Do You Trust Me?

Do You Trust Me?

Chapter Four:

The morning of the 31^st of August dawned with a burst of pale sunshine that streamed through the gap in the curtains, teasing Harry into a semi-reluctant consciousness. The familiar sounds of the Leaky Cauldron waking up rumbled around him, threatening to lull him back to sleep; the broom of the cleaning witch scraping along the stone floor of the corridor, the distant buzz of voices breakfasting below, and beyond, the gathering hustle and bustle as Diagon Alley came to life.

Harry rather fancied that he would miss waking to this comforting routine. He tried to remember what waking up at Hogwarts had felt like. Dean and Neville usually woke first; the former was just naturally an early bird, whilst the latter was constantly afraid that if he didn't wake up early, he'd wake up late and that would be much worse.

Harry smiled faintly as he recalled the somewhat desperate measures that had been employed on occasion to try and get Seamus and Ron out bed. Once Dean had had the bright idea of using a localised rain spell to wake them up; unfortunately his calculations had been a little off and Professor McGonagall had not been impressed when the room ended up flooded with two feet of water.

The smile faded and Harry wondered if things would be same. He didn't even know if Dean and Seamus were returning to Hogwarts. Once the war had broken out, communications had pretty much collapsed. Owls were no longer sent for fear of interception and face-to-face meetings were limited for safety reasons.

Harry knew that Dean had disappeared back into the Muggle world; more particularly targeted by the Death Eaters, Muggle-borns had been advised to retreat to the Muggle world for their own safety and that of their families. The Ministry had set up a special department to deal with relocating Muggle-born families and placing wards around them. Harry supposed that Dean had probably gotten on with his life... he knew he would have if he'd had the chance.

Seamus had returned to Ireland as soon as Hogwarts had closed, as far away from the impending danger as possible. But other members of his family had remained in England; his mother and uncle had been members of the Order, their strangely cheerful accents echoing around the kitchen at Grimmauld Place on more than one occasion.

Harry had received the odd snippet of information about Seamus here and there but his mother had always been reluctant to speak about her son, her eyes always filled with worry and fear. A sudden sandy-haired vision flashed before his eyes; Liam Finnegan lying dead on a frozen battlefield, mouth open, eyes vacant. That had been at the beginning of the war... Harry wondered if the Finnegans were still grieving for their lost brother and uncle; he had heard very little about the family since the end of the war when everyone had gone their separate ways.

The only one Harry was confident would return was Neville. Although he hadn't seen him since the final victory, Neville had been a regular visitor at Grimmauld Place during the war and had always expressed a desire to complete his seventh year so that he could go on to an apprenticeship in Herbology. Neville was still wild about plants and whatever skills he lacked in other magical areas, he more than made up for in his dedication to and knowledge of botany.

Harry nestled back into his pillow and allowed himself one brief moment of indulgence in which a vision of life as it had been and life as it was blended seamlessly together; a vision where he woke in his bed in Gryffindor Tower and everything was the same, right down to Neville's snoring and Seamus' muffled sleep-talking.

He heaved a sigh; it was naïve of him to think that things could ever be the same... they would all have grown, changed. That's just the way life worked.

He swung his sleep-laden legs over the edge of the mattress, dragging himself out of bed in time to let the cleaning witch in. She seemed pleasantly surprised by the relative order of his room. Harry could only guess what she had previously encountered trying to do her duty to Ron's mess.

After breakfast, Harry ventured out into Diagon Alley with the others. It was crowded and he was tense as a result, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched; every witch or wizard he passed paused to watch him and he bowed his head to avoid their eyes.

He fell into step beside Ginny, allowing Ron and Hermione to outstrip them. They meandered slowly down the cobbled street, vaguely keeping an eye on the distant figures of the other two. Ron and Hermione weren't holding hands but they were walking close enough to each other that the backs of their hands brushed against the other's every so often.

Ginny chatted happily as they progressed through the crowd. She spoke cheerfully and rapidly but she never made any attempt to draw Harry unwillingly into her conversation. She always listened attentively when he did speak, though, and Harry found her company comfortable and soothing.

They were just drawing closer to Eeylops Owl Emporium when a gaggle of excited young witches veered across Harry's path, rushing across the street to gush over Madam Malkin's newly imported Parisian robes. As Harry swerved to avoid a collision, a flash of blonde in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He followed the movement almost unconsciously. The owner of the blonde hair disappeared into Quality Quidditch Supplies, but not before turning slightly to call out to a friend across the street. Harry's eyes trailed over the unfamiliar face, a strange feeling of disappointment rising within him.

"Harry?" Ginny asked, resting her hand on his arm.

