Lord of The Flies
Their classes continued on like normal, Harry not appearing for a single one. Hermione and Ron had invited Draco to sit at the Gryffindor for dinner after Harry’s dying request, the group welcoming him instantly. The Slytherin was surprised by how kind they were to him.
With Draco heading off to his dorm, and Hermione working on her potions essay, Ron set out to find Harry.
He took his time winding the corridors, chatting with people he knew, and clearing his mind.
He had run into Luna briefly, who offered him a bag of sweet tarts. Harry would like those, so he gladly accepted.
When every stone had been turned, Ron searched the last place he could think of. The Astronomy tower.
Climbing up the winding staircase, Ron caught a glimpse of raven hair at the top.
Harry sat upon a bench, his back towards Ron. The redhead slowly approached him, taking a seat beside him. Harry’s lips trembled.
“I hear Draco’s got you started on another muggle book,” Ron began slowly, “which one is it this time?”
Harry sighed. “Lord of The Flies.”
“And how is it?”
Ron heard a soft chuckle from Harry, “I can’t put it down.”
It was quiet once more. Ron knew it was better to sit in silence with the brunette rather than force him to talk.
After some time, he piped up. “He’s changed quite a lot, hasn’t he?” Referring to Draco. It wasn’t just Harry who took some time to get used to this new Draco Malfoy.
Harry thought. After the few months back at Hogwarts, he’d almost forgotten what Draco used to be like.
“More nightmares?” Ron asked, pulling out the bag of sweet tarts. He offered one to Harry.
He grabbed a handful. “How’d ya guess?” he sighed, tilting his head back as he shoved them into his mouth.
“Oh please, you’re always cold and distant whenever you dream up something. I know you.” It was true, Ron did know him. It was sad to say Harry had drifted apart from the redhead since the war. Not to mention when he and Ron’s sister didn’t work out too well, it didn’t add to their already struggling friendship too well. Harry felt guilty, he knew that he was the reason for their enkindling, and that Ron only wanted to help.
Harry winced. “Maybe your parents were right.”
“Huh?”
“Your parents, the day I helped paint the Grimmauld house, they told me I should go to a mine healer or something” Saying those words felt like chewing on a rock.
“They did?” Ron paused. “I’m sure they’re only trying to help, mate. Maybe you should listen to them.”
Harry’a throat burned. He could never admit to himself that it was the right idea. Did Draco get help from therapy? Well obviously, he’s nothing like he had been before the war. But would therapy have the same effect on Harry? He couldn’t risk knowing.
“Maybe.”
Without much rhyme or reason, Harry found himself all of a sudden acting how he used to with Ron, before the war. They were gossiping, laughing about old girls they used to like, old pranks they used to play on each other, old quidditch failures. It was a calming clarity for the Gryffindor, he didn’t realize just how much he missed these moments.
Soon the time on Harry’s watch read close to twelve thirty in the morning.
“Hermione will be looking for us, it’s best we head back to the common room,” Ron suggested, extending a hand to Harry. He took it, being pulled up from his seat.
He followed Ron down the winding staircase, the two hurriedly rushing to the Eighth Year’s common room. Ron was right, Hermione lectured them for almost ten minutes straight before losing her effort to argue. Harry resisted an eye role as he watched Hermione personally escort Ron to his room.
He slumped on one of the couches in the empty common room, the only light coming from the slowly dying fire.