A Different River

A Different River - Chapter 1

"Life does not cease to be funny when people die anymore than it ceases to be serious when people laugh."

- George Bernard Shaw

It was a strange thing getting off the train and climbing into the carriages, and it was a strange thing hearing Hagrid calling for all first years to follow him down to the lake. It was a strange thing entering the Great Hall through mended gates, and it was a strange thing sitting at the Gryffindor table just a few meters away from where Voldemort's limp body had fallen to the floor.

Everything looked just the same as it always did, and that was strange, too. The last time Harry sat at these tables the Great Hall was a chaotic mess, blood and broken furniture and emeralds spilled out over the flagstones. Families hugging and crying, glad for their living, devastated for their dead. Now the floor had been cleaned, by magic or by house elves, and the furniture had been repaired or replaced. The bodies had been moved. Everything was as it had always been.

Except for the missing faces. Parvati was not there, and Lavender looked lonely and out of place without her best friend. In the headmaster's chair now sat a headmistress, and in Snape's a robust looking young woman with brown hair tied back in a long plait. There were other new faces as well, replacing teachers whose names Harry never knew. The guilt returned momentarily - they had died for him, and he never knew their names, couldn't remember what they looked like.

"Professor Vector is not here," Hermione whispered, looking upset. "Do you know if he is -"

"He's dead," Neville, who had disentangled himself from a group of fifth-years and sat down next to Ron, said. "My granny told me. Got crushed under a collapsing wall."

All around them similar conversations were carried out in hushed voices. "- that's her little brother, over there -", "- they couldn't find enough pieces to bury him -", "- say her mum's gone made from grief -". Harry wanted to shut out the voices, hear no more, but some kind of perverse masochism forced him to strain his ear, trying to catch every word. When Professor Sprout stepped through the doors, first-years in tow, and silence fell in the hall, he sagged with relief.

And the hat sang, and it was just the same as always - the brave to Gryffindor, the clever to Ravenclaw, the hard-working to Hufflefuff, and the ambitious to Slytherin. And the sorting commenced and it was just the same as it had always been: pale young faces, anticipation, apprehension, relief when a house was called and applause broke out.

When 'Whitepea, Rosie' had taken her seat at the Ravenclaw table, McGonagall stood and the cheering and smatter of clapping hands died out. She let her eyes sweep over the assembled students - for a long moment she did not speak, and when she finally did her voice was unusually hoarse. "I cannot say how glad I am to see all of you gathered here today. I don't believe I need to speak of the losses we have suffered in the last year - you know if far too well. But we are here, and Hogwarts are still open for all who seek to educate their minds, as was always the intention of our four noble founders."

"Yeah, open to all, that was exactly what out noble founder Slytherin intended," muttered Ron under his breath. Hermione gave him a reproachful stare which he ignored.

"I would like to welcome you all here, and remind that this is a place of learning and developing and that we judge no one here by anything else than their own deeds and accomplishments."

"Does that mean no beating on the Death Eater kids? Pity." In spite of himself, Harry had to grin at Ron's remark. Hermione, however, was not amused and waved her hand irritably.

Behind the staff table, McGonagall carried on, quite oblivious to the whispered exchange. "We are one school, and shall stand united as one school, much as we did during the battle against... Lord Voldemort." She paused, as squeals of dismay and fear erupted in the Hall.

"Does that mean that the Slytherins aren't a part of the school, then, seeing as they didn't join us -"

"Ron, shut up."

"I would ask of you to join me in a toast to all those who fought and fell for Hogwarts and its students in June. We acknowledge their sacrifice and I hope that we can find some comfort in the knowledge that we, by returning here, honor what they believed in, and that their deaths were not in vain." She flicked her wand and the golden goblets on the tables immediately filled with red wine. Harry grabbed his goblet and stood, quickly followed by Ron and Hermione, then the rest of the students. For a moment, McGonagall's eyes locked into his, and she gave him a brief nod, before calling out the names of those who had died in the battle against Voldemort.

Her voice rang out loud and clear in the otherwise completely quiet room. Harry glanced at Ron as McGonagall read out Fred's name, and noticed that Hermione had, once again, taken his hand, gripping it firmly, lending silent support. Ron stood tall, his eyes unblinking and filled with both furious grief and fierce pride. In the seat next to him Harry could see Lavender Brown's face shine with tears.

Finally, McGonagall looked up from her list. "And lastly I would like to mention a man who gave up more than any other for this school, and who did so without any recognition, for the nature of his work was such that he had to conduct it in secret. For a year he served us as Headmaster, and it was by no fault of his that this year shall be remembered with horror by those who lived here at the time; indeed, had he not been here to protect us in silence we would have suffered immeasurably more." She cleared her throat. "To Severus Snape, and to all others who died defending this school."

They raised their glasses, and drank deep. Over the rim of his goblet, Harry caught sight of Draco Malfoy who was drinking with everybody else. He sat alone to the side of the Slytherin table, his face as pale as ever in the flickering candlelight. Though he was too far away for Harry to be sure, it seemed to him that Draco's hand shook slightly as he put the goblet back on the table. The feeling of utter strangeness returned - the feeling that everything was just the same, and that everything was completely, irrevocably changed. Draco, so familiar in his black robes, sitting alone, staring defiantly straight ahead, ignoring the dirty glares being thrown in his direction every now and then.