Harry turned back to her. He could almost see the words 'are you alright?' forming on her lips. She caught herself just in time and the words she uttered were deliberately light and innocuous. "Come on, we'll lose Ron and Hermione in this crowd if we're not careful," she said brightly. Harry smiled and followed her through the throng.

The rest of the day passed smoothly in one long continuous stream of sunshine. An occasional cloud meandered across the blue expanse of sky but the light shone through the curling wisps of white, casting a dappled pattern on the city below.

In the afternoon they wandered out into Muggle London, aimlessly but enjoyably passing the rest of the day winding their way through the streets, lapping up the last burst of summer sun. Ron and Ginny had long since become familiar with the Muggle world but they still paused in marvel at the way Muggles had adapted to life without magic.

In Hyde Park, beneath the cover of a shady tree, they ate ice creams and watched a family of ducks drift across the glassy surface of the lake, leaving gentle ripples in their wake. Around them, small children laughed and played, enjoying their last moments of freedom before the new school year began.

A nosy-looking seagull approached them, its beady eyes watching and waiting. It crept steadily closer, edging towards Ron, peering at his half-consumed ice-cream cone. Another one appeared and then another until a small crowd had gathered, their tiny eyes following Ron's every move.

After about fifteen minutes, he finally cracked, leaping up and chasing them away. Hermione and Ginny laughed as the flock scattered with a unanimous squawk of anger. Ron flopped heavily back down on the grass with a satisfied sigh.

Two seconds of peaceful interlude passed before there was a fluttering of wings and the flock returned. Ron glared at them sulkily and this time when the girls burst into peels of laughter, Harry found himself joining in. The sound of his own laughter sounded strangely foreign to him, but he found that, for the first time in a long time, it was a more natural laugh, lacking the rather forced tone it had once had.

It was a good afternoon; gentle and leisurely... the sort of day when one could almost forget all the horrible things that lingered in the past, the sort of day when all that mattered was good fun, good weather and good company.

Even as they sat down to dinner that night, Harry could still feel the remnants of mirth swirling around inside him and half wished that they had more time to spend on days like that instead of leaving for Hogwarts.

George and Fred blessed the Leaky Cauldron with their presence and the dinner table was far louder and jollier than it had been the previous evening. Ginny regaled the twins with the story of Ron's battle for supremacy over the indomitable gulls, inspiring George to perform an impromptu but hilariously accurate impersonation of a hungry seagull. Beside him, Ron was frowning but when Harry peered a little closer he fancied that Ron was desperately trying to stop the corners of his mouth from turning upwards at George's antics.

As the meal drew to a close, Mrs Weasley got heavily to her feet, banging on the table to be heard. The loud thuds reverberated around the small parlour and chatter subsided as seven pairs of eyes swivelled around to rest on the family matriarch. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth. For the briefest of moments Harry thought she was going to launch into a long and probably dull speech. However, when she finally spoke it was brief and to the point. "Pack and then bed," she announced, her tone somewhere between a request and an order (though probably closer to the latter).

Ron opened his mouth to complain, but Mrs Weasley swung around and fixed her youngest son with a threatening glare, a look that promised dire consequences to anyone who dared to voice an opposition. Ron wisely closed his mouth again and meekly followed the rest of the group upstairs.

Hermione, as usual, was the first to finish packing. Her room had been far neater than anyone else's, which made locating all her belongings far easier. By 10pm she was all done and ready to go, her trunk neatly ordered and waiting by the door. She drifted across to Ron's room, leaning against the doorway to watch the frantic goings on inside.

When Ron suggested that she might like to help, she just cast him a very pointed Mrs Weasley-esque look; the sort of look that says 'well, if you'd been a bit neater you wouldn't be needing my help.' In reply, Ron gave her a rather pathetic look. Hermione rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue irritably but she relented and bent down to help.

She shuffled across the floor on her hands and knees, peering beneath any article of furniture that might be hiding a rogue article of clothing. As she passed him, Ron ducked down and pressed a brief kiss to her cheek. He moved away again, clearing his throat awkwardly but Hermione smiled to herself and stuck her arm underneath the wardrobe, locating a jumper that Ron hadn't even noticed was missing.

By 11, Hermione had finally had enough and had retired to bed, leaving Ron alone to struggle with his mess; the amount of swearing that drifted out of Ron's room increased dramatically following her departure.

Down the hall from Ron's muttered curses, Harry stood back from his trunk, finally satisfied that he had managed to find all of his possessions. As he had been packing his robes away, he had discovered the mirror that Sirius had given him during his fifth year.

