end of the month?" Granger questioned skeptically, raising an eyebrow.
Draco nodded again, slowly this time, his face reddening slightly.
"You're one to imply that I'm a swot, Granger," he added lightly, rolling his eyes.
"No, I wasn't—I'm not—" she spluttered, clearing her throat. "I think it's very admirable that you're so ahead in your coursework."
"Um—thank you, Granger," he responded awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck and swallowing a snide remark about her supposed admiration of former Death Eater Draco Malfoy.
"So, I actually came over to ask what resources you were planning to use for the Potions project," Granger started, continuing to lay the contents of her bag out onto the table and settle into her seat.
"Neville and I are planning to explore the effects of including some lesser-known and lesser-available herbs on commonplace potions for our final project. I figured that tied in well to what's going on in Potions currently and you might know about that kind of thing. I know you aren't as interested in Herbology, but as the resident Potions guy of our year…"
"No problem, Granger," Draco said with a tight smile. "I actually have a list of resources that might help with that in my lab journal."
He reached around in the satchel on the back of his chair before withdrawing a small, black leatherbound book and flipping through to find a particular page. He handed the book across the table to Granger and as she reached out to take it, he couldn't help but to notice the tiny word scrawled into a scar across her forearm.
Mudblood.
Draco felt the air momentarily leave his lungs. It was a word that he had used against her more times than he could count. A word that he had been taught to wield like a weapon. A word that he had been present to witness being violently inscribed into her flesh.
He wondered if Granger was incapable of using glamours to cover the word due to some magical properties, like his Dark Mark, or if she simply didn't care to mask the scar up. It would certainly be very Gryffindor—or maybe just very Granger—of her, to leave it out in the open like that.
Behold me! This is how someone tried reducing my self-worth to a demeaning categorization and this is how I haven't let them do it. Draco only wished he had the gall.
He relaxed his grip on the journal and let his right hand fall down to his own disfigured forearm underneath the table, casting his gaze downward and hoping that Granger hadn't noticed his eyes land on that particular spot for too long.
Draco let his right hand trail up to the inside of his left arm within his cloak. He ran his fingertips along the long, thin lines of raised scar tissue that covered his inner bicep and forearm, tracing each one gently and exhaling a bit more with each mark. He never did figure out how to make the glamours extend to be tactile—only visual.
"Feel free to jot those down," Draco spoke, getting his bearings again as Granger began to pore over his work from the potions lab. "It sounds like Botanical Brews: The Advanced Potion Maker's Vegetative Compendium would be particularly helpful."
"Malfoy…" Granger trailed off, looking a bit awestruck as she thumbed through his thoroughly detailed appendices and meticulously specific methodology notes. Draco suddenly felt as if he were being observed—or had done something wrong, the two felt very similar—and he found himself digging his fingers roughly into the damaged skin of his upper arm.
Tearing her eyes away from the journal, Granger broke into a soft smile. "This will be very helpful. Thank you."
"Don't mention it," he spoke softly while returning to his work, the physical manifestations of guilt over that fun little reminder of his past still clinging to his stomach and throat.
"So, I take it your final project idea is well underway already?" Granger inquired, transferring a few notes on the intersections of Herbology and Potions from Draco's journal into her own. "Are you working with Theo—or Zabini?"
"Actually, I've already submitted my proposal and petitioned McGonagall to do the project independently." Draco was running his quill over the scroll that he had written for Ancient Runes, doing more of a passive proofread since he had already edited the words multiple times. "Theo's actually planning to work with Michael Corner—I'm surprised Longbottom didn't mention that. They discuss it in our room quite a bit."
Granger looked like she was suppressing a grin. "I'm glad that your room dynamic has worked out so well. I know that's not the case for everybody…" She trailed off, looking expectantly at Draco.
Worked out so well might be an overstatement, he thought to himself.
"Me too," he admitted, surprised to find that he was being partially truthful. "I mean—the first few days were pretty uncomfortable. Michael and I have always gotten on just fine. I was worried about how Theo might react to me after I—well, just after everything. But that's been alright too. And Longbottom's like an insect."
Hermione raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.
"More scared of you than you are of him," Draco clarified, suddenly concerned that the analogy would offend Granger in some way, but instead the witch threw her head back and let out a genuine laugh towards the ceiling.
