A New Normal
Harry opened his eyes on Saturday, June 22nd, to the bright sun pouring into his dorm room and showing him the full effects leaving Prongs alone overnight and all day yesterday had done to his poor roommates. Dean and Seamus had still been up trying to get Prongs his dinner when Harry, Ron, and Neville arrived the night before, and suffice to say they hadn’t been very happy at the sudden disappearance of their friends - especially with how it lined up perfectly with the death of their Headmaster.
So, that word had traveled quite quickly around the school, Harry learned by the discarded bunches of tissues around the Gryffindor Common Room floors, the discarded empty pints, and the couple of kids still sprawled across armchairs, sobbing silently or passed out. Harry couldn’t even find it in himself to be angry at them for not knowing Albus Dumbledore as well as he did, because the whole world knew him. He was a legend, and if there was to be a funeral, no doubt every soul in the Wizarding World would come to it.
That must have been part of why Prongs acted up. He was a smart puppy, at least smart enough to detect others' emotions, and with all that grief going around coupled with the disappearance of his owner, he no doubt got worried.
Harry would be all too willing to clean up the mess for his friends, but for now, with it being well into the morning at 10:14 a.m, he best go get some breakfast to bring up to his friends in the Hospital Wing.
Within one day after Dolores Umbridge’s ‘disappearance’ into the Forbidden Forest, the school had undergone some massive changes. For on thing, the atmosphere was a lot brighter, with kids bathing in the sun or traveling down to Hogsmeade to distract themselves from the passing of Dumbledore, now able to experience the happy surroundings freely with the mysterious departure of the Dementors that used to be guarding Hogsmeade. It was no mystery to Harry, however. He knew from Dumbledore they were most definitely at Voldemort’s side at this very moment, for the old man was never known to be wrong, and he had predicted this a year ago. Fred and George’s swamp had also been removed, or, partially so. Flitwick - who had done the rest of the removing in seconds - left a section roped off as a sort of memorial, and Lee could be seen paying his respects to it as Harry passed, waving to him when he saw the boy go. Harry waved back, and, hearing a call of, “Hey Lee!” knew Pansy had joined him at least a step behind.
He turned, and couldn’t help smiling at the sight of her Slytherin robes back on her. That was another change; with Umbridge gone, the entirety of the Inquisitorial Squad had been all too quick to discard their robes and instead done their House ones, so that if a passerby came to the school, it would look just as it had every day since its founding. Save for an additional mini-swamp.
Luna joined them at some point when they passed a tall, spiral staircase, and then the three had arrived at the Hospital Wing, where inside lay the rest of their friends in bed, all awake and brightening at the plates of food in their friends hands (but also had their friends themselves, hopefully).
“’Bout time, Harry!” Ron called, waving a hand from his bed. “I’m starving!” Immediately, Madam Pomfrey, who was handing Hermione one of the ten different types of potions she had been administered the night before, turned to chastise him for possibly harming the bandages along his arms, but he didn’t seem to care, and she got a hearty laugh from the bed over, where Fudge was sitting at the foot of Neville’s bed, no doubt chatting with him.
He had been the whole Thestral - drawn carriage ride, afterall, slowly seeming to be less obligated to do so due to pity points for his parents, who he seemed to know, and more like he genuinely enjoyed small talk. It felt like an easy assumption to Harry, who had already seen Fudge make small talk with a train station security guard, and a train conductor, so much lower on the class system they should have been merely specks, but not to this guy.
“I don’t see any food for me, Mr. Potter,” The Minister noted as the kids began passing out the plates of toast, eggs, sausage, and bacon to their friends. “Denying the Minister of Magic food? You know, I could put you all in some serious trouble for that.”
“But you wouldn’t,” Hermione said in a light, playful tone, biting into her marmalade toast. “Besides, I think we’ve done a lot worse than ‘deny you food.’” She added after chewing, to which Fudge could only shake his head. “Well, you’re right on that part.”
“How are you doing?” Harry sat down at the foot of Hermione’s bed, careful not to accidentally sit on her legs, and she winced, reaching for the bandages around her ribs, but relaxing after a second to give him a small smile. “A lot better.” She said, then pointed at the bed across from her. “So that one needs to stop trying to cause Madam Pomfrey a heart attack.”
Ron held up his hands in surrender, calling, “You can’t blame me for being worried about my girlfriend!” and getting said girlfriend - wow, it still was hard to think of his friends like that - to giggle while Madam Pomfrey spun around a second time, ready to snap at him for his arm raise once more, but he dropped them in time with a, “Sorry.”
“So, have you read the Prophet yet?” Being the only one in the group that could still stan the shattering of pride it took to buy coopies, Harry knew Hermione had before she answered that question, and she did too, so instead of saying ‘yes’ simply retrieved the folded up copy from beneath her pillow and opened it up, spreading it across her lap for he and the girls to see.
“They don’t know about Dumbledore yet,” She said, pointing to an article entitled, ‘Why Nobody Listened to Albus Dumbledore’ on pages six to eight. “They’re trying to relieve the public and doing a rubbish job at it,” For this, she gestured to ‘You-Know-Who’s Last Attempt to Take Over’ on pages two to four. “They’re very anti-Ministry, as none of their reporters or general paparazzi are allowed inside, still,” ‘Ministry Lies Spread’, page five, “And that,” She jabbed a finger at ‘Exclusive Interview with Harry Potter’ scowling harshly. “That is no exclusive interview. It’s just the same one that was in Malfoy’s Hogwarts News months ago!”
“I sold it to them,” Fudge relaxed against Neville’s bed, but at the confused looks all around him, raised an eyebrow and explained, “What? Oh come on, I’ll tell them all next week anyway! If I didn’t give them something I swear they were willing to burn down my house. Did I mention that? The Daily Prophet found my house! Granger, you're certain you don’t know any other illegal-animagus reporters we can blackmail?”