He hadn't looked at it since Sirius' death; it seemed to represent everything that was wrong with his character, his impulsiveness, his reckless determination, his gullible stupidity. It was still wrapped carefully in its thick velvet cloth, shrouded from sight. For the first time in years Harry had been tempted to uncover it, to look at it just one more time. But when his fingers had caressed the soft material, a lump had formed in his throat and he closed his eyes, gently lowering it back into his trunk and piling things on top.

Harry shook his head and reached for his pyjamas. He could still hear Ron banging around in his room further down the corridor. Harry wandered slowly down the passageway and paused in Ron's doorway, sticking his head inside. Even hours later, Ron's room still looked rather like it had been the target of an air raid and Harry was greeted by Ron's cry of frustration, "Where the bloody Hell is my other bloody shoe?"

Harry grinned. "'Night, Ron," he called.

Ron looked up from the floor, a shoe in one hand and his wand in the other. "'Night, Harry," he replied, distractedly, peering under the bed again.

"Ron?" Harry asked. Ron looked up, aggravation etched across his face. "Your other bloody shoe is on top of the wardrobe," Harry finished, pointing.

Ron sagged and then laughed. "Thanks, mate!" his call followed Harry back down the corridor.

Harry changed swiftly and neatly folded his clothes away in his trunk before settling down in bed, lying awake in the darkness listening to Ron's continued efforts.

Finally after 12, even Ron went silent and all Harry had to listen to was the random creaking of the old building as it settled for the night.

Just before sleep came to claim him, he briefly considered going back up to the roof on the off chance that Malfoy might be there, but he slid into unconsciousness before he reached a decision.

The next morning was, thankfully, less frantic than usual, and by 9am Mrs Weasley had successfully ushered all her charges out onto the pavement, trunks in tow.

Fred and George sauntered up to bid their farewells. They winked at Harry and Ron and hugged Ginny. "Don't do anything..." Fred began.

"...we wouldn't do," George finished.

"Well, that doesn't rule much out," Hermione muttered. The Head-Girl badge pinned neatly to her chest caught the sunlight, twinkling merrily. The Twins scowled at it but wisely chose not to subject its bearer to the torment that Percy had once suffered.

Hermione looked somewhat relieved when they finally moved away, leaving her unscathed. She deposited the large wicker basket she had been carrying at her feet and set about hailing a couple of cabs, hindered rather than helped by Mr Weasley.

When two cabs finally pulled up at the curb, Hermione heaved a sigh of satisfaction and bent over to gather up her wicker load. It twitched ominously and, inside, Crookshanks protested his entrapment with a fierce yowl. The first cabdriver, a large, leathery bloke with grey whiskers and a cheerful grin, leapt back alarmed by the strangled cry that escaped the basket. Hermione laughed nervously and indicated the other luggage. The drivers cautiously avoided her as they carefully loaded the trunks into their vehicles.

Harry eyed Hermione and her restless bundle and when she and Ron clambered into the first taxi, he swiftly made a bee line for the second. Ginny joined him and they shared a smile. Harry perched Hedwig's cage on his knee as Mrs Weasley slid into the front seat next to the driver. She complimented him on a very neatly kept automobile and he blushed scarlet beneath his five o'clock shadow.

As the cab pulled away from the Leaky Cauldron, Harry glanced back, wondering whether Malfoy had left yet and how he was getting to Kings Cross station; somehow he couldn't imagine Malfoy deigning to hail a Muggle taxi.

The taxi weaved its way through the crowded London streets; at every speed bump and pothole, Hedwig would squawk indignantly from her cage. The cabdriver glanced back at her in his rear vision mirror; he seemed both nervous and curious as he surveyed his rather strange-looking passengers. Harry tried to smile reassuringly but winced when Mrs Weasley loudly muttered something about 'tappic lights'.

When they pulled up at Kings Cross Station, the first cabdriver was hastily unloading their luggage. He looked rather harassed and Mr Weasley was hovering beside him, beaming with enthusiasm. Hermione was wrestling with her distressed cat, while Ron tried his best to help without having to get too close. Both cabdrivers looked distinctly relieved when they were paid and allowed to leave.

Harry followed the Weasleys and Hermione through the train station. All around them busy people rushed to and fro as they tried to catch their trains on time. He could feel the strange looks their group were garnering. Pigwidgeon was attracting a considerable amount of attention with his incessant hooting and it didn't help that Mrs Weasley kept urging them on with cries of, "Come on, Platform nine and three quarters this way! Hurry up Ron or we'll be late!"

A young girl with blonde pigtails and a teddy bear clutched under one arm pointed at Hedwig in delight. Harry gave her a quick wink and she giggled, burying her face in the soft fur of her toy. Her gaze followed him right up until he finally disappeared into the crowd.

