Chapter Text
Hermione accompanied them to Platform 9 ¾. In front of the train, she hugged them tightly, her eyes brimming with tears, and whispered, “Good luck, guys. You’ll be fine, okay? I’ll be back in three months.”
Harry hadn’t the strength to return the hug, but gave her a small pat on the back.
“I have to do this, you understand, don’t you? I need to go to Australia and find my parents. I can’t leave them there without me any longer,” Hermione explained, for what felt like the hundredth time in recent days, ever since she had decided to skip the first semester at Hogwarts. “But I’ll be back in January, I promise.”
“Don’t worry, Mione,” Ron had said. “You’ve done so much for us this summer. You should’ve left earlier.” Then he kissed her. Harry took a step back and looked away.
A little further away, he saw Ginny pushing her trolley toward Dean and Neville. Harry didn’t quite remember what had happened between them during the blurred confusion of the summer, but he and Ginny hadn’t gotten back together.
As he let his gaze wander absentmindedly, his eyes landed on two figures that seemed to be hiding behind a pillar. He would have recognized that blonde head anywhere: it was Malfoy. The boy kept his gaze lowered, head bowed. Next to him was a perfectly styled bob of black hair—Pansy Parkinson. She stood tall and looked around with an air of pride.
Another blonde head approached them, pushing her trolley. “Hello, Draco!” Harry heard Luna say in her usual dreamy tone. Draco?
She left her trolley, stepped forward, and hugged Malfoy. When she pulled back, Parkinson cleared her throat. “Hello! We haven’t been introduced yet. I’m Pansy Parkinson, and you are…”
“Disgusting,” commented Ron, who had stopped kissing Hermione and was now following Harry’s gaze. “Luna’s really lost it after Malfoy’s trial.”
Harry turned to look at his friends. Ron’s face was twisted in a grimace of disgust. Hermione looked more composed, but a small frown of concern creased her forehead.
“Be careful this year, okay?” Hermione murmured with a serious tone . “We have to respect the Wizengamot’s decision, but bringing people like them back to Hogwarts... it could cause trouble.” She paused, then looked at both of them with determination. “Promise me you’ll stay away from them.”
Ron snorted. As if he had any intention of mingling with someone who had tried to turn him into a pile of ash in the Room of Requirement just a few months before. “Don’t worry, I don’t even want to see those scumbags.”
Harry shrugged, but Hermione gave him an insistent look. "Harry. Promise me."
"Yeah," he muttered, barely audible, but it was enough to ease Hermione's mind.
"Good! Come on, let me help you load your things onto the train." With that, she gently pushed them toward the first carriage.
Harry glanced one last time at Malfoy, Parkinson, and Luna, who were still talking, before turning and following Ron and Hermione onto the train.
The train ride was anything but easy for Harry. It had started with Hermione bursting into tears when it was time to get off. She had hugged him tightly, her tears soaking his shoulder. Then she had turned to kiss Ron, again.
After one last promise to return to Hogwarts as soon as possible, she finally stepped off the train, and Harry and Ron began looking for an empty compartment. The first one they opened was full of first-year students, who immediately started asking Harry for his autograph, until Ron managed to slam the door shut.
In the second, they found a group of fourth- and fifth-year Slytherins, who looked at them awkwardly, shaking their heads. When they opened the third door, Harry's eyes landed on Dennis Creevey. In his mind, he saw him again, crying at his brother's funeral, while Harry read the short speech Hermione had written for him the night before. Shuddering, Harry quickly shut the door before Dennis could notice.
At last, they found two seats in the compartment with Neville, Dean, Hannah Abbott, and Padma Patil. The journey was long, interrupted only by brief conversations that Harry didn’t bother listening to.
As they got closer to Hogwarts, the murmurs among the students on the train grew louder: no one had seen the castle since last May, when the battle had nearly destroyed it, and everyone was curious to see how it looked now.
They got off the train, and Hagrid was there, waiting with his large lantern. "Firs' years! Oh, 'ello, Harry! Firs' years!" he called out, gathering the new students.
Harry just followed the flow of older students toward the station exit, headed for the carriages that would take them to the castle. But something was off—people were stopping as they reached the exit, letting out strange exclamations of fear.