“I hope you at least made a pretty penny, then,” Hermione grumbled, continuing to read the article on Dumbledore while Fudge scoffed. “Of course! And you can have every cent if you’re going to be bratty about it, Miss Granger. In fact, you all can,” and then, with a clatter, he tossed a bag of gold right on top of the latest Daily Prophet issue, crinkling the parchment. “Split it. Give it to your friends, for all I care.” Fudge stood then, striding over to the window overlooking the grounds and clasping his hands behind his back, his sigh able to be heard even across the room.
Pansy untied the bag and dug through it, counting up the galleons rather quickly, eyes widening with each piece of gold that met her fingers. “Wow… This must be worth my Dad’s daily salary! Mind you, I’m rich - I have a well-paying father.” Harry snatched the bag, gazing into it too, and swallowed hard. If his math was correct, it looked to be almost seven hundred galleons.
“Hey,” He looked up at all his friends, gazing at him curiously, “I think we should give this all to Draco.”
“What? Mate, are you crazy? He’s rich!” “Yeah, yeah, I know, Ron, but just listen,” He stepped off the bed so that he could face all his friends, standing or laying in beds around him. “There is no way he can go back to his parents, or the Manor. Which is mostly burned down anyway! But he’s sixteen. I’m sure we could pull some strings with Fudge,” He gestured to the man behind them, still ignoring them with his back facing them, gazing out at the school grounds, “and arrange some sort of living space.”
“Or, one of us could take him in.” Hermione pointed out, raising an eyebrow up at the boy. “You really don’t think things through, Harry. All of our parents would be happy to take him!” Pansy raised a hand, “With an exception of mine.” “You don’t count, Pansy.” “Right.”
Harry beamed at all his friends, still struggling to grapple how kind they were, and nodded. “Okay, we’ll all split it then.” He said, and Pansy immediately snatched the bag away, pouring the contents again across the now even more crinkled Prophet to divide them into eight piles, much to Hermione’s displeasure.
“I should probably get going,” They turned at the sudden sound of Fudge’s voice as he walked back towards them, adjusting the sleeves of his robe and forcing an uncomfortable smile. “If I’m going to get some sort of food this morning before our new Headmistress arrives and rains all of Merlin’s Ancient Magic upon me.”
“Professor McGonagall’s coming back already?” Neville asked, and Fudge nodded. “Yes. St. Mungo’s doesn’t approve, as they would have preferred she stay another day, but Minerva McGonagall is a persistent woman, as you all must know, and with all that’s happened, knew how important it was that she fill the empty post of Headmistress as quickly as possible.”
“Well, it’s technically not empty yet, Minister…” Hermione pointed out, raising a finger to point it at the bed at the far end of the Hospital Wing, as far from all the kids as Madam Pomfrey could put it, where, laying stiff as a board across it, was Dolores Umbridge. See, she wasn’t ‘missing in the Forbidden Forest’ just hidden inside the Hospital Wing as everyone was secretly scared of the students doing something worse to her than even the Centaurs ever could have.
It had been Remus Lupin, still at the school post the disaster on the Astronomy Tower that had alone strode into the forest and brought the woman back from the Centaurs, though no one could understand how, or even why he would do such a thing in the first place. Harry distinctly recalled Snape even whispering, “You never cease to surprise me.” to the passing man when they’d arrived at the school the night before and witnessed the event. Professor Umbridge hadn’t spoken a word yet, and while her entire appearance was untidy, there appeared to not be any harm done to her physical body either.
Her soul, however, if she ever had one… “Madam Pomfrey says she's just in shock,” whispered Hermione, but was met with a scoff and, “Sulking, more like,” from Ginny.
“Yeah, she shows signs of life if you do this,” said Ron, and he began to click his tongue against the roof of his mouth, making a soft clip-clop noise. In a second, Umbridge had sprung forward upright in her bed, looking around wildly.
“Anything wrong, Professor?” called Madam Pomfrey, poking her head around her office door, which she had returned to a moment before, seemingly giving up on the kids keeping their bandages together.
“No… no…” said Umbridge in a hushed voice, eyes still darting around the interior of the room, sinking back into her pillows. “No, I must have been dreaming…” Fudge snorted, and that seemed to be all the permission the kids needed to begin to laugh, muffling their chortles in their hands or bed sheets.
“Well, I’d better get around to firing her now, then,” Fudge exclaimed, jamming his hands in his pockets, thumbs poked out comfortably. “No point in avoiding it now.”
“Fire her?” Hermione gasped, and Fudge nodded. “Well, yes, that was always the plan. Well - sorry - I’ll be firing her from this school. She holds too much influence in the Ministry to be gone there; they’d hate me. And I only have so little of a hold there left.” Harry sighed. However appealing of a fantasy the idea of Umbridge working anywhere in his life again was he knew it to be too much of a fantasy, and Fudge would always have a bigger pride in himself and his image than knowledge of what’s right for the world.
“Anyway, better get it done and over with. ‘Rip off the bandage!’ so to speak,” He chuckled to himself, striding over to the lone bed at the end of the room. “Dolores!”
Harry frowned, uncomfortably, beginning to back away, along with Pansy and Luna. “We should probably go…” He whispered as Umbridge shot up in bed once more, eyes widening as she exclaimed, “Cornelius? Wh-What-What are you doing here?” with a gulp. Slowly, Madam Pomfrey’s door creaked to a close, as she no doubt got the same idea that this was going to get ugly real quick.
Fudge seemed oblivious though, grinning like a madman. “Firing you, of course!” Harry turned on his heel, reaching for the door handles. “Firing me?”
“Yes! Y’know, I’ve never liked you that much. Not the bows, not the cardigans, not that voice. Ick. But then I found out you were abusing children? Well, I can have nothing of the sort in this school, no, no. So I’m firing you, Dolores. I wish you a very happy retirement from teaching.”
The three kids burst the doors open, running through them and slamming them shut quick enough to just hear a muffled version of Umbridge’s screams and shouts of retaliation.