Mr Weasley paused at the entrance to Platform Nine and Three Quarters, trying to look subtle as he leaned against it casually and disappeared. Harry watched as each member of his group vanished from sight. He pushed his trolley forwards slowly, drawing up along side the gateway.

Suddenly his heart started beating rapidly and for the briefest of seconds he considered turning away and disappearing into the anonymous mass of Muggles. It would be so easy. He could just turn around and vanish and he needn't ever return. He wondered what the Weasleys and Hermione would do if he never came through that gateway, if he disappeared forever.

Before he could get too lost in his thoughts, a flash of blonde hair drew him out of his reverie with a jolt. Instinctively his head jerked to the right with a slight twinge of pain. He surveyed the seething crowd impatiently but the blonde was gone. Harry shook his head in bewilderment and, leaning forwards, disappeared after the rest of his party.

As soon as he reappeared on the platform and saw the familiar bright red steam engine, he couldn't help but smile. A steady stream of white smoke swirled around the scarlet train and then upwards to the dull blue sky above.

He was immediately aware that the bustling platform had fallen silent when he appeared. He could feel the stares on him, piercing through him, pressing in on him. A sudden wave of claustrophobia overwhelmed him and again he felt that urgent desire to run away and mysteriously vanish forever. You're a Gryffindor, he reminded himself, trying to summon some characteristic bravery.

He had just made the decision to press on through the crowd when Mrs Weasley caught him under the arm and herded him after the other three. The platform erupted in a cacophony of noise once more and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He still attracted the odd look or revered sigh as he loaded his trunk onto the train, but generally most seemed to keep their looks and their thoughts to themselves.

Harry and Ron had just finished hauling Hermione's trunk into one of the carriages when the platform fell silent around them once more. Harry could feel his face beginning to flush when he realised that, for once, he wasn't the one attracting all the attention.

He turned slowly towards the exit back to Kings Cross Station. Malfoy stood there, elegant in fine black robes, every single white blonde hair in place. He regarded the congregated wizards and witches with a cool, disinterested expression but for several moments he did not move; he seemed almost frozen, like an ice sculpture, cold and silver under the pale sunshine. Finally he blinked, and for the briefest of seconds, he met Harry's gaze in a simple acknowledgement of the other's presence.

Whispers broke out across the platform as Malfoy stepped confidently forwards, the trolley bearing his trunk and his owl trailing faithfully behind him. The crowd parted for him hastily, shuffling backwards as though they were afraid he would contaminate them, their faces marred with dirty expressions.

Harry felt Ron tense beside him and was relieved when Hermione appeared at their side and placed a hand soothingly on Ron's arm. Harry turned back and began to help Ginny heave her trunk onto the train.

He sensed Malfoy's presence before he saw the Slytherin. Twisting slightly as he pushed Ginny's trunk upwards, he subtly took in the figure beside him. Malfoy raised his wand and, with a flick of his wrist, coolly levitated his trunk into the carriage. As he replaced his wand, Harry caught his eye. Malfoy raised one eyebrow as he took in Harry's manual labour. Harry felt torn between the desire to smile and the desire to tell him to piss off.

In the end, he didn't have the chance to do either for Malfoy swept away, the horde of students and parents parting for him like the Red Sea once more. He tossed his head dramatically as he gracefully boarded the train. Harry watched the movement out of the corner of his eye while beside him, Ginny snorted, clearly disgusted.

Harry said goodbye to Mr and Mrs Weasley, hugging them each and letting Mrs Weasley kiss his forehead. She smoothed away his fringe gently and, smiling, told him to take care of himself. Harry blushed slightly, embarrassed but pleased by her attentions.

Harry boarded the train awkwardly, trying to emulate Malfoy's posture and failing miserably. Not for the first time, wondered how Malfoy managed to move with such poise and grace; following that, Harry felt about as elegant as a hippo on a catwalk.

He strode down the corridor, selecting a cabin towards the end of the carriage, and sank into the plush red leather seat by the window, breathing in the slightly musty scent of leather and wood. He rested his forehead against the cold window and watched as the platform outside slowly emptied. Mothers and Fathers hugged their children goodbye, holding them close before reluctantly letting go. One little girl, her dark hair in a braid, burst into tears, falling back into her mother's arms before allowing her friend to lead her back to the train.

Harry watched this display of affection and love with relative equanimity until he was distracted by the arrival of Ron and Hermione. Ron flopped into the seat opposite while Hermione sat herself neatly beside him. They bickered amiably for several minutes over who should get the window seat and finally Ron heaved himself up and they swapped places. Ginny peered into their compartment with a smile before disappearing off to find her friends, leaving the trio alone.

Harry closed his eyes, relishing the feel of the cold glass against his skin. Suddenly with a hiss of steam and jolt, the train start to move. He stomach lurched slightly at the familiar sensation and a tiny smile stole across his face.