McGonagall had sat down, flicked her wand again and as the plates filled with food, Harry turned to Hermione and Ron. "I think Malfoy is the only Slytherin from our year who's here."

"Really?" Ron peered at the other table and grinned. "Hey, I think you're right. Cool."

"Well, the Slytherins liked how the school was run last, didn't they?" Dean said. "But I thought Malfoy stayed the whole semester, too. I mean, I know he was home for Easter, but I figured he came back here afterwards."

"He and his parents were locked up in the Manor after we escaped," Harry said quietly. "Voldemort wasn't happy that they let us get away."

"Serves them right." There was no trace of pity in Dean's voice. "See how they like being locked up."

Harry, who had seen Lucius Malfoy's face after Voldemort had exacted the punishment for their escape, did not reply. He did not feel sorry for Draco's father, who had willingly chosen to align himself with the Dark Lord, but wondered what Draco had been forced to endure. He had not forgotten that the Slytherin had refused to name him, Ron and Hermione back when they were brought before him and his family, though it would have brought the Malfoys back into Voldemort's good graces.

And why hadn't he? There had been a moment, just after the Wizengamot hearing where the Malfoys had been granted amnesty due to their collaboration with Harry during the last battle, when he had almost asked. Lingering in the corridor to have a word with Kingsley Shacklebolt, Harry had come face to face with Draco as he emerged from the hearing room, his parents in tow.

He had stopped when he spotted Harry. Draco looked very tired, with a greyish tinge to his unnaturally pale face, his eyes underlined by dark bags. Yet he held his head high, like his parents, and he did not avert his eyes, but met Harry's steadily, almost defiantly. For a heartbeat they stood like that, staring at each other, neither of them knowing what to say, both of them (or so Harry thought) feeling that something should be said. What do you say then to someone who was your enemy, but is your enemy no longer, yet is not a friend either?

Finally, Draco opened his mouth, at the same time as Harry cleared his throat to ask the question that had gone unadressed during the hearing - and Lucius Malfoy placed his hand on his son's shoulder, urging him forward. As the pair passed Harry, the older of them gave him a curt nod; Draco did not offer him another look. Narcissa came after them and she, like her son, paused when she laid eyes on Harry.

"Draco told us that you saved his life twice during the battle of Hogwarts," she said.

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

"I see. Then it would appear that you have repaid your life-debt to us before it was even owed."

"Eh. I guess?" Life-debts were still something of a mystery to Harry, and so far, he had not wasted a single second considering the possible significance of him saving Draco, or Narcissa saving him.

"And still you testified in our defense." She studied him intently for another moment, then nodded once, as if she had found the answer to some unspoken question. Without another word, she swept past Harry and continued down the corridor after her husband and child.

Harry had not seen any of them since, not until he spotted Draco on the Hogwarts Express. And now they sat here, both of them, back in the Great Hall, and everything was just as it had always been, and everything was different.

"Hey, pass the potatoes, will you, mate?" Ron's cheerful voice roused Harry from his reverie and he quickly lifted the bowl and put it down next to his friend.

As they made their way through dinner, talk turned from the battle and its aftermath, to the coming school year and Harry felt himself relax, forgetting about the Malfoys. "I always knew Hermione would make Head Girl," Neville was saying next to him. "But who's Head Boy?"

"Ernie MacMillian," Ron answered, his mouth stuffed with Yorkshire pudding.

"Shame you didn't get it, mate," Dean offered, but Ron just shook his head with a grin.

"Nah, I didn't want it in the first place. Too much work. This year I just want to take it easy and relax."

"Relax?" Hermione sounded incredulous. "We've got our N.E.W.T.s coming up! You won't have time to relax!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "C'mon. Compared to fighting You-Know-Who, exams will be a stroll in the park. Don't see why we have to take them anyway, heroes shouldn't have to study... "

"No, because job opportunities for 'heroes' are so very common -"

***

Later that evening, Harry was laying in his bed, listening to the even rhythm of the others' breathing. Ron was mumbling in his sleep, muttering something that sounded very much like 'Kreacher'.

Harry smiled. The house elf, whom he had inherited from Sirius, was back at Grimmuald Place, taking care of the house until Harry returned. Worried that the elf might feel lonely, Harry had offered to free him and get him a job at Hogwarts, but the mere suggestion had seemed highly offensive to Kreacher, who had stated, in no uncertain terms, that he would rather stay and take care of his beloved master Regulus' former home.

Home.

Harry had not returned to Privet Drive to visit his Uncle and Aunt. He had considered it - Dudley had seemed genuinely concerned for his safety when they parted before his seventeenth birthday - but he had no real wish to. He had sent them a card instead, assuring them that he was safe and sound, and that the danger was over. For better and for worse - well, mostly for the better - that was no longer his home. Neither was Grimmauld Place. Maybe it would be, one day, but for now...

For now, Hogwarts was more than enough.