"That's good," she chuckled, catching her breath again. "Neville's particular brand of bravery is really interesting to me. It's social, empathetic bravery—he's willing to look the fool if it means nobody gets hurt. Or just to do what needs to be done even if he's trembling and hyperventilating while doing it."
Draco thought about that for a moment and winced as he realized that he had always been quite the opposite—he'd been willing to hurt people so long as his image remained intact, willing to bear even the most desperate of situations with a stoic visage.
Hermione seemed to notice his shame spiral and quickly changed the subject. "I'm glad that you two are amicable now, is all I meant. The room situation has worked out fairly well for me too. Obviously, being with Luna is great. And Hannah is such a sweetheart. I'm sure that Pansy feels out of her element, but I'm hoping she'll warm up."
Pansy. Shit. Had they talked? That would explain why Granger kept approaching him, if Pansy had painted him as a "safe boy" in Granger's head. He wouldn't put it past her to go blabbing about their intimate relationship details for social brownie points.
"Pansy, huh?" Draco asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Yeah, she doesn't talk much, but I can't say that's terribly surprising given the circumstances. Oh—" Granger paused, seeming to just realize something. "You two were good friends, weren't you?"
"Um, yeah, we actually—we were dating for all of fifth year and a good chunk of sixth. It wasn't like real dating, though, we mostly just sat next to each other in the Great Hall and bought each other little presents. It got our parents off of our backs, at least."
Granger nodded. "You two still talk?"
"Not particularly. It didn't end well. It wasn't her fault—she was lovely—I just, well I was a bit of a mess back then," Draco admitted, fiddling with his quill. "She's not really my type, anyways."
He looked up to gauge Granger's reaction to that statement, but there wasn't anything significant.
"Well, good to know that she's probably not the type to try to hex me in my sleep," Granger contemplated, then added, "there have been a few problems with trying to incorporate your former Housemates into the shared dormitories."
"I can't say that's particularly surprising," Draco mused, leaning back in his chair. Then a thought occurred to him. "How's Potter been handling it?"
"Well," Granger started, looking slightly uncomfortable, "You know how Crabbe and Goyle can be."
"You don't need to sugarcoat it for me," Draco asserted. "Vince has been acting like a complete prat towards me too ever since I testified this summer. He's also a bloody idiot, so I'm sure it's nothing Potter can't handle, but I could maybe convince Theo to get him to lay off a bit."
Hermione looked like a proud Mom for a moment and Draco wasn't sure if he was feeling his chest swell with pride or his stomach swell with the threat of vomit.
"I only ask because he's always in and out of the bathroom late at night," he added. "I quite enjoy my solitude, you see, and he's always up in some turmoil entering and exiting our shared spaces at all hours. Quite irritating, so if some peace will get him to get some bloody sleep, then I'll help."
"Right, of course," Granger said, a smirk flitting across her lips.
"Speaking of people who should be getting some bloody sleep," she said, flicking her wand and motioning to the luminescent numbers that appeared reading 12:37 AM.
The young witch stood, handing Draco's journal back and yawning as she shoved the remainder of her belongings into her own bag. "Thanks again for the book recommendations."
"No problem," Draco said, giving her a tight smile. "See you in Potions."
…
When Harry had gotten a note from the Headmistress asking him to visit her office regarding his project proposal, he had groaned audibly.
This seemed to be a cycle that he was utterly incapable of escaping, even after he had essentially saved the entire Wizarding World—he always seemed to be personally needed somewhere to individually address something and it was, for lack of a better word, completely exhausting.
Harry wondered if this had anything to do with the topic he had chosen for his project. It was something that had bothered him when he had done the Occlumency lessons with Snape all those months ago. He wasn't used to instinctually struggling with anything magic-related, but protecting his own head seemed to be something that could be called an area of improvement, to say the least.
He contemplated if McGonagall would prevent him from studying mental and memory magic in some way.
We just can't risk anything happening given what occurred with You-Know-Who infiltrating your head, he imagined her saying.
That was a load of bollocks, and he knew it, but there really wasn't anything he could do if the new Headmistress decided to make him choose another project topic.
Now, he was sitting in a suede armchair across from his former Head of House's desk, fingers picking at the bits of faded maroon material that were fraying off of the old furniture.
"Tea, Mr. Potter?" the Headmistress asked, pointing to the empty cup and saucer on the coffee table in front of him.
He shook his head, hoping not to make this conversation longer than it needed to be.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and the Headmistress briefly went to answer it, black cloak trailing gracefully behind her.