"Blimey! What are those disgusting things?" exclaimed Ron when they finally caught sight of the carriages. Harry realized he was pointing at the Thestrals. For the first time, everyone could see the Thestrals.
There had been a time, back at the start of the fifth year, when Harry had longed for this moment— not to feel so alone and strange anymore, and to be surrounded by people who could also see those strange, black, skeletal creatures. But now that the moment had come, he felt no relief, only disgust. Now everyone could see the Thestrals because everyone had seen someone die.
With a feeling of nausea tightening in his throat, Harry made his way through the crowd toward a carriage. He caught Luna’s gaze. Luna, who had once been the only one to share with him the burden of being able to see those strange creatures. When she met Harry’s eyes, her lips curved into a thin, worried smile. Then Pansy Parkinson placed a pale hand on her shoulder, guiding her toward a carriage, and the two of them disappeared from sight. Harry hurried to follow Ron into another carriage.
As the carriage approached the grounds of Hogwarts, both Harry and Ron leaned out of the window to get a look at the castle. Hogwarts stood there, imposing and majestic. Its windows glowed with a warm, welcoming light. Harry’s eyes searched for signs of destruction, like cracks or ruins. He counted every tower to make sure it was in place. Everything seemed fine.
It wasn’t fair, Harry thought, that Hogwarts had returned to looking exactly as it had before the battle. As if nothing had ever happened, as if dozens and dozens of people hadn’t died defending it. Everything had been cleaned up, repaired, restored. It wasn’t fair.
They got down from the carriages and entered through the castle’s grand doors. In the Entrance Hall, Professor Flitwick was standing atop a pile of books, waving his hands in the air to get everyone’s attention: “Eighth years, stay here. Eighth years, stay here!”
The other years continued on undisturbed toward the Great Hall, while the eighth years gathered at the sides of the atrium. Harry avoided looking around. Too many people near him were ones he knew too well. People who had fought beside him, for him. Who had been hurt for him. But mostly, Harry didn’t want to look around because it would mean acknowledging who was missing, the ones who had lost their lives.
“Welcome back, everyone,” Professor Flitwick began. “I’m proud to say that 90% of your class has decided to return here to complete the final year and earn your N.E.W.T.s. It’s a pleasure to see you here again at Hogwarts, and in such great numbers. The doors of our castle are open to all after the war.”
At these last words, many eyes turned toward the small group of Slytherins, who had gathered in a corner as if they didn’t want to be noticed. Harry saw Malfoy and Parkinson, but also Zabini, Bulstrode, and other familiar faces. The only ones missing were Crabbe and Goyle.
“As you know, we are in an exceptional situation,” Flitwick continued. “Hogwarts has never hosted an eighth year of students, and the House dormitories are not equipped with a room for you. For this reason, we’ve had to adopt a wing on the third floor to create a new dormitory, just for you. You will have your own common room, while the dormitories will be divided by your original House.”
Murmurs rose among the students. Some protested, “Does this mean we can’t return to our House’s common room?!” Others seemed relieved, “All together! It’ll be like being in the Room of Requirement last year.”
Harry didn’t have an opinion on the matter. As he stared absently at the corner of the Entrance Hall where he had seen Lavender Brown’s lifeless body lying, he realized that spending another year at Hogwarts would still be a kind of torture.
"Silence, silence!" Flitwick admonished them. "I’m sure, in due time, you’ll all see the positive aspects of this choice. But there are more updates: you will have your own table in the Great Hall, and you will wear a new color to distinguish you from the other students."
With a wave of his wand, a basket full of purple ties with thin white stripes appeared at the base of the column of books where Flitwick was perched.
"I'm a Hufflepuff!" Zacharias Smith complained. "I can't possibly... wear this."
Other students nodded, showing signs of disapproval. Even Ron, next to Harry, huffed and whispered, "Flitwick's lost it!"
"Enough fuss, and go ahead, take two ties each, my dear students," Flitwick urged them. "Trust me: your eighth year will be wonderful!"
Grumbling, the students slowly approached the basket to pick up the ties. As he grabbed his, Terry Boot declared, "I'll always be a Ravenclaw; no tie will change that."
It felt strange, Harry thought. He took off his Gryffindor tie and stuffed it into his pocket, then put on one of his new purple ties. It was really odd, looking around and no longer seeing the House colors, but only purple ties everywhere.
