Chapter 1
It was a sunny day in Diagon Alley when Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way through the bustling crowds, ticking off items from their school supply lists. Harry was still on high alert after the encounter with Narcissa and Bellatrix at Madam Malkin's, and Ron was grumbling about Draco Malfoy, convinced that the Slytherin was up to no good as usual.
As they walked, Harry caught sight of a familiar shock of platinum blonde hair up ahead. Draco Malfoy was browsing in the Apothecary, his face set in a neutral expression. Harry tensed, expecting the usual sneer or snide comment, but something about Draco seemed... different.
"Oi, there he is," Ron muttered, narrowing his eyes. "Bet he's up to something dodgy."
Harry nodded, his eyes narrowing as well. But Hermione, walking beside them, seemed less inclined to join in the suspicion. She glanced at Draco, her expression unreadable, before looking away quickly, as if trying to maintain her usual demeanor.
As they drew nearer, Draco looked up and noticed them. His eyes briefly met Hermione's, and for a split second, there was something unspoken exchanged between them—something that didn’t go unnoticed by Harry.
"Malfoy," Ron said, his voice dripping with disdain as they stopped near the entrance of the shop.
Draco turned to face them fully, his expression calm but guarded. "Weasley," he replied curtly, his tone lacking its usual bite.
Harry watched Draco closely, sensing that there was something off about him—something he couldn't quite put his finger on. The change was subtle, but it was there, in the way Draco carried himself, in the way he avoided looking at Hermione for too long, and in the lack of venom in his voice.
"We should keep moving," Hermione said suddenly, her tone slightly hurried. She gave Draco a quick, almost apologetic look, but it was so fleeting that Ron didn’t catch it.
Harry, however, did. He frowned, glancing between Hermione and Draco, his suspicions only growing. But before he could say anything, Hermione was already steering them away.
As they continued down the alley, Ron continued to mutter about Malfoy under his breath, oblivious to the tension in the air. Harry, on the other hand, couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this encounter than met the eye. He noticed how Hermione seemed more quiet than usual, as if she was lost in thought.
Draco watched them walk away, his heart pounding slightly. That had been close—too close. He had almost forgotten the agreement he and Hermione had made a few weeks ago in Montreal. They had both known that the return to Hogwarts would be complicated, and that it would be safest to act as though nothing had changed between them.
In that private conversation, they had laid out the terms: no outward signs of their newfound understanding, no leniency in public, and certainly no hesitation in playing their respective roles. Hermione had insisted on it, knowing full well that if anyone—even Harry—suspected the truth, it could spell disaster for them both.
Draco had argued at first, wanting to find another way, but Hermione had been resolute. She had told him, with that same calm determination she always had, that as long as she knew the real Draco—the one who had opened up to her over the summer—she could handle whatever persona he had to maintain in front of others.
And so, despite the inner turmoil it caused him, Draco had agreed. He would keep his distance, continue the facade, and make sure that no one ever suspected what had really happened between them.
Later, back at The Burrow, Ron was still fuming over their encounter with Malfoy. "I don't care what anyone says—he's up to something. Did you see how calm he was? That's not normal."
Harry, however, was quiet, thinking back on the encounter. "I don't know, Ron... Something seemed off about him, but not in the usual way. He didn't seem... malicious. More like he was just going through the motions."
Hermione stayed quiet, carefully choosing her words. "Maybe he's just trying to keep a low profile. The war is coming, after all, and everyone’s on edge."
Ron scoffed. "Malfoy, keeping a low profile? That’s a laugh. He’s probably just trying to keep out of trouble until he can report back to his Death Eater friends."
But Harry was still unsure. There was something about the way Draco had looked at Hermione—something that had been there and then gone too quickly for Ron to notice, but not for him. "Maybe," he said, though he wasn't entirely convinced. He knew he’d have to keep an eye on Draco when they returned to Hogwarts.
As Draco returned home to the Manor that evening, the dark atmosphere of his home was a stark contrast to the warmth he had felt in Canada. He kept replaying the encounter in his mind, questioning if they had been too obvious. But the deal was in place, and it was for the best, even if it meant maintaining the facade of hostility.
