Chapter 1
Chapter 1: The Return to Ruins
**Harry**
Hogwarts wasn’t the same.
The walls had been repaired. The rubble swept. Portraits restored, candles replaced, the Great Hall re-enchanted to mirror the sky. But Harry Potter knew what everyone else pretended not to see — it was still haunted.
Not by ghosts. By memories.
He walked past the stone archways, boots clicking against the floor that once ran red. He should’ve felt proud returning. A war hero, they called him. But instead, he felt like a fraud. The world had been saved — and he was still lost.
He barely registered when someone called his name.
“Harry!”
Hermione’s arms were already around him before he could respond. She looked older, more tired, but her smile was the same.
“I can't believe we’re really back,” she whispered.
Ron stood beside her, tall and awkward, shifting on his feet. “This is mad. Coming back after… all of it.”
Harry nodded. He didn’t have words.
The Great Hall looked beautiful. Restored. But quiet. Half the students hadn’t returned — too scared, too scarred, or simply gone. At the far table, Neville waved. Luna gave a dreamy smile. Across the room, the Slytherin table was nearly empty.
And then Harry saw him.
Draco Malfoy stood near the far wall, shoulders squared, eyes cold. Alone. He was thinner, paler, like he hadn’t slept in weeks. His platinum hair was shorter than before, but the sneer was familiar.
Their eyes met. Not a word. Just a beat of silence that said more than any curse ever could.
**Draco**
He hated the stares.
Hogwarts had always been a place of pride — not anymore. Every hallway whispered his name like it was a stain. Traitor. Coward. Death Eater’s son.
He’d thought about not returning. Maybe his mother had hoped he wouldn’t. But he had unfinished business. He was going to finish his NEWTs, quietly, without scandal, and disappear.
Or so he’d planned — until Potter walked in.
Of course he was here. Savior of the world, golden Gryffindor, war’s beloved. Draco swallowed the lump in his throat.
He’d spent years hating Harry Potter. Now he just envied him. Not the fame. Not the power. The peace.
He didn’t have peace.
**Later That Night**
The Sorting Ceremony felt wrong. Too quiet. McGonagall’s voice was steady, but Harry could tell she was trying to keep the magic alive for the few first years brave enough to attend.
Dinner was mostly silent.
When it was over, Harry grabbed his bag and followed the Prefects down the corridor toward Gryffindor Tower. A smaller dorm this year, they’d said — fewer students, more shared spaces. The war had left scars on the building and the budget.
He reached the assigned room, opened the door—
And froze.
“Absolutely not,” Draco said from the opposite bed, arms folded.
Harry blinked. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Believe me,” Draco said coolly, “if I were joking, you'd already be hexed.”
They stared at each other. One room. Two beds. One Gryffindor. One Slytherin.
“McGonagall’s idea of punishment?” Harry muttered.
Draco rolled his eyes. “I don’t care why. Just… stay out of my way, Potter.”
“Fine by me,” Harry snapped.
But as he threw his bag onto the bed, something inside him buzzed. Something old and dangerous. Not hate. Not anymore.
Something else.