Hannah Abbott's Story

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As far as first days back went, Harry ranked this one somewhere between third year and sixth in a scale of gloom. The danger was gone, sure, but he still felt like something was...dark. The last time he'd been in the Great Hall, the floor had been littered with bodies. That wasn't the kind of thing he could forget, and he had a feeling plenty of others couldn't either.

The hall had been completely restored over the last year, and it was beautiful once again even in its sadness, the enchanted ceiling above them promising a nice day full of sunshine with a cool fall breeze. The First Years had come in all bright smiles and promising youth, and it'd been nice. To see things...normal.

He didn't feel as out of place as he thought he would, sitting at the very front of the hall in his purple robes. McGonagall had explained in her letter that it was to tell them apart from the underage students, especially from afar, as they were allowed different privileges. He also had a feeling it had something to do with unity...the younger years had class periods set aside to work on Interhouse Cooperation, but the Eighth Years were already forced to do so. Didn't keep them from splitting up...the former Slytherin's were on one side of the table, the former Gryffindor's on the other, the Ravenclaw's and Hufflepuff's between them. It wasn't surprising.

Harry was sure McGonagall was giving a lovely speech, but he couldn't focus. Most of his attention was on the piece of parchment in his hand, folding it, opening it, refolding it, over and over again, like a bad habit he couldn't seem to kick. It had his resolutions on it. He'd never been one for the tradition, but it seemed important this year. This year when he was getting a chance to start again. When they all were. He didn't want to waste it.
It was a good list, Harry thought. Technically the Auror program would have accepted him back with or without a complete education...perks of saving the Wizarding World he supposed, but he was determined to do it right. Sometimes he felt like a vat of magical energy and like he had no idea how to actually control it. Like all this time he'd been fumbling around and just forcing out power and hoping for the best. Which sounded about right, actually.

He was determined to move on, as well. The rest of the world had, for better or worse. There were people he had already forgiven, forgiven more than he should probably, but there were things that just...weren't important anymore, given the givens. Ron had decided not to return to school, or the Auror program at all, after a bit of thinking. He figured George needed him more, and they'd agreed to reopen Weasley Wizard Wheezes together. It felt odd, sitting at the table without him, and his free hand found Hermione's without him even really thinking about it, giving it a gentle squeeze. He knew he needed to keep himself together, because she would call him out on it eventually.

And then there was Ginny. The breakup after the war had been easy, if a little surprising to them both. Harry loved her, and he always would, but...not in the way he'd originally thought. They'd parted on good terms, and although things were still a little awkward, they were still friends. Lunches at the Burrow had been going very good over the summer.

As for Malfoy...well, they'd swapped their apologies already...

The hall was loud, cheerful voices rising and falling over each other, the professors laughing with one another. It was good, Harry thought, and he should be happy about it...but really, it was just making his head hurt. He crumbled up his piece of paper, shoved it in his pocket, and picked up his drink instead. The taste of Pumpkin Juice made him screw up his nose, and he sighed out of exhaustion.

He needed a drink. A real drink. He'd cut back quite a bit, given his summer activities with Draco, but he was feeling like he deserved a cheat day, first day back and all...

"Now, as for you lot." Professor McGonagall had stepped down from the head of the room, now standing at the edge of their table. The rest of the hall fell to background noise, no doubt magically, as she glanced over each of their faces knowingly for a moment. "Obviously, this is a new program, so we are all on a bit of a learning curve. I'm sure you each gathered from my letter that, as you are adults, you will be treated as such. Keep in mind, this means I expect you to behave as much." Harry was almost certain he felt her gaze move from him across the table to Malfoy, but he refused to look, absolutely refused to. Mostly because they'd decided to keep some things between just themselves...and Harry's face was open book. "I also believe that all of you are aware of the lax, although no less serious, rules you are expected to follow. I do, however, feel it important to remind you that I do not want to see anyone with any alcohol on school grounds. Am I understood?"

There was a collection of nods, some dropped shoulders, but Harry didn't let it bother him. The rule pertained to her 'seeing' the alcohol, after all. It was a very Slytherin loophole for him to focus on, but a loophole nonetheless. Perhaps Draco had rubbed off on him more than he'd noticed. When there were no arguments, McGonagall gave a decisive nod. "Shall I show you to your rooms, then?