Harry looked down at the empty teacup, realizing that a warm drink actually sounded lovely and he should've taken McGonagall up on her offer. Just as the thought occurred to him, the cup began to fill with steaming hot liquid. It left wisps of vapor rising from the cup and the musky, sweet aroma of herbs and sugar wafting in his direction.
Hearing two people return to the Headmistress' desk, he looked to the right and found that Draco Malfoy had entered the room. McGonagall was smiling calmly as she returned to her desk and motioned for him to take a seat on the armchair next to Harry's.
Harry instantly got the sense that this conversation may not actually be about his project—he felt a lump of bile leap into his throat at the prospect that he might be in trouble for something. Merlin, why was he always being given individual responsibilities if he constantly mucked them up?
The blonde looked equally—if not more—perplexed. In fact, he looked a bit like he was going to be sick, Harry noted.
"Please, sit," the Headmistress commanded, motioning again to the seat to Harry's right. This time, Malfoy complied, sitting at full attention so that his back didn't touch the chair.
"Tea?" she asked Malfoy with a soft smile.
Malfoy shook his head slightly and said, "No, thank you, Headmistress."
The Headmistress just nodded and began methodically stirring sugar into her own, metal spoon clinking around the cup. She raised it to her lips and took a slow sip while the young men sat in poised silence.
Harry looked down and took a sip of his own tea, deciding that it would be nice to have something for his hands and mouth to be doing, and the liquid instantly warmed him.
"I wanted to discuss your respective senior year projects," Headmistress McGonagall said, folding her hands on the desk and leaning in to make eye contact with the two young men across from her.
Harry felt some of the tension leave his shoulders as he realized that the conversation truly would be about his project proposal. But would she reject his study topic? And why was Malfoy here?
"As you know, senior projects are typically done in pairs as they're often quite the undertaking—especially because N.E.W.T. coursework is happening in tandem," she continued, gaze hovering over Malfoy for an extra second. The blonde's cheeks reddened and he shifted backwards slightly in his seat.
"Now, you two have both petitioned me to work on your final projects independently," she spoke. "Historically, we have granted some exceptions to partnering on final projects in cases where subject matter necessitated solitude or the individual felt that adding a second student would hinder their study in some way."
Harry felt himself nodding, but he could tell that the words that his new Headmistress was saying were taking a few minutes to actually be absorbed.
"Occlumency, mental warding, and memory magic are certainly very noble areas of study—and underdeveloped ones at that. Certainly an excellent theme for a dissertation. My concern here is that this may be a difficult topic of independent study due to the volatile nature of the psychological aspects of magic," she spoke the last part softly, as if a bit of concern were edging into her voice.
Damn, she was shooting down his project idea, Harry realized.
"I didn't want to reject either of your project proposals, especially given how much thought and effort you both appear to have put into them," she continued in an empathetic tone. "However, since I'm currently charged with your safety and well-being as students, I fear that I must decline your petitions to work on this topic independently."
The two young men exchanged a glance, but didn't say anything—waiting for further clarification from the older witch before them.
"Given that your project proposals seem surprisingly well suited to function cohesively, I want the two of you to continue your project in this area of study and to work on it collaboratively as partners," McGonagall finished with an air of authority.
"Headmistress, with all due respect," Malfoy immediately chimed in, sounding as prim and proper as Harry had ever heard him, "I'm sure that Potter doesn't feel comfortable working so extensively with someone who was formally aligned with the Dark Wizard who took the lives of his parents and momentarily took his life as well."
McGonagall seemed to pause on that for a moment, her lips pursing as she continued to rattle the small spoon around her teacup. "Mr. Malfoy, the history between you two is part of the reason that I think your academic partnership on this topic will be so beneficial—not just for you both individually, but for the school as a whole."
There it was. This whole idea was another pull at the bloody inter-House unity thing, Harry thought to himself. He felt a bit of rage bubble up in his stomach and bit back a protest.
Malfoy had a point, he thought—was it not unfair to ask him to work so intimately with someone who tormented him for years and was charged with the murder of the former Headmaster? Why was he always the one who was expected to forgive and move forward? The thought made him tense up again, but he just reached forward and took another sip of tea.
"I wanted to verbally communicate this to you both and to have the opportunity to properly field your questions, comments, or objections," McGonagall explained. "But please do consider this the formal notice that your petitions to do the project independently have been denied. I trust that you two will work amicably together?"