Flitwick started speaking again. "Well, students! Now that we’ve clarified a few things, you’re free to enter the Great Hall and take your seats for the feast. The Sorting of the new students will begin shortly."
With a quick leap, he hopped down from the pile of books and headed toward the Great Hall. Harry followed him.
It was strange for everyone that the new eighth-year common room was on the third floor. The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were used to going higher, up to their towers, while the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins were accustomed to moving through the dark, damp corridors of the dungeons.
No one truly felt at home in this new, rectangular, and somewhat bare common room. There was a large fireplace burning brightly, casting a warm light, a huge couch, and plenty of armchairs scattered around. In the corners of the room, several tables had been set up for studying, but the atmosphere remained curiously neutral. On the walls, portraits displayed the crests of all four Houses, without one House dominating over the others.
Two wide stone archways led to the side corridors: the boys' wing on the right and the girls' wing on the left. In each corridor, four heavy wooden doors opened to the respective dormitories.
As always, Harry would be sharing the room with Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean. But their new dormitory wasn’t circular like Gryffindor Tower; it was rectangular, with two beds placed along the longer sides and a fifth bed at the far end, opposite the door. On one of the long sides, between the beds, large windows opened, letting in the moonlight. Harry and Ron quickly claimed those beds.
The first night passed without much event. Harry slipped under the covers as soon as they returned from the feast. For a while, he could hear the murmurs of his roommates talking softly beyond his bed curtains, but after about an hour, even those whispers faded, and the room sank into silent darkness.
The next morning, Ron waited for Harry to finish getting ready, and together they headed to the Great Hall for breakfast. They found seats next to Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Parvati Patil.
"Blimey, Neville, you were snoring all night!" Seamus was complaining, as he served himself a generous portion of beans onto his plate.
Neville blushed, embarrassed. "Sorry, guys. I've got a bit of a cold."
Dean, however, laughed to ease the tension. "I didn't hear a thing. I was sleeping on my good ear, you know? One of the few perks of going half-deaf."
Ron, his mouth full of bacon, mumbled something incomprehensible. Then, after swallowing, he repeated, "George always says that too."
Harry pushed his mashed potatoes around on his plate, feeling his stomach twist. Both Dean and George had lost part of their hearing during the war.
The doors of the Great Hall opened, and the large group of eighth-year Slytherins entered, including Malfoy. Like the night before, they moved as a group, almost as if they needed each other's presence to feel safe.
"I don't like wearing the same color tie as them," Parvati muttered, nodding in their direction. "They were on the side of those who killed Lavender!"
At those words, the Gryffindors at the table visibly flinched. "Parvati!" Neville exclaimed.
"What? Isn’t it true?" Parvati shot back, her voice rising in intensity. "They were the Carrows' favorites! Just a few months ago, those cowards were practicing Unforgivable Curses on us!"
"She's not the only one who feels that way," Seamus added darkly. "Last year was a nightmare. I don’t understand how McGonagall and Flitwick expect us to just forget everything and pretend it didn’t happen."
"Well, McGonagall and Flitwick were here last year," Zacharias Smith chimed in from nearby, having overheard the conversation. "And they turned a blind eye for months."
"McGonagall and Flitwick fought tooth and nail against the Death Eaters!" Harry burst out. Everyone turned to look at him, surprised that he had finally broken his silence.
"Easy, I wasn’t questioning that," Smith quickly backtracked, clearly not wanting to get on the wrong side of the Savior of the Wizarding World.
"Actually, it really seemed like you were," Harry retorted. He pushed his plate away, then abruptly stood up from the bench and walked out of the Great Hall.
In the entrance hall, Harry ran into Luna. She was slowly descending the stairs, dragging along a satchel that seemed incredibly heavy and overstuffed.
"Hi, Harry!" she greeted him with a beaming smile as she approached. "Do you like my headband? I’m wearing it to show solidarity."
Only then did Harry notice that Luna was wearing a thick purple headband, the same color as the ties he and the other eighth-year students were required to wear.
"I’ve always liked purple. Some say it’s bad luck, but actually, it keeps away the Nargles," she added with her usual calmness, as if discussing the weather.