-*-*-*-
Harry was beginning to wonder what made it so hard to talk to Draco Malfoy sometimes. He was right there, a few feet away from himself, standing in front of the massive house-point hourglasses with his hands clasped behind his back, calm and still as a statue, no doubt being mistaken for such by the passerby pushing past him without so much as a second glance.
He was practically begging to be talked to, and yet Harry couldn’t force himself to do it. It was as if the butterflies in his stomach had stretched their wings to wrap around his legs and sank their fangs into his tongue. But his eyes still moved, glancing down to find every last gem inside those hourglasses had vanished, just as Hermione had predicted weeks ago in this same hallway.
There, a conversation point. His legs sprung forward, and a second later he was standing beside Draco, casually matching his position and trying not to be caught staring at the Slytherin and instead force himself to stare at the empty bulbs.
“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” He said, and Draco didn’t so much as flinch, instead nodding calmly, eyes blank. “I suppose…” Harry frowned. Why was he making this so hard for him? But then, mercifully, the blonde spoke again, “I suppose this was the work of my friends,” He winced, gritting his teeth, “Damn it Vince. Damn it Greg.”
“Why were you never a member of the Squad anyway?” Harry asked a genuine question, as the fact had slightly boggled him a little bit for a while now. “I mean, you’re the son of a highly respected Ministry official, and you’re a Slytherin who used to be quite the bully. No offense, but you’re a perfect candidate for a private student army!” He bumped his shoulder playfully, “You even co-ran a secret organization of your own.” He whispered, getting Draco to crack a grin and a small light to meet his gray eyes.
“Well, Umbridge never liked me that much, now did she?”
“Well I -” I like you, was a bit too stuck to the tip of his tongue for Harry’s liking. Why was it even there? Who put it there? He did not like him… At least not like that! He liked him, sure, but as a friend. Because he certainly sometimes found Hermione’s skin sparkling and Ron’s eyes glittering. He had to, right? That was just his mind complimenting a friend, because that’s what friends do, they…
Don’t have I like you stuck to their tongues, or butterflies in their stomachs, or burning cheeks, or -
“You what? Potter, spit it out, I don’t have all day.”
“Aleckoo!” What could be worse than accidentally saying it casually? Blurting out in the middle of a crowded hallway in the form of gibberish and, oh, how wonderful, there was Professor Snape standing at the top of the marble staircase, gazing down at the boys. At least his reprehension would give Draco no time to respond to that exclamation.
“And what might Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy be doing during a pleasant midday in June?” He peeled back his lips in what he most likely expected was a smirk but ended up being a sneer. “Surely you boys should be out enjoying the sun?”
“It’s too hot.” Was the only response Harry could think of in his bewilderment following the previous exclamation he just made, and he knew, if Draco hadn’t been in a similar state of shock from said exclamation, he would have kicked him in the shin.
“‘Too hot?’” Snape’s sneer grew. “Well, then why don’t you quit filling up space and frustrating your fellow classmates with your relationship issues, and take them elsewhere.” He stopped, having been slowly descending the marble staircase one step at a time, beside the empty Slytherin hour-glass, fornwing at it. “Ah, so you’ve come to spectate the sorry state our school is in. Well, to that I say -”
“Add more points?”
The three spun around to gawk at the sight of Professor McGonagall limping up the steps, carrying a heavy looking carpetbag in one hand and leaning onto a walking stick with the other. She showed no signs that she had survived five stunners to the chest however, and instead merely looked as if she had a backache.
“Professor McGonagall!” Snape called, striding forwards. “You’re early from St. Mungo’s, no doubt because -”
“Of recent events oh yes, but also,” She shrugged off a traveling cloak and practically thrust the bag into Snape’s hands so she could drop it inside. “I’m quite good as new.” She glanced around at Harry and Draco, blinking dubiously at her. “I believe there is an open position for Headmistress, is there not?” She asked, raising an eyebrow so that she looked like she was their Transfiguration teacher once more, and not still recovering from an injury in the least.
“Yes, Professor,” Draco stepped forwards, around Harry. “It was Dumbledore’s request that you would take it.” He explained and at that, the hard, teacherly gaze that was familiar to them faded to a not quite foreign look of sympathy. She’d used it many times to both boys when wishing them luck before a Triwizard Task the previous year. “Yes, yes… I forget, you were last with him… Well then, Mr. Malfoy,” She limped forwards, gesturing down the wall with her stick. “Let us discuss things further in my new office, shall we?” Draco looked quite apprehensive to have to talk about Dumbledore’s dying words so soon, but nodded anyway, and off the due walked, before Mcgonagall turned sharply at the bottom step.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” With a wave of her wand, gems began to fall down into the once empty bulbs of all four hourglasses. “That’ll be… Thirty points for every member of the Hogwarts Order of Defense. That seems reasonable, right, Severus?”
Miraculously, Snape smirked. “Yes, I do think so, Minerva.” He agreed, then turned on his heel to walk away, leaving Harry to gawk at the stuffed hourglasses.
If his math was correct, that was five hundred seventy points to Gryffindor, three hundred points to Slytherin, two hundred seventy points to Ravenclaw, and two hundred ten points to Hufflepuff.
A rush of joy ran through him as he beamed up at the hourglasses, feeling like this school was finally returning to some semblance of normal at last.
-*-*-*-
But this office might never feel normal again.
When Draco pushed through the double doors barring him from Dumbledore's office, he inhaled and exhaled memories of times he had come into this space and gained comfort from the man who once, and still should be, inhabiting it.
He recalled being brought forth by Snape into this office to be forced to befriend Harry Potter. He remembered pressing against these doors and listening to his parents arguing with Dumbledore over his own safety. The end of Fourth Year he had been brought here a final time to discuss the events of the graveyard with Harry, where he had discovered the connection between his and Voldemort’s wands. And then, this year, he had come twice; once, to be made aware of Harry’s nightmare and Arthur Weasley and Nymphadora Tonks getting attacked, and the second time was when he came up with the lie towards Dumbledore’s poisoning that got the House-Elves wages revoked. He didn’t even know if they ever got them back after the food fight…
This office, in short, held a lot of memories wrapped and entangling him in one tangled ball of grief, from the intricate devices still laid, untouched upon the wide desk, to the pair of chair he and Harry had sat in so many times before, to the perch in the corner, where a tall phoenix sat, gazing at the pair of humans before him with his head slightly tilted, almost confused.