His thoughts drifted to Hermione, remembering the conversations they had shared—how she had managed to break through his defenses, how she had seen the real him and not just the persona he had worn for years. It was comforting, knowing she didn’t judge him for his past, and that she was willing to keep his secret. But he knew that the real challenge was just beginning.
The next time they met, it would be back at Hogwarts, and they would have to pretend as though nothing had changed, as though he was still the same Draco Malfoy who had sneered at her in the corridors. But now, every time he looked at her, he would remember that she knew the truth—and that, somehow, made it all a little easier to bear.
As the Hogwarts Express chugged along the tracks, Harry sat quietly in the compartment with Ron and Hermione. The summer had been filled with strange occurrences and darker undercurrents, but nothing had been more unsettling than their recent encounters with Draco Malfoy. Harry’s thoughts were troubled, the memory of the strange interaction in Diagon Alley still fresh in his mind.
Ron, however, seemed blissfully unaware of the tension. He was munching on a Chocolate Frog and trying to make conversation, but Harry wasn’t really listening. He kept glancing at Hermione, who was unusually quiet, staring out the window.
Hermione had been different since they left The Burrow. She was more reserved, more introspective, as if something was weighing heavily on her mind. Harry had noticed it, but every time he tried to bring it up, she deflected with a smile or a change of topic. He had let it go, but now, as they neared Hogwarts, he couldn’t help but feel that something was wrong.
As they neared the castle, the train began to slow down, and the familiar sight of the carriages waiting to take them to the school grounds came into view. But this time, Harry noticed something he hadn't before—strange, skeletal creatures pulling the carriages. He stared, bewildered, as the Thestrals moved silently, their hollow eyes gazing into the distance.
"Harry?" Ron asked, noticing his friend's expression. "What are you staring at?"
"The creatures pulling the carriages. Can’t you see them?"
Ron looked confused, squinting into the darkness. "What creatures? The carriages pull themselves, don’t they?"
Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. "I can see them... They're... They're like winged horses, but... not quite."
Ron shrugged, clearly unable to see anything. "Must be something magical. Maybe they’re invisible to us."
Harry nodded slowly, but his gaze drifted to Hermione, who had been oddly silent during the exchange. "Hermione, do you see them?"
She hesitated, her eyes flicking toward the Thestrals. For a moment, there was a flash of something in her eyes—pain, perhaps—but then she shook her head. "No, Harry. I don’t see anything."
Harry frowned. Something about her response didn’t sit right with him, but he didn’t press further. It was clear that Hermione wasn’t ready to talk about whatever was bothering her, and he respected that. But it did little to ease the knot of anxiety in his chest.
As the students disembarked from the train and climbed into the carriages, Luna Lovegood appeared by Hermione’s side. Her usual dreamy expression was replaced by something more serious as she looked at Hermione with those perceptive blue eyes.
"You can see them, can’t you?" Luna said softly, her voice carrying an understanding that went beyond mere observation.
Hermione stiffened, her gaze lowering. She hadn’t wanted anyone to know, least of all her friends. But Luna had always been different, always able to see beyond the surface.
"Yes," Hermione whispered, barely audible. "But please... don’t tell anyone. I don’t want them to know."
Luna nodded, her expression gentle. "I won’t. But if you ever want to talk about it... I’m here."
Hermione gave her a small, grateful smile before climbing into the carriage with Harry and Ron. Luna watched her for a moment before drifting off to join the other students.
As the carriage moved, Hermione couldn’t help but glance out the window at the Thestrals, her mind drifting back to the summer. The memories were still raw, still too painful to confront fully, but there was no escaping them now. The sight of the Thestrals was a constant reminder of what she had lost.
Draco had been there, during the darkest moments. Their bond had formed through shared silence, through the understanding that comes from mutual grief. He had been awkward and stiff at first, but as the days passed, they had found solace in each other’s company. It was an unexpected connection, one that neither of them had anticipated, but it had helped her survive the summer.