On the other side of the cabin, Ron beamed. "Feels like going home, doesn't it?" he said, mid-grin.

Harry nodded, and it was true. The train pulled away from the station in a cloud of billowing smoke and for the first time in a long while, Harry felt excited.

Hermione smiled at them both and leaned across Ron to release her faithful feline from his wicker prison. He leapt out looking murderous and Ron shrank back into his seat apprehensively. Crookshanks stalked around the cabin haughtily, flicking his ginger tail in discontent before he finally settled next to Harry. He set about washing himself thoroughly, pausing every now and then to cast his gleaming yellow eyes around the compartment.

Ron rolled his eyes at the animal and settled his arm around Hermione, pulling her close. Harry relaxed back into the seat, his head falling sideways to rest against the window frame. The wood was smooth against his skin and within minutes the gentle rumble of the train lulled him to sleep.

Several hours later, Harry woke with a start. The compartment was empty save for Crookshanks who was busily playing with half a chocolate frog that he, no doubt, had appropriated from Ron. At Harry's movement, the cat looked up from his prey, surveying him imperiously through narrowed eyes.

Harry felt curiously lonely; he could hear the chatter and laughter of the other passengers up and down the train, and the silence of his own compartment seemed to exacerbate the feeling.

He reached across the expanse of seat between them and curled his fingers around Crookshanks' ear, tugging gently. The cat seemed caught between a desire to look peeved and a desire to purr. In the end, he simply sat there, content to do neither, tolerating Harry's interference with resignation.

Harry smiled faintly and then heaved himself out of his seat, setting off in search of company. The corridor was empty when he first emerged, but moments later a small group of young girls came hurtling around the corner; the little dark girl from the platform and her friend were amongst them. They looked up as they approached him.

They were first years; the emblem displayed on their chests was that of the Hogwarts Crest and they were surrounded by that same sense of excitement and nervousness that Harry had experienced during his first time on the Hogwarts Express. He cast his gaze over them. They were so small and innocent-looking. It was hard to imagine that he had ever been like that.

They giggled quietly as he surveyed them and Harry tried to summon up a smile to greet them with, but for some reason couldn't quite get his face to move into an appropriate expression.

In the end, the girls tittered once more and then disappeared into a nearby compartment, leaving Harry alone in the corridor again. He tottered down the passageway, swaying gently with the train's movement. As he reached the end of the carriage, something caught his eye. Blonde.

Malfoy was seated in the last compartment, his long legs stretched out in front of him, propped up on the seat opposite him. He was turned away, staring out the window and Harry could only just make out his reflection in the glass.

For several long moments Harry paused in the corridor watching the still figure. He didn't particularly want to talk to Malfoy and he made no move to open the door and enter, but he was vaguely expecting Malfoy to turn around and acknowledge his presence; he felt strangely peeved when Malfoy's eyes remained trained on the window. He waited for a minute longer and then turned away and passed through the door into the next carriage.

.oO0Oo.

Draco was being watched. He could feel it, that familiar prickly uncomfortableness of being observed. He didn't have to turn around to know that it was Potter; he didn't even need to look up to see the Gryffindor's image reflected in the window. Draco had long since accepted the fact that he could sense Potter's presence. It had always been like that, even in the very beginning. Something about Potter commanded attention, created a shift in a room's energy.

Barely eleven years old, standing in Madam Malkin's Robe shop, Draco had sensed something was different about the scrawny, messy little boy who presented himself for measuring, something that had compelled Draco to deign to speak to him.

He had felt a similar pull a month later on the Hogwarts Express. He hadn't even really wanted Potter's friendship, but there was something about the other boy that made Draco feel like he should want it. He hadn't been prepared for the rejection that eventuated. He was a Malfoy and he had assumed that Potter would have known what that meant and would have fallen into line accordingly. But he had misjudged; the Malfoy name had meant nothing to the Muggle-raised Boy-Who-Lived. Weasley had recognised it though, and there was certainly no respect from that quarter.

Draco had resented that train ride for months afterwards, hating Potter unremittingly, until he realised that Potter was far more fun as a rival than he ever would have been as an ally. He was so quick to anger, so easy to taunt, to hate. And through his hatred, Draco's ability to sense Potter was finely tuned. In the corridors, across the Great Hall, on the Quidditch pitch, Draco could feel Potter's presence without even having to search for it.

Draco's eyes flickered upwards, finding Potter's reflection and for several long moments, he sat frozen, watching Potter watching him. He was half tempted to turn around and fix Potter with an appropriate stare but then he hesitated. The first move should be Potter's, he felt; after all, white always moved first on the chess board... let him come to you, a voice whispered inside his head.