Almost asking, with the slight caw it called towards them, “Where is he?”
But, while Draco drifted around the room, eyeing various sections of the space he hadn’t given much thought to before and now cared so deeply for, McGonagall didn’t miss a beat, always on the move, despite the cane in her hand slowing her down. She still limped for a desk Draco supposed was hers now - though he didn’t know how long it would take to get used to that - sat herself down with her chin high, and raised an eyebrow at Draco, now staring at a cupboard with a front of glass, where he could see a clear-water filled basin beyond the glass doors.
“In the pensieve, you must visit every memory labeled ‘Tom Riddle’ that I have stored. With Harry. It is imperative that Harry sees them.”
“Mr. Malfoy?” Draco slowly turned his head to face his new Headmistress, who smiled at him sympathetically, no doubt noting the thin sheen of liquid over his eyes. “We don’t have much time. I’ve ordered a meeting with the Staff to discuss the future of this school but before any of that can take place you have to tell me what exactly happened,” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk before her and lacing her hands together tightly. “Remus Lupin and Professor Snape told me you were being carried off by a man disguised as Cedric Diggory, is that correct?”
“It was Barty Crouch Jr, Professor,” Draco clarified, voice colder and harsher than he intended, but maybe Crouch deserved it, after all he’d done and could still do, out there to hurt more people once more. McGonagall nodded solemnly, glancing down at the desk below her with her eyebrows creased. “Yes, that was a theory…” She looked back up at him, gesturing to the empty seat before the desk. “Please, sit, Mr. Malfoy. Were the two of you coming from the Astronomy Tower?”
“Yes,” Slowly, Draco took shaking steps forwards to lower himself into the chair, feeling, with a great sigh, like all of this was wrong. So, so terribly wrong. He’d spent months trying to prepare himself for a world without Albus Dumbledore… So why was it so hard now to look at the woman across from him and act normal? “I was… I was cornering Professor Dumbledore there, I had dropped my wand, and Dumbledore gave me a series of instructions… then Crouch burst in.”
“Draco,” Professor McGonagall leaned in closer, eyebrows so tightly creased he couldn’t count the number of wrinkles between them she was creating now, “When you came to the top of that Tower, did you intend to do harm to Professor Dumbledore?” Draco gulped and, shakily, gave a small, tiny nod. “And were you threatened to do so?” Another nod. “Were your loved ones' lives being threatened as well?” A hot tear slithered down his cheek and he wiped it away immediately following his third nod.
“Well then there is no need for any punishment to fall onto you, Draco, I promise. Now,” She leaned back slightly to pinch the bridge of her nose, no doubt from the exhaustion of the past forty-eight hours, then, after adjusting her glasses asked, “What were Dumbleodre’s final orders to you, then?”
Draco swallowed, closing his eyes and struggling to remember each and every detail, though the memory of those eyes looking through him, straight through him, as if he was simply a piece of glass, was hard to think of without tearing up because that was Dumbledore’s gaze. How he always looked at you, whether it be angry, disappointed, sad, playful, or comforting. Those eyes were the same every time.
“He told me to trust Snape,” He opened his eyes to look McGonagall dead in hers. There wasn’t any way he was going to show weakness now, not now. “He kept emphasizing it - said he was the only one we can trust.” McGonagall’s lips formed a thin line, nodding, “Yes well, he’s always been very insistent on that. It’s either trust Hagrid or Snape with him,” She shook her head sadly, “Or, it was…”
There was a long pause where, once more, Fawkes gave a low, small caw, and then… “He had so much love in the world, you know,” McGonagall said faintly, gazing up at the beautiful creature still eyeing them curiously. “So much hope. He believed in the good in everyone and never gave up on them, not for a second,” She looked back at Draco, staring back at her blankly, eyes welling with tears once more. But this time, McGonagall’s were as well. “And he would have never given up on you, either.”
“He kept offering me help,” Draco whispered, staring down at his lap, and rotating his wand between his fingers, remembering how Dumbledore had picked it back up and given it to him, full well knowing he could still use it against him. “Options, safety… He believed in redemption -” “- Until the very end.” McGonagall finished, and Draco looked up once more. Her tears were streaming down her cheeks fast now, but she still gave him a watery smile.
Finally, Fawkes gave out his biggest call yet, and the two rose their heads to watch as the bird lifted itself off its pedestal to soar in a grand circle around their heads, singing a slow, melancholy birdsong. It felt like grief and love all mixed into one sad song that he called over them and into the air, and then, with a final flap of his wings, he had flown straight out of the open window above McGonagall’s head, reduced to a speck slowly getting smaller against the clear blue sky. But his song continued, though fainter, echoing in their ears.
“There was one more thing, Headmistress,” Draco said after a long pause, wiping his cheeks of fresh hot tears. “One more order. Dumbledore he… He mentioned a pensieve,” McGonaglal glanced up, eyebrows raised, then blinked away tears, nodding. “Yes, yes, the pensieve…” She retried a tartan patterned handkerchief from within her robes, dabbing at her eyes, “What of it?”
“He requested that Harry and I view every memory labeled ‘Tom Riddle’ in his stores,” McGonagall’s head jerked up to stare at him, wide eyed, mouth open.
“Really?” Draco nodded, and McGonagall swallowed. “Well, then that must mean…” She glanced over at the cabinet Draco had been staring at, wetting her lips. “I’ll have to discuss this further with Professor Snape, I presume,” She concluded, standing from her seat, “If Dumbledore says we can trust him that much, he no doubt understands more than I. But for now,” She clapped her hands together, “Go, enjoy the sun. I’ll discuss the night’s events with your teachers but you are allowed to leave, Mr. Malfoy.”