"Of course, the Nargles," Pansy Parkinson interjected, with a sarcastic smile as she walked closer. "They must be absolutely terrified of purple, huh?"
Luna nodded serenely, taking Parkinson's remark in her usual composed manner. "Exactly. In fact, you don’t see any around now, do you? It works perfectly."
Parkinson burst out laughing, her black bob swaying. Harry couldn’t tell if he was annoyed by it or not.
When she finally calmed down, Parkinson added, "Come on, Luna. Draco and I were waiting for you." Then she turned to Harry, lifting her chin slightly. "Potter," she greeted him, her tone measured.
"Parkinson," Harry replied. Their gazes locked for a moment, almost with a hint of challenge.
The corner of Pansy’s mouth lifted in a slight smirk. Then, with a fluid motion, she turned to Luna, and together they disappeared through the large doors of the Great Hall, leaving Harry to watch them with a vague sense of curiosity.
The first week at Hogwarts passed slowly and strangely. Harry had retreated back into his silence. He didn’t do it on purpose; he simply had nothing to say. His throat tightened especially when the weight of past events became too much: like when Justin Finch-Fletchley showed the Common Room the nasty scar the Battle of Hogwarts had left on his arm, or when mail arrived from the Burrow and Ron happily told him that George had finally reopened Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.
During classes, Harry often found himself lost in thought, distant from the noise and laughter of his classmates. Ron tried to engage him with little nudges and jokes, but Harry could only respond with forced smiles.
The eighth-year students had a lot on their minds: they had to get used to a new routine, share spaces with people they would have rather avoided, and from the very first lesson, the professors overwhelmed them with homework and recommendations about their N.E.W.T.s.
Yet, one of the hottest topics of discussion among the eighth years (and the entire school) was Luna Lovegood’s new friendships. It wasn’t unusual to see Luna Lovegood more and more often in the company of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson.
This didn’t go unnoticed, because the rest of the school had made an unspoken decision not to speak to any Slytherins, especially those in the eighth year. Not that the Slytherins made much of an effort to integrate. They moved as a tight-knit group in the hallways, never in too small a cluster. At the eighth-year table in the Great Hall, they sat together, always leaving at least a couple of seats between themselves and the rest of the Houses.
The only exception was Luna. She didn’t go unnoticed: her blonde hair swayed as she chatted with Malfoy and Parkinson as if they were old friends. They often met in the Entrance Hall after breakfast, strolled through the courtyard after lessons, and studied together in the library.
This situation didn’t sit well with the other students. Harry often heard whispers of disapproval as Luna passed through the corridors, and sometimes venomous remarks were muttered behind her back. "She’s lost her mind," someone would grumble. "What’s she doing with them?"
"I’ve only managed to talk to her once since school started," complained Ginny one afternoon, while the Gryffindor group sat on a hill in the Hogwarts courtyard. Not far away, by the lake, Malfoy seemed to be teaching Luna how to skip stones across the water. Parkinson watched them, half-reclined on the shore. "She spends all her time with them—it’s sick!"
"It’s like she doesn’t realize what kind of people they are," said Neville with a disappointed air. "I ran into her in the Herbology greenhouses yesterday and asked her about it. She said they were nice. Malfoy and Parkinson, nice."
"Maybe we shouldn’t be that surprised," Ron muttered, frowning. "After what she said at Malfoy’s trial, I mean."
"What did she say?" asked Parvati.
"Well, you know, Harry and I were at his trial." Ron glanced at Harry, as if he was about to reveal a secret they both shared. Harry had no idea what he was talking about—he barely remembered Malfoy’s trial, just like most things from that summer. "Luna was called to testify because she’d been a prisoner at Malfoy Manor last Christmas. Naturally, everyone thought she’d testify against him."
Ron paused there. "Instead, she started going on about a bunch of nonsense. She said Malfoy had always been kind to her, that he secretly brought her chocolate bars, that they talked a lot, and that he was scared."
They did talk," Dean cautiously confirmed, who usually stayed quiet when it came to Luna. "Sometimes, she shared the chocolate with me and Ollivander."
Harry looked at him. He sometimes forgot that Dean had also been a prisoner at Malfoy Manor, that he had been tortured until he lost hearing in his right ear. And Luna had been there the whole time, fraternizing with the enemy? That same thought must have been crossing the minds of everyone present.