He waited, expecting that any moment now Potter would slide open the door and enter. He prepared himself for that eventuality, mentally running through any number of responses to Potter's entrance, determined that he should be in control of any conversation that developed between them. In the window, Potter's reflection blinked pensively.

Draco allowed his focus to shift, gazing past the image in the window to the scenery beyond. Rows of thick, untamed gorse lined the train track, bustling past in a blur of yellow and green.

The slightly unsettling sensation of being watched was waning but by the time Draco registered this, his eyes snapping back into focus, Potter was gone. The glassy surface of the window now seemed strangely empty. A tiny frown settled on Draco's face, a sense of annoyance rising within him. It was one thing for him to ignore Potter but to be ignored himself?

He folded his arms delicately across his chest and sank back into his seat, staring morosely at the red leather head rest of the seat opposite. The white chess pieces had deferred their first move, and yet Draco couldn't help but feel that the game had already started. This left him feeling a shade uneasy, as though his grip on the reigns of control had been slackened ever so slightly.

The Hogwarts Express disappeared into a tunnel, plunging the compartment into darkness. Draco sat motionless in the gloom, struck by the unmistakable impression that none of this was going to turn out the way he had planned.

In fact, it was already heading to Hell in the proverbial hand basket, and as the train re-emerged into the sunlight, it dawned on Draco that returning to Hogwarts had the potential to turn out to be one of the biggest mistakes of his life (surpassed only marginally by his decision to take the Dark Mark).

The reaction he had received on the platform was still fresh in his mind. He had arrived knowing that any kind of positive welcome was beyond hope but that hadn't lessened the shock and the discomfort he had felt; the sheer force of hatred and hostility directed towards him had been almost staggering. It had taken all of his considerable strength to keep himself from turning tail then and there.

And since then, things had only gotten worse. Whispers and accusations followed him down the train and into his cabin. One young Gryffindor had even had the courage and stupidity to try and trip him up with a well-timed hex. It had been easily deflected, of course, the magic of a fourteen year old student was no match for a fully-trained Death Eater, but Draco couldn't help but wonder if he would spend the entirety of this year, surrounded by shields and dodging pathetic attempts at revenge from pint-sized attackers. It didn't seem like a very enticing prospect.

He had, rather naïvely, been hoping that once he was back at Hogwarts, everything would miraculously be the same again. He almost laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of such a notion. Nothing would ever be the same again... actions could never be so lightly disregarded, memories and emotions never forgotten; the dead would never rise again and a shattered world could not be restored to its seemingly pristine former-self with just a flick of a wand.

No, things had changed irreversibly and Hogwarts would not be the haven he had secretly been hoping it would be. Why am I putting myself through this? He questioned himself silently. He wondered vaguely if this was supposed to be his penance. If it was, he decided, he could rather do without it.

About half an hour after Potter's strange appearance and then almost instant disappearance, the bubbly witch with the food trolley came bustling along. Draco was lost in pessimistic thought and only belatedly realised her presence after she had opened the door and jovially stepped inside. He looked up to acknowledge her intrusion and in that one split second, all colour drained from her face, leaving her pale, almost ashen around the edges.

For several minutes she stood frozen in suspended animation. Her mouth dropped open and then she squeaked with a mixture of fright and disbelief. The presence of suspected Death Eaters on her train was evidently more than she could handle and she scuttled away, her trolley rattling away down the corridor.

The sound of the trolley's clattering retreat into the next carriage was accompanied by a sudden loud, hungry rumble. He didn't bother chasing after her; it would be just his luck that he would escape prosecution for war crimes only to be locked up for harassing the lunch lady.

Draco rubbed his complaining stomach with dissatisfaction, allowing the glare that had been brewing for some time to creep onto his face. He settled back into his seat to sulk, something he was still rather prone to do when things didn't go his way.

The sun was just starting to sink in sky when Draco finally ventured out of his compartment in search of the bathroom. Still a considerable distance above the horizon, deep orange rays of light streamed in through the window, following him out into the corridor, warming his back.

As he made his way down the train to the bathrooms Draco tried to recall why it was that, in previous years, he had always been at pains to avoid the Hogwarts Express' toilets. He remembered the moment the door banged shut behind him, wrinkling his nose. Public toilets... such places were not meant for a Malfoy.

A voice from years past rang in his head, "Only fit for dogs and Hufflepuffs," followed by a laugh. The voice was Pansy's and as the words replayed themselves again in his mind, he fancied he could almost see her beside him, her nose crinkled in derision.

Casting his eyes around, he observed that she had been right, but he supposed that was little consolation to her now.