Draco immediately shot out of his chair, nodding. It was only then, that he noticed the new edition to the sleeping Headmaster’s portraits dotted around the walls of the office.
Smiling slightly, Draco nodded his farewell to the sleeping portrait of Albus Dumbledore, then turned on his heel to walk away, just missing the way the man inside peaked his eyes open to smile as he watched the blonde boy leave.
-*-*-*-
That night, the students all gathered for dinner in the Great Hall as normal, but this time it really did feel like normal. There was no table segregation, so people intermixed so much you couldn’t decipher which was which anymore, and there wasn’t glances made every few seconds up to the grinning face of a pink nightmare looking down upon them - instead it was the cold gaze of Minerva McGonagall, but they’d still take the strict former Transfiguration Professor over Umbridge any day.
“Can you imagine it’s all almost over?” Hermione lamented when they were halfway through the meal, and Ron raised an eyebrow at her, chicken leg half-raised to his mouth, asked, “Dinner?” and she rolled her eyes, batting his arm. “No, the year! To think a year ago we were stressing over O.W.L’s… but now they're over and there are so, so much bigger things to worry about.” She looked down at her plate solemnly, then startled at the sound of scoffing beside her.
“Ugh! Granger, could you let us eat in peace?” Pansy cried. “Seriously if you don’t stop being dramatic I’m never eating at this Merlin-forsaken table again.” Hermione rolled her eyes, muttering, “I wouldn’t object to that…” But with a stern look from Draco kept her mouth shut.
It was almost disorienting, the inter-house relationships Harry was surrounded by. Draco sat beside him, as always, with Ron and Hermione across, and Neville on his other side and Ginny on Hermione’s, but then there was Luna beside Ginny and Cedric beside Ron, his crutches balanced between him and Cho, adding a comfortable distance between the awkwardness of that situation. And then a line up of Slytherins - Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott - all seated at Draco’s side, Dean and Seamus looking very uncomfortable at the end of the line, same with Parvati and Lavender across.
Or at least, they looked uncomfortable at the beginning. As the minutes passed, and people shoved more food into their faces, the tension gradually lowered, to the point where now everyone was talking warmly. Hermione still didn’t like Pansy that much, but occasionally she and Theodore would call something across from each other that turned into a debate before getting ended by Pansy, Parvati, and Lavender giggling about some new piece of gossip. Then they’d turn to ask Draco to include it in his newspaper, which Luna would congratulate warmly, and of course people would pause to examine the curious girl, then the cycle repeated.
It was much the same at other tables too. Behind them, the Ravenclaw table had Zacharias Smith arguing with Terry Boot while Michael Corner and Padma Patil - the two were quickly becoming a ‘thing’ following Michael and Ginny’s breakup - took bets on when this would get violent. Then at the Slytherin table, Angelina Johnson was debating Quidditch strategy with Graham Montague, whilst lamenting at the sad end to the season that had occurred, and finding he was a lot more than a burly looking guerilla. Meanwhile, Astoria Greengrass, sitting with her older sister, was examining Colin Creevey’s camera, complimenting the wonders of muggle technology, and claiming she was planning on dropping Ancient Runes and taking up Muggle Studies as an elective.
All of this was enough to make the teachers lined up at the staff table almost cry. This had been Dumbledore’s greatest wish, afterall, for house unity and strength, and here the school was, Houses mixed so that boundaries were as transparent as glass. Kids laughing and talking with the sounds of clinking glass and silverware filling the air so that it was as if not just the school, but the world was filled with some sense of normalcy once more. Because these kids were just kids. Children who deserved to laugh and talk all they wanted.
It was this beautiful sight that sealed the deal on the staff’s decision to keep the school open despite the horrendous events of last Thursday night. Because as Professor Sprout had said, “As long as one student still feels that Hogwarts is their home, this school shall remain open.”
“Attention, students!” So it was that Professor McGonagall rose from her chair and placed her hands on the table beneath her, her presence gaining as much attention as Dumbledore had, being able to silence a room in seconds, but after a repeat of, “Attention!” Her voice grabbed the entire Hall’s attention and everyone turned their heads to their new Headmistress, who smiled welcomingly down at them all.
“Now I know the past events of recent days have been frightening, to say the least,” She began, voice strong as it was normally in class but louder now, calling over across the wide expanse of the room just as Dumbledore’s had with no use for a voice-amplifying charm. “And that this entire year has not been what any of you would have wanted it to be.” Ron scoffed, muttering to Hermione, “That’s an understatement.” though she shushed him quickly.
“I also understand how much Quidditch matters to each and every one of you,” Every Quidditch player plus people who generally enjoyed viewing the sport perked up in a second, now hanging onto McGonagall’s every word. “It even matters to my fellow colleagues and I. It was quite a tragedy to see the fall of this season at the hands of… your former High Inquisitor.” She smirked a little, emphasizing the firing of Umbridge, and in response light cheers were called out as people who didn’t know let out whoops of joy and Ron reached over to high five Harry, who did so gladly, grinning. “I assure you, I will not allow your season to crumble to a four-way tie,” Again, everyone perked up, settling to dead silence in anticipation to hear her next words. “So, it is with great pride that I announce a four-way championship. A match held between each and every House team, so that we can prove once and for all,” She glanced around at her fellow Heads of House, who looked up to her mischievously, all smirking with glints of competitiveness in their eyes. “Which House deserves the Quidditch Cup this year.”
“GRYFFINDOR!” Angelina bellowed from the Slytherin table, pumping a fist in the ear, followed by, almost in unison…
“HUFFLEPUFF!” From Cedric, raising a crutch into the air.
“RAVENCLAW!” From Roger Davis, pounding his fist into his palm.
“SLYTHERIN!” From Montague, practically growling it into Angelina’s face.
