Petty Revenge

The war was finally, finally over. Many months have passed since then. 

After what seemed like an eternity of avoiding the paparazzi and the public and attending Mind Healer sessions, Harry Potter felt as if he was finally stable enough to return to Hogwarts for his Eighth Year to make up for his blotched Seventh. 

It wasn't mandatory, but Hermione was dead set on going, and Ron was dead set on following Hermione wherever she went; so Harry supposed he should attend, too. 

After all, Hogwarts was the first ever place where he felt like he truly belonged. 

Not to mention that he'd finally be able to get the peace he wanted since the very beginning. No cameras flashing at him whenever he went to buy groceries, no interviewers randomly shoving their obnoxiously feathery quills in his face and blabbering on about their questions, and no more uncomfortable fan signing sessions where he had to sign everything from pieces of paper to very personal pieces of clothing.

(There was this one time where an elderly female fan insisted on him signing a pair of lacy undergarments. Harry had prayed to every god he could think of that the undergarments were clean whilst signing his signature chicken-scrawl on the tip of the lace. He’d really rather not talk about it.)  

So one particular morning, when Harry received the same invite to Hogwarts he had gotten when he was eleven, he was more than ready to pack his belongings. 

He couldn't wait to forget all about the war and attend the school he loved with his friends!

One thing that did not occur to him, however, was that he'd also have to face the very people he fought against in every lesson.

So it came as a very nasty shock when he came face to face with Draco fucking Malfoy in the Great Hall. 

He felt every muscle in his body immediately tense up, as if Malfoy was about to suddenly whip out his wand and mercilessly curse him to bits. Just the mere sight of the pointy git was enough to make his blood boil.

Sure, he testified at his trial, but it was only because Narcissa Malfoy had saved his life. The testification was just his way of repaying her, nothing more. 

Oh, how he wished he never proclaimed Malfoy's innocence in that damn trial.

Malfoy seemed just as surprised and as on edge as him, come to think of it. 

But hmm... he had a good reason to be on edge, Harry supposed.

Only about a handful out of the countless Slytherins had made the decision to come back as Eighth Years, which meant that they were totally outnumbered if it ever came to a fight between Houses. 

Which, to Harry, made total sense. Why would anybody ever come back to face the war enemies they lost to?

The handful of the Slytherins that came back sure had balls.

Or no brains. Harry had to give them that. 

But seeing Malfoy with his unbearably white blond hair and tired, dull eyes that had lost all life to them - in the entrance to the Great Hall, blocking the way, no less - was not something he appreciated, thank you very much. 

Someone gave Harry a light shove, an indication that he should probably move out of the way of the grand doors and let others through. It was Hermione, wearing a wary expression that told him that she liked seeing Malfoy back at school as much as he did, saying, "Let's just go, Harry. We'll miss the feast if you keep standing here, blocking everyone from entering."

Harry blinked. 

"Okay fine, let's go," he said gruffly, turning away sharply from Malfoy. 

Maybe it was his paranoia speaking, but Harry could feel grey eyes burning into him as he walked. 

As everybody sat down on the House tables, there was an elegant clink of glass from the front of the Hall. 

For a second, Harry hoped he would see Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes peering at every student from beneath his gold spectacles, but to his slight disappointment, it was Professor McGonagall who held the glass up in the air, trying to gather everyone's attention. 

In the past few months where Harry had not seen her, she practically seemed to have aged a few years; her wrinkles had deepened considerably, and she seemed to have gain a few more streaks of white in her professionally tied bun. 

Nonetheless, she still had the determined stare that demanded respect from everybody around her, and after a few seconds, everyone's eyes were on her. 

"This year, we will be having Eighth Years attending to make up for the final year they've missed," she said solemnly. "It is with open arms that we welcome these honorable and noble war heroes. Let's give them a warm round of applause."

With that, the Great Hall exploded with cheers and applause, and Harry winced as everyone around him seemed to sneak a glance at him, all at once.

Like they were waiting for his reaction or something.

Just what did they expect, anyway? Was he suppose to have a panic attack at the slightest mention of a war or something?

Jeez. 

As Harry awkwardly smiled and took a sip of his pumpkin juice to hide his flushed face, he noticed that the Slytherin part of the Hall was very, very still. Well, the Eighth Years, anyway. It seemed that the First Years (or any other Years, for that matter) seemed to want to distance themselves from the so-called 'war criminals' by cheering as loudly as they could. 

The Slytherin Eighth Years weren't even welcome in their own House, it seemed. 

Harry couldn't stop his eyes from wandering to the edge of the Slytherin table, where a white-blond boy was sitting hunched over his measly meal of mashed potatoes. 

Something unfurled in Harry's stomach. It took him a few minutes to tell that it was pity mixed with disgust.

But mostly disgust. 

Malfoy suddenly looked up from his plate and immediately made eye contact with Harry. It didn't seem intentional, as Malfoy looked away as quickly as he could, but Harry could see the guilt and shame almost overflowing from his eyes. His face was flushed and he lowered his head, as if to try and to disappear from the cheering people surrounding him. 

Harry scowled. He hated that the sight of Malfoy all moping and sullen bothered him a bit. 

Fuck. 

Why was he even bothered by any of this, anyway? Harry should be glad that the git is getting what he deserves, not finding him fucking pitiful. 

There was another clink from McGonagall’s glass and everyone fell silent to hear the rest of her welcoming speech.

”Enough cheering,” she said, rubbing her ear as if in pain. “Let us celebrate another Year.”

And that was that for the welcoming speech. 

Harry took a small sip of his juice. He saw Peeves flying around and snipping students’ hairs at random with a pair of very small scissors. The Bloody Baron was nowhere to be seen, so Peeves must’ve thought that this was his chance to mess around with the students.

To Harry’s right, there was Hermione and Ron arguing about who-knows-what. To his left, there was Seamus and Dean practically making out through prolonged eye contact. 

It was going to be a long year.