"I don't know—" Harry started, but McGonagall cut him off with a raised hand and a soft smile.
"My apologies, Mr. Potter. That was my fault. I meant to turn my tone down at the end. I trust that you two will work amicably together."
Malfoy breathed out a bit heavily through his nose, suppressing a chuckle, and Harry sent a glare in his direction. The blonde cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking away.
There was a small silence before Malfoy stood with his copies of their collective project proposals, nodded to McGonagall, and said a polite, "Thank you for your time, Headmistress."
Harry watched as his new project partner clutched the parchment to his chest and exited the Headmistress' office, feeling lost in thought.
"Harry," McGonagall leaned in, using his first name now that the two were alone once again. "I'm aware that this isn't easy for you. I know that you've been through a lot—you'll recall that I was there for the vast majority of the summer hearings as student advocate and advisor to the Wizengamot."
Harry could feel his face flush slightly.
"I do expect that you and the younger Malfoy will be able to help each other in a variety of ways. I promise that I would not have gone through this effort if I didn't anticipate it being beneficial to you."
Harry just nodded, shoving his own pieces of parchment into his bag and starting towards the door.
"And Harry?" she added, just as he was about to leave, causing him to turn around and face her. "If you need help with anything this year—anything at all, even if you just want to talk—my door is always open."
She gave him a maternal smile as he mumbled his thanks and headed out into the hallway.
Immediately upon exiting the office, Harry sensed sudden motion next to him and nearly leapt out of his skin.
"Oh, sorry—" he recognized the voice as Draco Malfoy, who would apparently be begrudgingly working with him for the remainder of the year.
"I didn't mean to scare you, I just figured we should talk." The blonde looked at him expectantly.
"Er—right," Harry said, face turning a darker shade of red as he shifted his bag further up on his shoulder.
"Eloquent as always," Malfoy smirked, but seemed to reel himself back in and straighten up his posture when he saw the look on Harry's face. "We could meet in the Bell Tower library—maybe on Monday, after dinner? Around 7? It's usually pretty quiet there and that will give us the weekend to look over each other's proposals."
"Sure, Malfoy, that's fine," he responded, starting to head back to the eighth year dormitories.
When Malfoy started heading off in another direction, he raised an eyebrow.
"Astronomy Lab," was all Malfoy answered, starting to walk backwards down the adjacent corridor. "We can talk more on Monday."
With that, he disappeared around the corner and Harry was left with the walk back across the castle alone to get his nervous system under control.
…
"We're supposed to be meeting in the Bell Towers library after dinner," Harry finished, telling Ron and Hermione how Malfoy had come to be his partner for the senior project.
"That makes sense, he's there a lot," Hermione nodded, earning a judgmental look from Ron. "What? It's usually pretty empty there, so we talk sometimes. It's not my fault you hardly ever study!"
"Bloody hell, did you have a hand in this peace-and-love, kumbaya, making Harry work with his sworn enemy from another House nonsense?" the redhead accused.
"No, Ronald," Hermione rolled her eyes, turning to Harry. "I think it'll be just fine though, Harry. He seems like he'll be a good study partner, if nothing else. Like I said, I see him in the library all the time."
Ron returned to his mashed potatoes, grumbling something about how the bloody administration was always going out of their way to torment his best friend.
Harry smiled. It was nice to have dinner like this, surrounded by the chattering of friends who would easily get up in arms on his behalf. To have his only worries be studying for the Potions N.E.W.T. and his newly assigned project partner, rather than trying to do school while also strategizing how to destroy a nearly immortal and practically omnipotent dark wizard who was trying to kill him—again.
He hated to admit it, but he was exhausted. Everything just felt like it took so much energy. And it was hard not to beat himself up for it.
He used to be able to just take things in stride, to return to school after a summer of being screamed at and starved and thrown about and to feel as though none of that even affected him. He would even turn in most of his coursework on time despite the looming and immediate threat to his life that seemed to be unavoidably omnipresent.
It became background noise at a point, and now to have it removed almost felt—wrong? Like he couldn't relax, despite the danger being gone.
What if he was just worse now than he used to be? He could barely take a meeting with the Headmistress without nearly shaking apart from nerves and had basically collapsed into bed for a nap last Thursday after finishing a 20-page reading on billywigs.
Harry sighed and pushed some peas around his plate, feeling confused at how everything could be so normal and so much at the same time.