The Great Hall erupted into shouts between different houses as they argued over whose House was sure to win in this ultimate battle, and McGonagall slowly sank back down into her chair, smiling at the display of friendly rivalry.
“Well, I guess you just can’t escape me this Quidditch season, Potter,” Draco teased, narrowing his eyes at the Gryffindor Seeker beside him. Harry turned to do much the same, smirking devilishly. “No, guess I can’t,” He stepped off the bench, “See you on the field, Malfoy.” He said slyly, walking backwards for the doors, and Draco leaned back to look him in the eye as he called, “See you in the Hospital Wing, Scarhead!” after him.
Yes, it seemed things had returned to even a small bit of normalcy at last.
-*-*-*-
The Championship was scheduled for a bright and sunny Thursday afternoon, the day of the end of term feast (with students being allowed to leave on Saturday instead of Friday due to the holding of Dumbledore’s funeral, and the clear desire from the majority of the students to attend it), so it was that from Sunday to Wednesday every team practiced from dusk till dawn, squabbles occuring briefly when different teams arguing over who had the right to the field, but always ending quickly as they started, most likely because of Hagrid (newly returned from the caves he had been hiding in from the Umbridge’s Ministry goons) breaking them up.
Not only were the teams in high preparation mode for the biggest game yet, but every student at Hogwarts understood the weight of such a match, and as such the demand for merchandise was high, and people had begun rolling it out at the highest prices. Pansy, Vincent, and Gregory spear-headed the ‘Weasley Is Our King’ campaign, abandoning Draco’s side only because they claimed the team he played with were all Inquisitorial Squad jerks and they hoped when he was Captain he’d reshape the whole lineup. Dean and Seamus ran an underground betting ring, of sorts, getting Parvati and Lavender to help ‘predict the outcomes’ with Divination to draw in bets, and Ginny to help with good advertising. Ron would later blame this companionship on why Dean and Ginny began dating rather quickly around the same time.
Cedric - the real Cedric - of course couldn’t play, but the team still looked to him as a Captain and so he was given an honorary spot on the ground beside Madam Hooch, while a Sixth year named Ronan Summerby was made Seeker in his absence. Everything was set up, now all everyone had to do on the morning of the 27th was wait for the match to begin.
“Alright, Team,” Angelina said, standing before the group of six Gryffindors with her hands planted on her hips, the chalkboard behind her completely blank because none of them truly knew what sort of strategy would get them through this game. “This is our last shot. My last shot. We’ve worked really hard for this… some of us more than others…” She gave Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloper a glare here, and while the latter seemed to not be listening to her very well, the former was, and blushed bright red with embarrassment. “I believe we have a real shot at this. Alicia, Katie,” She looked to her Chasers, “There’s only one Quaffle out there. It’ll be a mad rush to get it; don’t be afraid to use any methods necessary ‘cause I’m sure Montague, Davies, and even Diggory aren’t going to play fair. Ron,” She looked to her Keeper, “Don’t take your eyes off of the Quaffle for one second. I don’t know how many times it’ll get thrown at you, but it’ll be a lot, so you have to stay focused. And Harry,” She finally settled on gazing down at her Seeker, looking sincere, “I have no clue what sort of past you have with Chang and Malfoy but you can not let it interfere with this game. They’re not going to hold back, and the Hufflepuff Seeker… I’ve seen him practice - he’s not blind. He’s tried out every year because he’s good. Don’t underestimate any one of them, and don’t get cocky.” Harry gave a resolute nod, and Angelina clapped her hands together. “Okay! Let’s go, then!”
The line of seven scarlet-clad teens marched out of the tent at the same time a line of green, blue, and yellow did, Lee trying to announce each of their names as fast as he could up in his box, where as always McGonagall sat beside him, monitoring his language despite being Headmistress. Some things would simply never change.
“And here comes Weasley, Kirke, Sloper, Johnson, Spinnet, Bell, and Potter for Gryffindor! O’brien, Ossett, Pembroke, Smith, Smith again, and Codwaller for Hufflepuff! Patil, Goldstein, Corner, Chambers, Bradley, Davies, and Chang for Ravenclaw! And finally…” Lee inhaled a great big puff of air, “Bletchley, Crabbe, Goyle, Montague, Pucey, Warrington, and Malfoy!”
The crowd around them, packed tight with every single student at the school, erupted in screams of support for their respective teams, and Harry could pinpoint his friends in the crowd based on the headdress balanced atop Luna’s head - the most elaborate yet - with a lion’s head roaring and a snake hissing out of it’s open jaws, a raven perched on top, claws wrapped around a viciously fighting badger. It was as if she had taken a picture of all four of these animals fighting and placed it on her head with stuffing, and Harry, miraculously, found himself laughing.
If nothing else, this game would certainly prove to be a distraction from the horrors that still awaited him on the dark path beyond.
“Now I must warn all of you,” Madam Hooch began her customary rules-speech, hands gripping the Quaffle anxiously. “This has never been done before. I haven’t a clue what sort of injuries could arise from you roughhousing in the skies today but I have no wish to learn. That is why there will be no tolerance for cheating,” She sent Adrian Pucey a swift glare. “None at all. You are being treated with the opportunity of a lifetime, and a gift, with this match; don’t waste it. Understood?”
Every head nodded and various people muttered, “Yes, Ma’am,” as Hooch stepped backwards to raise her voice so that the stadium could hear, “The Captains will now shake hands.” Four hands all sprung forward at once, then the Seventh Years hesitated, glancing around awkwardly then settling on Angelina sticking her hand forward and Graham grabbing her wrist, Roger grabbing his, and Cedric sticking his hand through to grab his, allowing Angelina to hold onto his own. The end result was a sort of patchwork quill of red, green, blue, and yellow Quidditch gloves, that again, caused Harry to snort as Ron laughed aloud. The four lowered and raised their hands slowly, then all let go, stepping back with awkward looks on their faces as Hooch gave a small headshake. This was certainly going to be interesting.