He left the bathroom as quickly as possible, lip curled in displeasure. He was halfway down the corridor when a door swung open in front of him and two boys came hurtling out. Draco collided with the first and he stumbled backwards into his friend who promptly collapsed beneath him; Draco had just enough time to recognise the Slytherin emblem on their robes before they both hit the train floor with a thud.

Two pale faces stared up at him, blank but for an unmistakable tinge of fear. A ripple of recognition lapped at his memory but it took him several moments to place the faces; they had been second years the last time he had seen them but they had matured significantly from child to teenager in the few short years since then.

Crabbe and Goyle had been terrorising them and ordinarily he would have just left them to it, but something had compelled him to intervene; it may have been those wide-eyed little faces, marked with anger as Goyle held their chocolate frogs just out of reach, or it may have been a desire to spoil the two older Slytherin's fun because their snoring had kept him awake all night... either way, he had stepped in, returning the stolen Chocolate Frogs to their rightful owners, keeping only one for himself as payment. The two boys had been overwhelmed with gratitude and awe and Draco had permitted their demonstration of this by allowing them to carry his bag for a week.

Draco noted, somewhat bitterly, that there was no gratitude or awe on their faces now, merely apprehension tinged with revulsion. He wondered if they even remembered that incident in the dungeons.

It was strangely disappointing to realise that he would find little welcome even from his own house. The only Slytherins that remained at Hogwarts now were those who had gone into hiding, rejecting the Dark Lord's call. He would receive no sympathy or understanding from them.

He cast the two boys an empty look and swept past them, his long robes brushing over their bare arms. They shrank away from him as though they had been stung and Draco could feel their eyes on his back, following him down the corridor and into his compartment.

He sank down spiritlessly into a seat. "This was a mistake," he admitted to the empty cabin. He waited, half excepting some sort of agreement to be uttered, but none came.

He closed his eyes and when he woke, the sky outside was as black as he felt. In the distance, tiny lights grew closer and the train began to slow down as it pulled into Hogsmeade Station.

.oO0Oo.

Harry was halfway down the next corridor when a familiar voice called out to him. "Harry!" Ginny's sleek red head appeared in the corridor a moment later.

"Hey, Gin, have you seen Ron and Hermione?" he asked as he stepped up to her.

"Still in the Prefect's compartment," she replied. "I just left there. Hermione looked like she was settling in for the long haul. She's either going to be a very good as Head Girl or a complete nightmare." Her crooked grin was accompanied by a barking laugh from within the compartment. It was a laugh he remembered well and left him feeling simultaneously relieved and nervous.

"Come in?" Ginny asked, beckoning to him hopefully. He approached cautiously and she smiled gently, holding the cabin door open for him.

Three very familiar faces looked up as he entered, pausing mid-conversation. Seamus laughed that unmistakable laugh again, the sound seeming to fill the entire cabin. "Well, here's a sight for sore eyes," he proclaimed with a smile.

Physically, Seamus hadn't changed much at all, his sandy hair perhaps a little longer, falling into his eyes as he smiled, but he seemed more sedate than Harry remembered. There were still shades of the hyperactive bundle of restless energy that had once bounced around the Gryffindor common room, still elements of that manic quality that had always amused Harry, but it was augmented by the sort of steady confidence that comes from just a few extra years of lived experience.

He still possessed that irrepressible Irish optimism, that happy-go-lucky charm that seeped into all those around him. That infectious spirit was something Harry had always associated with Seamus and he was relieved to discover that a fierce war and the loss of an uncle hadn't dampened it irreparably.

"Good to see you again, mate," Seamus exclaimed enthusiastically. Harry shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, unsure of how he should behave. The questions that lingered behind Seamus' smile made him tense. "How have you been?" Seamus continued.

"Let him get in the door before you bombard him with questions," a second voice interrupted. Dean was seated on Seamus' right, beside the window. He radiated a calm steadiness; it was a quality that Harry had always admired. The quieter one of the two, as a teenager he had often been mistake for the shy-type, whereas now he merely seemed like someone who had decided that he didn't have anything to say at this particular moment.

While Seamus still basically looked the same as he had at 16, Dean had grown taller and broader. He looked wiser, more mature, but not old; when he smiled there was still a boyish sense of excitement about him. In many ways, he was the complete antithesis of his fair friend, but they seemed to compliment each other; a perfect working combination, much like his own relationship with Ron and Hermione. From the comfortable way he and Seamus were sitting, knees touching and shoulders turned in towards each other, Harry could only assume that they had kept in contact during the war.

Ginny nudged him gently from behind, patting his shoulder comfortingly as she brushed past him and sat down beside Seamus. Harry exhaled slowly and then shuffled forwards to seat himself beside the lone figure on the right-hand side of the cabin.