When they finally arrived at Hogwarts, the castle looming majestically against the night sky, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different. As they walked up the steps, he kept glancing at Hermione, who seemed more distant than ever.
But there was no time to dwell on it. As soon as they entered the Great Hall, the familiar sights and sounds of Hogwarts engulfed them. The Sorting Hat sang its song, the first years were sorted, and the feast began. Yet, amidst the chatter and laughter, Harry couldn’t help but notice that Hermione was picking at her food, her mind clearly elsewhere.
Across the hall, Draco Malfoy sat with his usual Slytherin group, but he too seemed more subdued than usual. His eyes occasionally flicked toward the Gryffindor table, though he quickly looked away whenever Harry or Ron glanced in his direction.
It was going to be a different year, Harry realized. Whatever had happened over the summer, it had changed things. And somehow, he knew that this was only the beginning.
The Great Hall buzzed with chatter as the start-of-term feast carried on. Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he listened to Professor Dumbledore introduce the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Dolores Umbridge. Her pink cardigan and sickly sweet smile made his skin crawl.
Harry barely heard her introduction; his mind was elsewhere, filled with thoughts of the strange changes he had noticed since arriving at Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy was acting differently—more subdued, less venomous. He had caught Draco exchanging glances with Hermione on the train, and then there was that odd interaction in Diagon Alley. Something was definitely off, but Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Umbridge’s voice cut through his thoughts, her high-pitched tone grating on his nerves. "Progress for the sake of progress must be discouraged," she simpered, her words laced with condescension. Harry exchanged a look with Ron, who rolled his eyes in exasperation. Hermione, however, seemed even more tense than usual, her knuckles white as she gripped her fork.
As Umbridge droned on, Harry's attention drifted back to Draco, who sat at the Slytherin table. But instead of glaring back at him or sneering as usual, Draco was whispering with Theodore Nott. The two of them were leaning close, their heads together as they whispered conspiratorially. It was strange, almost unsettling, to see Draco so engaged with anyone who wasn’t Crabbe or Goyle.
Harry’s suspicions only deepened as he watched the scene unfold. Something was definitely different this year, and it wasn’t just the arrival of Umbridge. He felt like he was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle, and it was driving him mad.
Blaise Zabini lounged casually at the Slytherin table, his sharp eyes taking in everything around him. He had always prided himself on his ability to read people, and tonight, there was no shortage of things to observe.
Dolores Umbridge was speaking, her voice dripping with faux sweetness, but Blaise was barely paying attention to her. He had heard enough to know that she was going to be a problem—a problem for the school and, more importantly, a problem for the Slytherins. But what intrigued him more was the dynamic at his own table.
Draco Malfoy and Theo Nott were whispering together, heads close as they exchanged words too low for anyone else to hear. Blaise’s eyes narrowed slightly as he observed them. The two of them had always been acquaintances, but never this close. Now, they looked like they were plotting something, and that was enough to make Blaise curious.
He noticed how the others at the table were giving them sideways glances, their suspicion clear. But Draco and Theo seemed utterly unconcerned, wrapped up in their own world. Blaise couldn’t help but wonder what had brought them together so suddenly.
He caught Draco’s eye for a brief moment, but the blond quickly looked away, his expression carefully neutral. That was another thing that had Blaise intrigued—Draco was usually so quick to display his emotions, particularly his disdain for others, but now he seemed to be holding something back.
Blaise leaned back in his seat, his mind working through the possibilities. Whatever was going on between Draco and Theo, it was something worth paying attention to. Blaise wasn’t one to involve himself in the petty dramas of others, but this... this was different. He could feel it.
Umbridge finally finished her speech, and the students began to talk amongst themselves again, but Blaise’s attention remained fixed on Draco and Theo. Something was brewing, and Blaise intended to find out what it was.
As the feast continued, Blaise kept a close watch on the two, his mind already working on how to use this new development to his advantage. After all, in Slytherin, knowledge was power, and Blaise had always been one to make the most of what he knew.