“Mount your brooms…” Everyone swung their legs over their sticks of wood and Harry met Draco’s eyes across from him, smirking devilishly, something Draco returned in an instant. Hooch raised her whistle, blew, and then twenty-eight figures rose up into the sky, the Chasers all diving for the Quaffle as Hooch threw it up into the air and some already running into each other in the cramped madrush, to which Hooch face palmed.
Meanwhile, the Seekers all split to various points around the field, scanning for any signs of the little golden ball that was the Snitch and realizing, hopelessly, that it was going to be near impossible with so many clashing colors of robes speeding around below them. McGonagall had transfigured six more hoops to add to the field, sitting on opposite ends of the sides of the green stretch of grass, and their shining gold, burning into his eyes, wasn’t helping things at all.
Glancing over at Draco floating some yards away, looking just as hopeless, Harry realized how difficult winning this game was going to be.
“And it’s Pucey with the Quaffle passes to Montague who is firing down the field to Weasley. Strange strategy, considering the Ravenclaw hoop is right there, but perhaps he’s just not used to the new set-up. Not sure I am either!” Lee was commenting somewhere above Harry’s head up in his box, and when Harry glanced up to look at him, he saw Pansy leaned over beside him, no doubt given an honorary spot because, the way he heard it, her streak of no dates had finally ran out - Lee was her latest new specimen. The couple were both decked out in ‘Weasley Is Our King’ merch, the scarlet and gold clashing against the Slytherin flag Pansy was waving half-heartedly; she seemed to be more focused on smiling at her boyfriend, who admittedly looked stunning in his element of commentary.
“It’s Warrington with the Quaffle now and he’s winding up and - Ooh! Hard hit by a Bludger from Ravenclaw’s Goldstein. Now Ravenclaw’s in possession.”
There, a glint of gold. Could it be the Snitch, maybe? No, just Pucey’s watch.
“The first goal of the game goes to Ravenclaw as Smith fails the save!”
Harry weaves between a strategic formation by the Ravenclaw’s as they pass the Quaffle back and forth between the three of them - no doubt a method of confusion for the other players - but nearly gets knocked in the head and ends up messing up their shot. While Angelina does give him a compliment for that, he doesn’t see that as a win; he had been chasing what very well could have been the Snitch, but now lost sight of it once more, and Cho looked to be chasing something some thirty feet above him, but to his left, Summerby was too.
What was he to do?
“Spectacular save by Keeper Ron Weasley!”
“Weasley can save anything,
He will block every ring,
That’s why all of Hogwarts sings;
Weasley is our King.”
For once, Harry wanted the crowd to quit singing that annoying song, because the blinding sun and the cramped disaster that was trying to fly through this crowd of twenty-eight players was one thing, but adding singing to it just gave him a headache almost as bad as his scar hurting.
But only almost.
And that was when Harry got a new rush of vigor, because surely, if he had gotten through the horrible pains of what felt like his very skull being split in two before, then how hard could ignoring the outside world and honing in on finding that Snitch be?
“Gryffindor scores! Now Hufflepuff’s the only one not on the board… yet.”
Not hard at all, he suspected (hoped).
Zooming out of the chaos of the cramped crowd of Chasers and Beater’s, Harry flew over above the nearest Keeper’s goal, hoping this would be a safer bet to avoid any distractions, and began to circle around it slowly, eyes darting everywhere around the field, into every crevice or even open space. Because that Snitch could be anywhere, as it was a sneaky little thing, willing to be out in the open or in hiding - It didn’t care. Harry had four years of experience now, (Fourth Year didn't count) which was more than any of the other Seeker’s on the field right now could say. He had to have the upper hand here, right?
Flitting up a tower across the field, the Snitch moved at a speed only a trained eye could catch. Harry shot towards it in a second, beating Draco by just that precious second as the Slytherin also started to fly up beside him on his matching Firebolt. It didn’t matter, he was ahead of him, eyes on the Snitch as it moved up and over the commentator’s box so that Lee let out a surprised yelp into his wand (acting as a microphone with a voice amplifier, as always), stumbled backwards in surprise as the pair of Seeker’s zoomed over him.
Harry stretched his arm out, feeling the wind of the Snitch’s flapping wings hit his bare fingertips as he leaned forward earnestly on his broom, then -
One of the Beater’s had knocked the Bludger of course, clearly, because it was now spiraling towards the speeding Seeker’s and hit the ends of both of their brooms, knocking them into each other and sending them off on a wayward spiral through the air, Lee’s commentary over their own dizziness echoing in their ears.
Harry righted himself, shooting away from Draco and focusing back on the field as fast as possible, because Gryffindor just scored again so if he could get his hands on that Snitch while they were still ahead of the game than maybe -
“And Slytherin scores again!”
A wave of yellow and blue blocked his vision, and when Harry tried to fly around the crowd he nearly knocked right into Draco, but ended up ran over by the celebrating Slytherin’s, earning them a foul, and a time-out call from Montague as he descended from the sky to get in a shouting match over why it was Harry’s fault he was in the way. After five minutes, they were back to playing, and Hooch chose to simply let that foul slide, it being the first and no one knew quite how to handle so many players on the field anyway.
Then it happened again to Michael Corner, and again to Sally Smith, and a third time to Katie Bell. So the minutes ticked by with the captains all using up their timeouts to try and weasel out of unfair foul’s Harry couldn’t even tell were unfair or not anymore, and suddenly they were forty minutes into this match, and the teams were all tied, and Harry had his eyes on the Snitch.
He was exhausted, he had bruises he didn’t know could get bruised over his body, and now ‘Weasley Is Our King’ would most certainly be stuck in his head when he tried to sleep that night. Not to mention he’d had to deal with Lee’s commentary making fun of the increased panic in all of the Seeker’s as they tried to avoid the chaos playing out on the field and find their golden winged friend, and he really was tired of getting mocked this year.
By Merlin he was not going to let that devilish Snitch get away from him.