He met Neville's gaze comfortably, returning the other Gryffindor's gentle smile. Neville looked the same as he had the last time Harry had seen him, still slightly round but definitely more comfortable in his own skin than he once had been.

Harry remembered the conversations they'd had, hidden away in strange, empty rooms at the top of Grimmauld Place. During the war he had always felt that Neville understood him better than anyone else, even Ron and Hermione; he had enjoyed those brief moments of connection, words that had been spoken that seemed to ground him when he felt like disappearing into himself.

"Hi, Harry," Neville said softly as Harry sat down beside him. "Alright?"

"Hey, Nev," Harry replied, nodding. "Alright." And that was the extent of their conversation. In the end, that was all that was needed. Harry could feel Seamus and Dean watching them, slightly incredulously, while Ginny was just smiling.

"D'you sleep well?" Seamus asked a minute later, breaking the moment. "We called past earlier but Hermione made us leave so we wouldn't wake you up," he explained. There seemed to be a whole lot more that Seamus wanted to say, but hadn't quite worked out how to say it. Any minute now, he was just going to blurt it out, Harry felt sure; he could feel the impending discomfort.

Dean laid a hand gently on Seamus's arm, halfway between a warning and a restraint, and instantly Seamus reacted, relaxing back into his seat, content to give up any queries that had been plaguing him. Harry felt a sudden gratitude to them both; to Dean for recognising that now wasn't the time, and to Seamus for accepting it without question.

Harry smiled as the conversation re-ignited around him. It seemed to be mainly about Ron and Hermione, shifting from their roles as prefect and Head Girl to their relationship and back again. Seamus, in particular, seemed delighted by the extra ammunition provided for teasing Ron.

The sunlight momentarily caught the silver Prefect's badge displayed on Ginny's chest and Harry found himself wondered whether Malfoy was still a prefect. He hadn't been wearing the badge but then, come to think of it, he hadn't been a particularly good prefect.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by the compartment door gliding open. He looked up to see Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil hovering in the doorway.

Lavender smiled around the cabin, sweeping one hand through her long hair; she was prettier than Harry remembered but there was still a strangely vacuous quality about her.

Of the two, it was Parvati who drew Harry's gaze. She was still beautiful in that dark, striking way, but when Harry peered closer, he fancied her skin was paler than it had once been and there were faint shadows lingering under her eyes. She moved with an unmistakable aura of grief.

And that's when Harry remembered. He didn't know how he could have forgotten; it hadn't even been that long ago. In the dying stages of the war, Death Eaters had raided a Muggle-born owned shop in the Wizarding district in Manchester. Parvati's twin sister, Padma, had been caught in the crossfire. She wasn't the first victim that Harry had had a somewhat personal connection to and Harry tried to remember whether he had even shed a tear when he had heard of her death.

He felt instantly guilty. Parvati's eyes found his and for several moments they just held each other's gaze. Harry found himself feeling extremely uncomfortable. Those eyes were haunting. Did she blame him? It wouldn't be the first time. Shortly after the end of the war, Harry had been at the bar in the Leaky Cauldron when he was approached by an elderly witch. She blamed him for the death of her son, for failing to kill Lord Voldemort in time to save him. Her voice, her sobs, still plagued his dreams sometimes.

Harry swallowed heavily. Words lingered on his lips but refused to be spoken; he wanted to tell Parvati that he was sorry, he wanted to apologise for not being able to save her sister, but more than anything, he just wanted to break away from her tortured gaze.

Finally, she cocked her head to the side slightly and offered him a sad little smile. Harry felt the relief flood through his veins; he felt slightly dizzy. He summoned all the strength he had and returned her smile, trying to pour as much understanding and compassion as he could into that one simple expression.

Parvati dropped her eyes to the floor of the compartment, the smile still lingering faintly on her lips. She linked her arm through Lavender's, shuffling closer to the other girl.

Lavender had been joking with Seamus but she reacted the instant she felt her friend's arms slip through her own. She smiled radiantly around the room, uttering goodbyes, before gently guiding Parvati back out through the door.

Harry followed the movement with his eyes, glad that Parvati had someone to turn to. He had always considered Lavender to be, well, rather blonde but she was obviously more perceptive than he had ever given her credit for. He supposed they all were now. War does that to people.

Ginny smiled and got to her feet lightly. "I think I'll go with them," she said, taking her leave. "I'll see you guys at the feast."

She disappeared and for a brief second there was a strange moment of tension between the remaining four. Eventually Neville and Dean fell back into conversation, with the odd bizarre interjection from Seamus.

Harry smiled internally, and looked past Neville to the scenery beyond the window, content to let their gentle chatter wash over him and bear him away to Hogwarts.