“No one expected that kind of testimony from Luna,” Ron emphasized. “It turned the whole trial upside down: from that moment, Malfoy appeared to everyone as just a poor kid, a victim of his parents, with a kind heart. It’s because of Luna that he got acquitted.”
A chorus of indignation rose from the Gryffindors. Harry, however, didn’t feel any outrage, because deep down he thought the same thing (except for the part about the kind heart, of course). He clearly remembered Malfoy crying in the bathroom in sixth year, his conversation with Dumbledore before he died, and how Malfoy had pretended not to recognize Harry at the Manor. Harry made sure not to say those things out loud.
“Do you think they’re shagging?” Seamus asked out of nowhere.
“Seamus!” Parvati exclaimed, scandalized, while the others burst into laughter.
“Malfoy’s still with Parkinson, isn’t he? They’re always together,” Dean pointed out.
“Maybe he’s shagging both of them,” Ginny quipped, sparking another round of laughter.
Hi Harry,
How are you? How are things going at Hogwarts? I’m really curious to know what the rebuilt castle looks like.
I’ve been in Australia for a week now, and McGonagall has already sent me my first batch of parchment. It’s all interesting, but trying the spells on my own in a hotel room is definitely not the same as practicing in class with a professor who can correct me. Anyway, I’m doing my best to keep up with the assignments.
In the meantime, I’m also working on the real reason I’m here. Yesterday, I went to the first address where my parents had moved just before the war, but there was no one there. I don’t know why I’m disappointed, considering it was my spell that implanted the idea in them to keep moving from place to place. I did it so Voldemort would have a harder time finding them. But I’ll make it, I’m sure. They’re still my parents, and I know them better than anyone else.
Let me know how you’re doing. You and Ron are always in my thoughts.
Talk soon,
Hermione
It was Thursday of the second week of classes. Harry had received the letter from Hermione at breakfast. He had stuffed it in his pocket and read it under the desk during Charms. When the lesson ended, he stayed behind in the classroom to try and write a reply, but he didn’t manage to write much. Frustrated, he crumpled up the parchment containing his pitiful attempt, tucked Hermione’s letter back into his pocket, and stood up to head to the next class. He was the last one left in the room.
Just then, the door opened, and Malfoy walked back into the classroom. When he noticed Harry was still there, he froze as if he’d seen a ghost.
Harry looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“I was—well, I forgot my ink,” Malfoy stammered, quickly grabbing the inkwell from his desk and stuffing it into his bag.
Then he seemed to change his mind. He straightened his shoulders, put on a sneering expression, and turned to Harry. “Look at you, Potter, all alone. What, did Weasley give you an hour off? Not following him around like a little puppy for once?”
Harry gritted his teeth. “I could say the same about you and your entire Slytherin gang. Cowards.”
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “At least we have a reason. We’re on enemy ground.”
Harry scoffed. “You talk like the war’s not over.”
“Are you always this thick, or are there days when you actually get it?” Malfoy hissed.
Harry stared at him, blood boiling. “I understand more than you think, Malfoy. There’s no point in trying to hide your fear behind arrogance.”
Malfoy stiffened, the icy smirk slipping for just a moment. But he quickly recovered, returning to his usual mask of superiority. “Fear? Oh, Potter, call it whatever you like. But you know just as well as I do that I, and plenty of other Slytherins, aren’t welcome here. We’re just being cautious.”
“Cautious?” Harry shook his head in disbelief. “That’s not caution, it’s cowardice. And you know it.”
Malfoy took a step forward, his tone even sharper. “And it’s not cowardice to come back to Hogwarts just to zombie around behind Weasley?”
“What the hell do you know?” Harry snapped, stepping forward and clenching his fists. They were so close now that they could feel each other’s breath, and Harry hadn’t felt this alive in months.
Malfoy glared at him with piercing eyes, a sarcastic smile spreading across his face. “I just know that, for being the Savior of the Wizarding World, you’re really acting like a loser lately.”
With that, he turned and walked out of the classroom, leaving behind a cold, almost empty feeling. Harry was furious. He couldn’t believe it. He wanted to chase after him and punch him in the face. Or maybe hex him.
Instead, he gathered his things quickly and headed to Transfiguration. He was ridiculously late.