Charging forwards with his greatest burst of speed yet, Harry set out on a straight shot course for the Snitch flitting around the staff box, which had to have sensed his approach as it turned to zoom down the field away from him, and towards Draco and Summerby, who were advancing as well. With horror, Harry feels a rush of air hit him and turns to see Cho has closed in as well, so now it’s just a race between the four of them, chasing a Snitch that was plummeting ever so dangerously close to the ground.
Harry didn’t mind. He’d been in more dangerous situations than this, and Draco, who had been face to face with Voldemort just as he had, couldn’t care less. Cho, who, if the gossip was credible, had been face to face and attacked by Barty Crouch Jr himself, wasn’t going to back down now, and even the new Seeker Summerby didn’t mind, too eager to prove himself in the legendary Cedric Diggory’s absence.
Thus, here the four of them were, closing in on the Snitch. Four pairs of eyes narrowed on one golden ball that four different arms stretched out to, then -
Something hit Harry hard in the head, and all he saw was stars. Stars blurring over a flurry of four different colored robes, and then he was falling, and tumbling, and people were on top of him, and the stars were beginning to clear, but he still felt an enormous pain in his head, and didn’t dare imagine what bruises and cuts had been added to his body from that tumble.
His hand was still stretched out and he realized, belatedly, he could feel cold gold beneath his fingertips. He’d won.
But there was shouting overhead and all around him. Harry didn’t care to wonder beyond mild curiosity over why, because he had clearly won, but he still kept his eyes closed. It had been a long game, and whatever was under him was rather soft, so it felt like he could just relax here…
“- Ge - Off - Me!”
Oh, that wasn’t cushioning. It was a person. Finally, Harry opened his eyes to immediately recoil as they opened on the long, stunning black hair of Cho Chang, ponytail sprawled before him as she lay with her back to him on top of a Draco, whom he could only recognize by the green robes. And beneath him, of course, lay Summerby. All four of them had piled on top of each other, and as Harry tried to right himself and hop off them, he also refused to let go of the Snitch in his fingers, finding a pull back at trying to pull it with him he hadn’t anticipated.
“Oi! Let go of my Snitch, Potter, I caught it!” Summerby shouted up at him, and Harry scowled, struggling to peek through a crack in their pile to see the golden ball he knew must be under there, whilst Cho snapped, “What? No you didn’t, I caught it!” and Draco muttered, muffled heavily beneath them, “Itty ‘ur I aut ‘t.”
The other three continued to squabble coherent or incoherent at each other but Harry ignored it all, only half aware that his fellow teammates plus the other eighteen players had all landed on the ground around him, as Lee continued to confusedly commentate above, his voice cutting out midword when he no doubt gave up and put away his wand. Harry could only be half aware of these things, because he had just pushed away Summerby’s robes and gotten a look at the Snitch, raised off the ground by about an inch, all four of their hands gripping it.
Cho was holding the left wing while Summerby held the right, and Harry and Draco were gripping opposite ends of the little ball, but there was no way to weasel around this one; they had all caught the ball.
This is why the four remain frozen still as their Captains and teammates came over to look down the crevice Harry pointed out and come to the same conclusion as he, waiting for Madam Hooch to come over and scratch her head in confusion, then wave hand to indicate the teachers up in the staff box should come down too. The stadium had erupted with deafening whispers at this point, which was certainly a strange noise, but still Harry and the other Seeker’s waited patiently on the ground for the Headmistress to arrive.
Professor McGonagall, upon seeing such a strange sight, merely crosses her arms, sniffs at the mischievous smirks on each of the kids faces and shakes her head, whispering in Hooch’s ear who, after a raised eyebrow to confirm that she really wanted to do this, shrugged her shoulders and called out to the stands around them, “TIE!”
It only took one second for all hell to break loose.
-*-*-*-
That night, inside the Great Hall, the end of year feast was certainly something different. There were aspects of it that felt the same, such as the banners hanging over them and the delicious myriad of meals everywhere and the candles hanging above, but there were also changes to what should’ve felt normal, but that no one seemed to mind all that much.
Inter-house seating had been going on all weak, but now the banners hung above did not celebrate the awarding of the House Cup to one House in particular, but all of them, a banner for each table the only sign was which table was which, as everyone had become that intermingled with each other now. Not to mention, unlike how subdued their attitudes had been since the death of Professor Dumbledore, the staff was allowing themselves one night of pleasure, as were Harry’s friends, so they could all be found beaming along with the rest of the school for this momentous occasion - The first time the Quidditch Cup, and the House Cup, was awarded to all four Hogwarts Houses.
Harry almost wished this could be how it was every year, though he knew that to be a fantasy. Even so, he was happy to enjoy this final night of peace before impending war. Before another summer with the Dursley’s followed by a year of mysteries and evil lying in the shadows. Because all of this, all of this unity, he, the boy sitting beside him, and all of his friends, had accomplished it together. Had done the impossible.
Somewhere, high up in the Headmaster’s office, Harry knew for certain that the Sorting Hat would be very, very proud, and maybe Dumbledore’s painting would shed a few tears, because they had listened to the warning he’d given at the beginning of the year. And that Hat had sat for years, and years, watching as no one listened. This wasn’t the first time he’d slipped warnings into his songs, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but it was the first time someone had listened, when he had started to believe all hope of that ever happening was gone. These brilliant kids had listened, even the little First Years, like one Slytherin Garrison Lynch, who could be heard humming the song with his friends over at the Ravenclaw table.
“And never since the founders four
Were whittled down to three
Have the houses been united
As they once were meant to be.”
Well, Harry thought with a small smile as he observed the kids surrounding him, laughing and chatting, now good friends (Lavender and Daphne) or even couples (Lee and Pansy), but all happy and truly united at last. I guess everything’s back to the way it was meant to be.
Slowly, he inched his hand closer to Draco’s beside him, and laid his head on his friend’s shoulder, sighing, but smiling when he felt Draco return the gesture with a light squeeze of his hand, resting his head on top of his.