Harry sighed and tapped his fingers against his glass three times before lifting it to his lips. This time, when he took a drink, he could clearly taste the bitter undertone of alcohol. Why had he ever thought this was a good idea?

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It wasn't like him to accept something like this. He imagined he would never step foot inside the crawling towards, see the enchanted ceiling, hear the chorus off chatter from the great hall. Draco was not the sentimental type, but he could honestly say that the feeling that swelled in his chest upon entry of the lines of red, purple, blue, and green was something akin to happiness.

The last time Draco had seen Hogwarts, it had been on fire. The walls had crumbled, towers ripped apart- the ground had been littered with many bodies of people had known, and it had been his fault. He will never be able to come to terms with the choices he made that lead to Voldemort leading his army in on that day. For a while, Draco wasn't sure if he felt guilt over loosing or over what had been lost. He sided with Voldemort years before the final battle, back when his eyes were less dark and his hair not yet so pale. The fear had made him age- his eyes sunken, bags turned black, skin ashen as if he was already dead. His allegiance to Voldemort had literally been sucking the life out of him, each time he had to make a decision that he knew was wrong, it felt like a chip was being scrapped away from his soul. During his trial, after his family had escaped Hogwarts, Draco was forced to sit and listened to the seemingly never ending drone of his bad qualities and actions. The witnesses had all been people that once called him by his first name- survivors of Hogwarts, family friends of the Malfoys, childhood acquaintances. Face after face, blurring as the humiliation made his shoulders sag and head drop.

It was Harry that had stood up, quieted the room, and called for him to be pardoned. He was just a kid that had yet to complete Hogwarts, still a wizard in training and not out from under his families shadow. Voldemort had seduced Draco, compelled him into making heinous acts using fear.

Draco had never been more grateful towards a single person in his life.

He glanced over at Harry as they sat at the great table at the top of the hall. Though all the 8th years shared a table, they had separated on their own into small groups of their houses. But Draco no longer felt allegiance to these people- yes, be was proud to be a Slytherin, but they Slytherin's themselves were no longer people he recognized. In the sea of faces at his trail, he'd seen quite a few of his fellow green and silver comrades. Though he was almost sure none of the faces present had spit vile words at him, he wanted to avoid attaching himself to any of these house members just in case.

Draco wished that things were different, that he wasn't sitting on the farthest end of the table from Harry. But they made plans this summer, plans to keep things hushed until they could figure out something else. Sitting at this table, in this great hall, surrounded by the people that Draco betrayed....it was making him want to crawl back into the hole he and Harry had created, drowning in each others sorrows over fire whiskey and breakfast food.

McGonagal was addressing the crowd, the usual introduction. Draco watched, though his ears were not hearing the sound of an old woman. He saw for a moment an old wizard, robes and long beard, a twinkle in his eyes and a warm smile, even for someone like him. He heard him giving the introductory speech, announcing each of the houses and warming the audience with his presence...even if he was just an old wizard, Dumbledore had always been able to charm a warmth into the hall. Draco blinked back tears, his heart twisted and clenched like it wanted to fall from his chest. Draco had not been able to do it, but there wasn't a day that past by that he didn't think of Dumbledore and his final words to him;

"Draco, years ago I knew a boy who made all the wrong choices. Please let me help you"

Those words were why he accepted the invitation, along with Harrys prodding. He wanted to finally accept the help he had denied, the help that probably would have allowed Dumbledore to survive and less victims to fall at the hands of Voldemort. So here he was, back in his robes, sitting this time at the head of the Great Hall, and feeling like a hundred eyes were staring at him from their seats.

New, fresh eyes.
New, fresh judgment.

McGongal's voice filtered back in his ears as she addressed them specifically, explaining their position and the rules that they must live by. "Obviously, this is a new program, so we are all on a bit of a learning curve. I'm sure you each gathered from my letter that, as you are adults, you will be treated as such. Keep in mind, this means I expect you to behave as much." Without looking, he could feel her attention shift to him she spoke. Even if the old woman's eyes weren't on him, he knew he was being addressed. His gaze lowered to his hands on the table, fiddling with the hem of his new purple robes whilst pretending to not be affected by her tone.

He felt out numbered, solidly alone in this mass of people. Draco itched to look towards Harry, get a look at his face in order to remind himself that he wasn't truly alone as long as the other boy was here. But they had decided to keep their distance while in public, so Draco kept his eyes firmly plastered to his nervous hands.